Back from the future

When asked what time period the word “again” in his “Make America Great Again” campaign slogan referred to, candidate Donald J. Trump said, “I like the fifties.”

With every passing week, it is obvious why the 1950s appeal to the president and his loyal followers. The scariest rock-n-roller in the ‘50s was Elvis, whose image on tell-a-vision could be broadcast above his swiveling hips. It would be many years before the Sex Pistols shouted “God save the Queen! And the fascist regime!”

In the ‘50s, the most uppity Negroes were the followers of Martin Luther King, who allowed themselves to be clubbed, chased by police dogs or blasted with firehoses. Sixty years later their descendants dare to proclaim “Black Lives Matter” in response to police force.

In the ‘50s, we had our friend the Shah of Iran – not some kooky bearded ayotollah saying fiercely I-a-told-you-so: Ahab the Arab was our friend! It would be years before Elijah Muhammed, Malcolm X and Muhammed Ali brought the menace of Black Muslims into prominence. Rap was the sound you made knocking on a door, “woke” meant you responded to your alarm clock.

In the ‘50s, homosexuals were conveniently hiding in the closet, not demanding that innocent Christian bakers provide them, for pay, with three-layer wedding cakes. The only transsexual was Christine Jorgensen, who was not allowed to marry because her birth certificate said male. No one ever dreamed that in the future, girls and boys and men and women might transition into the opposite sex through modern medicine, enter a public bathroom to frighten our children or declare their patriotism by enlisting in our voluntary military. Who woulda thunk it?

In the ‘50s, the model American woman was the good little Maxwell Housewife, ready to bring Dad his Martini when he walked in the door after a hard day at the office, where his obliging secretary allowed his nimble fingers to wander across her tight skirt or under her nylons. Her well-groomed sons never cursed.

Nobody would believe that the Miss America pageant no longer parades contestants in bathing suits. No one would predict that women might run for president, or actually get elected as governors, senators, congressmen, mayors and judges.

In the ‘50s, gangsters were greasy Eye-talian goombahs or big-nosed kikes who kept to their own territories – not tattooed dark-skinned teenagers with guns and drugs sneaking out of their ghettoes into more respectable neighborhoods.

In the ‘50s, a bad school was one where white kids argued with their white teachers. In the movies, mush-mouthed psychologists tried to explain their anti-social behavior to confused staff and anguished parents. No one could imagine that one day schools might be invaded by real psychopaths loaded down with loaded weapons.

But the breakdown began then – when the Supreme Court said that schools must be desegregated. All our social problems followed – white flight, Black militancy, women’s rights, the American Indian Movement, gay liberation, the collapse of public education. That renowned atheist mathematician Bertrand Russell led “Ban the Bomb” parades – now we know we need the bomb again. Even though we admire the Russians, respect the Chinese, and love Kim Jong Un, we need the bomb to make America great again.

I was born in the 1950s, came of age in the tumultuous ‘60s, entered adulthood in the messy ‘70s, started a family in the Reagonomic ‘80s. We raised our kids in the peaceful ‘90s, and passed Y2K into the new century. My parents were poor – we never owned a home, never owned a car. My mom’s first job paid her $35 a week, plus an extra five bucks to clean the office every Sunday. I have comfort now because I am a white man with good genes and a college degree.

Throughout my lifetime, I have observed steady progress for people unlike me – people of color, people who endured worse conditions of poverty, people who are not heterosexual white males.

Let’s not go back the ‘50s, please.

Kirk Ashworth