I mentioned in class this morning, a golden anniversary tribute to Woodstock, that a pivotal place in American history can be pinpointed to Jimi’s early Monday morning rendition of that horrible song allegedly penned by Francis Scott Key. You know the one. Honestly I like the version that ends with ‘Play Ball’ a lot better. But consider for a moment all that was on the line, 1969, Vietnam, Nixon, Manson and a boat load of civil and racial discontent. And Hendrix musically slams the flagpole half-way up corrupt America’s red ass. It was a defining moment when Jimi, done lighting his Strat afire after the reverb had decayed to a mere hum, proved we were forever changed, the hippie ethos officially torched in effigy, sacrificed for the hope of peace, love and music. How gloriously ironic! The historians among you (I heard it) will say that Hendrix fire act was in 1967 at the Monterrey Pop Festival and NOT Woodstock, and you would be right, but I am more interested in the rhetorical here than the literal, a play for which I trust you will acknowledge and forgive.
Immediately after the clean-up began. We got hip in a hurry. We stopped a cruel, illegal war and ran the chief muckraker out of office. Policy actually began to evolve granting status to women, blacks, gays and even liberals. Cool books about it all hit the NY Times best-seller lists and music took a delicious turn for the sublime. We had visited the depths of deprivation, walked through hell and came out the other side. Ready for change.
Capsulizing that change can be, in my opinion, rather simple. Here is what happened next: We sold out. Almost before the feedback from Jimi’s stack of Marshals had completely decayed, distorted and dying, the collective consciousness of the generation known as hippies, was similarly over.
It became quickly apparent - in the bucket of eternity a decade is a mere drop - that this life style, albeit a free, self-supportive, communal experiment in higher consciousness, was unsustainable. Along with the bills came the allure of capitalism. And we traded in our tye-dyed T-shirts for Brooks Brothers button down cotton shirts and found jobs that would support house mortgages, new cars, the kid’s education and memberships to the local country club. We even considered purchasing life insurance. We became the new face of the American dream.
And here we are fifty years later. Cleaning up the mess that we all thought one time would be enough. It isn’t. It wasn’t and according to all indications, it never will be. The lessons we learned and the things we got right, recycling, organics, solar and wind power, sustainability, music, cooperation, peace, all seem to be overshadowed today by societies penchant for racism, hatred, greed, corruption and exploitation.
This radical shift, the downward spiral of society priorities, has escalated to the point of farce. We are a joke. America sucks. Take a look around and tell me that the damage being done by the party in control is anything short of horrific. I am embarrassed, appalled and deeply saddened by the republican agenda. Here it is: White supremacy and power to the elite. Anyone standing in the way will be chastised and ridiculed at best or arrested and shot at worst.
The part I find amazing amid all this testimony is that 40% of the population actually agree to this Nazi agenda.
We, the voices of dissent, have one play left.
We can vote them out in November of next year.
We nust rally the tribe. The folks that marched with us, that upheld the moral and ethical paradigms that have stood for American values for 240 years have one last chance to set the historical record straight, to be on the right side of history. We got a lot of things right in 1969, almost as many as we got not-so-right. This one we cannot afford to miss.
I call upon by brothers and sisters, unitedby the power of our collective presence, we, the cultural creatives and keepers of the keys to the kingdom, to rise up in unison and take back the ideals we so courageously displayed fifty years ago in that fanous garden. Our planet is on fire and the politicians are stockpiling gold for the final act of arson. Our kids are in cages and our band-mates in jail.We are the last men and women standing.
This is unsatisfactory folks. We are being ruled by hate, fear and superior firepower. I am sick of it.
And I will not go quietly. There will be blood. The logo for this campaign, the movement to save the planet and our species, will be Jimi kneeling over his guitar, lighter fluid in hand. I can't think of a better metaphor.
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