Newt Gingrich's Child Labor Fantasy

On Thursday, Newt Gingrich—that famous historian! (see previous post)—campaigned in Iowa and spoke about his stance on child labor laws. He was already on record saying that child labor laws are “stupid” and “entrap” poor children, and schools ought to get rid of union janitors and replace them with poor children who need the money:

Then, in this most recent speech, he further explained the problem as he sees it: poor children don’t even understand how jobs function.

Gingrich believes that regulations like child labor laws get in the way of the pursuit of happiness, and that his idea of getting rid of them, which he admits is radical, will “fundamentally change the culture of poverty in America.” He may be right about the change that would occur, but what would it really look like if we got rid of child labor laws? If history is any indication, the problem of wealth disparity—which is the issue Gingrich identifies as the core reason changes to these labor laws are needed—would only get worse.

The biggest problem is that Gingrich is right. It would be mostly poor children doing the work. Dickensian chimney sweeps were not the children of the aristocracy. A big part of the problem with child labor prior to the establishment of the Fair Labor Standards Act in 1938 was that without a law preventing it, work was not a choice for poor children but a necessity.

According to the Department of Labor, the point of child labor laws is to “protect the educational opportunities of youth and prohibit their employment in jobs that are detrimental to their health and safety.” Gingrich’s vision of a child paid a reliable one hour a day to greet people at a clerical desk is lovely. But that’s not what child labor looked like. Children at work looked like factory workers and manual laborers, and for a family in real need one hour would not be enough. You can’t do homework and “real” work at the same time. Without regulation, a working child would soon become a child who does little else outside of school or who falls asleep in class after a long night shift. And that would only lead to further inequality.

If there is a lack of examples of a good work ethic, the solution is to help parents and other adults—the example setters—find work. The solution is not to make an example of those who need one.

Besides, Gingrich wouldn’t have to look far into history to see why his idea is unnecessary. Right at this very moment, children of any age can already do certain jobs. But those jobs are regulated—and, for Gingrich, that seems to be the real problem.

History Gets Some Press

Historical comparisons were all over the news this week. Here's a quick round-up of the best of the bunch:

• From the The New York Times: a look at Newt Gingrich's constant use of history in his rhetoric. Read to the bottom of the article for an interesting examination of whether the history that he taught as a college professor was factually accurate.
• Politico looks at Obama's polling numbers and sees a comparison to President Carter. Bad news for BHO?
• The Times "Caucus" blog also compares, in a detailed post, this election to 1992's election.

#fourthgenerationproblems

On Thanksgiving evening, after the last slices of pumpkin pie were put aside for breakfast and the uncles washed the dishes and the cousins settled down to watch the Ravens game, my father’s mother told me about her mother. It was a long story and one that I’d heard before, but parts of it would ring true in many American households.

The immigrant generation was my great-great-grandfather, the baker. The first generation born in America, my great-grandmother’s generation, had a bakery. In the second generation, my grandmother went to college, became a teacher, married a lawyer. For the third generation, the professional class gave way to the creative class and their children became an actor and an author and a producer and a food stylist. After that, you stop counting. Ask this fourth generation American where her family is from and she will say Baltimore, not Poland.

As a student of American history, I recognized the story as a typical immigrant narrative. It’s a story of assimilation and moving forward and every generation sticking pretty close to what it was supposed to do—until now. There is no typically fourth-generation life.

My generation, the millennials, is famous for its aimlessness. I can’t get behind accusations of laziness or slackerdom, but the general sense of not knowing what to do with one’s life—especially considering the recession and trends in emerging adulthood—is all around.

Sure, plenty of families have been in the U.S. for more than five generations and they’ve managed to survive, and plenty of families came more recently and also suffer from millennial malaise, but the late 1800s saw a major wave of immigration and there are a good chunk of young Americans in the same boat as I am. So maybe our generational problems have to do less with the turn of this most recent century than the turn of the last. History cannot tell us what to do. We are searching in the dark for a narrative thread that doesn’t exist.

But it’s also its own reason to give thanks, isn’t it? We can do anything we want—just as soon as we figure out what that is.

When Politics Get Physical

This week, a video of two Lebanese politicians brawling on live television has gone viral. (The topic of the fight was Syria, although you wouldn't know if you caught the clip here on Fox News, where they don't bother to provide captions or any sort of context.)

Watching two grown men in suits attempt to throw chairs at each other is scandalous, period, but it made me think about political discourse in our own country. We've heard a lot -- particularly in the wake of the Gabrielle Giffords shooting -- about the shortcomings in the way politicians address each other and their lack of civility. Maybe if the other option is an altercation, we're not doing so badly.

It's not like this country hasn't seen its fair share of violence in the halls of power. Anyone who paid attention in high school should remember May 22, 1856, and Bleeding Sumner. In the run-up to the Civil War, Massachusetts Senator Charles Sumner spoke out against "Bleeding Kansas," the pro-slavery tactics that had caused that territory to become a hot zone for brutality and the individual senators he held accountable. In response, Representative Preston Brooks of South Carolina beat Sumner with a cane. Sumner suffered head injuries but eventually recovered.

Then again -- not that I'd advocate violence in any situation -- there's a reason we learn about that episode in high school. It's rife with political and symbolic meaning, and there's no doubt that Sumner and Brooks felt strongly about the issue. Likewise, for our Lebanese video stars, it's easy to see that Syria is not an abstract notion or talking point or campaign vote-grab. When it comes to fisticuffs, authenticity and sincerity are no longer in question. And that's good.

There must be a way for politicians to show their true beliefs while still using their words (and preferably an "inside voice"). Or maybe not.

It's been 155 years since Sumner was carried from the Senate on a stretcher, but I'm not able to think of a way to judge political sincerity. In the absence of blood, all I have is intuition. Is there a better way to go about it?

Bespeaking of Bespoke

Politics isn't the only arena in which tradition can be forgotten; diction flip-flops too. The word "bespoke" is having one of those moments, and this week I couldn't help but notice a few real crimes against etymology.

First, an ad on my webmail browser pointed me toward the "Bespoke Institute," a company that helps its users find "personal staff," which may or may not mean butlers.

Then, walking near Union Square, I saw a sign for a Definitions gym with quite a slogan: "Creative. Intelligent. Bespoke." It's unclear how gym can be "bespoke," even if their personal trainers are as personal as can be.

Yesterday, the Wall Street Journal announced a new line of Burberry trench coats, Burberry Bespoke. This one seems pretty close to the actual meaning of the word (leave it to the Brits), since customers get to choose what their coats will look like. But no cigar: the coats aren't made-to-measure and Burberry's taste-makers, probably for the best, have veto power over eyesores.

And once you start looking, it's everywhere. Soho's Bespoke Chocolates is nice and all, but there's nothing bespoke about buying sweets out of a glass case.

Bespoke does not mean "expensive and cool." We already have a phrase for that: "expensive and cool." It means made-to-order (which, to be fair, often leads to things being expensive and cool). The word comes from the obsolete "bespeak," which had many meanings, all to do with talking. Speaking to request goods is the only such definition that has survived, although today it's meeting with new challenges to its history.

Of course, custom-made isn't a new trend. For me, and I suspect for many others, the top word-association pick for "bespoke" is "suit" -- and clothing made for the wearer must predate mass-market ready-to-wear, or else we would have been very chilly for many hundreds of years. The Oxford English Dictionary lists the first appearance of the phrase "bespoke tailor" as dating to 1908, with many instances of bespoke cobblers in the decades prior to that. In recent years, the bespoke market has expanded to include not just high-end goods (wedding dresses, fancy drapes, portraiture) but also low-end wackiness. To wit: birthday cards and some great puns.

Which is all fine. Those things are actually bespoke.

This isn't to say that word meanings can't evolve, but it's sad when a perfectly nice word is scrubbed of all meaning. Give bespoke back to the bespeakers -- after all, that's been the custom for centuries!

790 miles, 43 years, and other distances

The longer the Occupy Wall Street protests continue, the more they seem likely to have influence beyond their campsites—and the more that influence draws comparisons to the Tea Party, our other anti-establishment movement. Apparently, those comparisons don’t sit so well with Tea Party machers.

The New York Times reports that those Tea Party spokespeople have begun pointing out differences between the movements by suggesting that Occupy Wall Street will lead to another Chicago 1968 moment, that Zuccotti Park will be the next Grant Park.

But in fact, other than the park-central geography, today’s protests are unlikely to turn out like those of 43 years ago.

• In the months before Chicago 1968, Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy were both assassinated. The Tet Offensive began just a few months before that. As divisive as our economic problems may be right now, today’s protests lack similar specific and shocking national turning points to galvanize participants.
• The Yippie “Festival of Life” that brought many protesters to Chicago in August of 1968 was timed to coincide with the Democratic National Convention. Occupy Wall Street—like the Tea Party—is in opposition to a national phenomenon and, while it has certain location- and time-specific centers, there is no equivalent establishment event to compare to the 1968 DNC.
• While all kinds of people came to Chicago in 1968, the Yippie movement was instrumental in organizing the protests, and there was a Yippie manifesto and platform. Occupy Wall Street has is more diffuse in its leadership and goals.
  
• Bloomberg is not Daley. Plus, the management of Zuccotti Park and the NYPD have, thus far, succeeded at keeping the park free of violence. The Chicago police were making a serious effort to get protesters out of Grant Park. This contrast also underlines the extent to which, despite instances of police violence and overreaction in New York recently, the Chicago riots were distinctly police-versus-protesters, leading to much more volatile atmosphere than we’ve seen recently.

For all these reasons, it’s a good bet that OWS will remain at a constant simmer instead of boiling over quickly, the way things did in Chicago.

One thing the two movements do have in common? The whole world's watching...

Day(s) of Rage

The Occupy Wall Street protests that began this past Saturday can provide a lesson in the potential drawbacks of historical analogy.

The protests, which are intended to highlight perceived injustice in the financial system, are still going. Although things got off to a slow start, with participants dispersing at the threat of arrest for not staying within the designated protest area, the event seems to be picking up steam. Participants have been sleeping out in the staging area, and several arrests yesterday have not ended their enthusiasm.

Some degree of anti-Wall-Street sentiment is not a surprise given the economy, but the organizers of the protest have used history to take their cause to another level. They’re framing the event as a US Day of Rage, an allusion to the 1969 Chicago Days of Rage, which were organized by the radical Weatherman faction of Students for a Democratic Society. That protest was against the war in Vietnam, and featured widespread vandalism and violence.

Comparing this week’s rage to the rage of the late ‘60s poses a few risks for the organizers. For one thing, drawing a Weatherman parallel means associating themselves with a group popularly synonymous with radicalism. It seems to me that a less radical protest with the same anti-banker gist could be widely popular—although who knows whether the organizers want that.

Another risk is that the comparisons with the Vietnam War, something that has come down through popular culture as a subject worthy of protest, can make today’s activists seem petty in comparison. That view is prevalent in the comment sections of articles about the protest, like this one, and it just makes the cause seem irrelevant. (Which isn't necessarily true: saying that you shouldn’t protest something because you should have better things to do, or because there are other problems in the world, is the same as arguing that we can’t fix problems at home and abroad at the same time or that the president should focus on one issue at the exclusion of everything else—the no-multitasking line it’s a frustrating falsehood that’s sadly prevalent in anti-activism thought these days).

On the other hand, if protests against Wall Street end up making a difference, the comparison could be a win. As the fourth day of activism begins, we’ll have to stay tuned.

What do you think? Is this a stupid move or is harkening back to a time in which protests were taken more seriously just seriously smart?

Worth a read: Ta-Nehisi Coates on why history matters...

A Formula One for Safety

Sure, you have to be careful when drawing parallels between “now” and “then”—but that doesn’t mean history doesn’t have important lessons for statesmen and sportsmen alike.

The nine deaths (and many more injuries) that occurred this week at the Reno National Championship Air Races were only the latest in a string of barnstorming tragedies; several other stunt pilots have died in the United States just this summer. The governing body of National Championship Air Races would do well to look to other dangerous sports for advice on improving safety while maintaining the excitement of its events.

And they wouldn't have to look far. Senna, an ESPN documentary about the Brazilian Formula One driver Ayrton Senna, is in theaters right now. It's no spoiler to let on that Senna dies in a race-car crash; he's discussed in the past tense from minute zero of the film, which makes fantastic use of old racing footage and is accessible for even those who, like me, don't know a pit stop from a piston.



But more to the point, Senna's crash in 1994 was the last time a Formula One driver ever died during a race. His death inspired the international federation of automobile racing to institute new requirements for cars and tracks alike, and it worked -- without compromising the fun.

Certainly there's inherent risk in racing, whether the vehicle is a stock car or a biplane. That's kind of the whole point, so some air racing devotees (if this New York Times article is any indication) seem to be wary of ruining the sport through safety regulations. But the thrill of speed and danger relies on getting as close as possible to the edge without stumbling over it. It may be exciting to watch a friend taunt the junk-yard dog and possibly even get a scratch to show for his troubles; it's not exciting to watch him get eaten. So you better make sure the dog's chain is as strong as possible.

Fans and administrators of air racing and air shows should use the history of Formula One for a primer in safety regulations. More vroom and less doom is just as important in the air as on the road.

Earth to Ron Paul: What happened before 1979

Last week’s Republican debate is a fitting place to begin an examination of how Washington can stand to learn from/about its own history. Newt Gingrich even brought it up during the debate, when he mentioned that American children should be obligated to learn American history. To be fair, a) American history is already mandated by most curricula, whether or not children actually absorb the information, and b) Gingrich’s comment came in the midst of a tangent about requirements for citizenship—but still, it’s hard to find fault with a pro-history argument.

The debate was rife with historical claims of varying levels of dubiousness, but one that stood out was Ron Paul’s anti-FEMA logic.



Good question, Congressman Paul: What happened before 1979?

He’s right that we didn’t have FEMA, but that didn’t mean we didn’t have federal assistance for natural disaster relief. We’ve had that pretty much as long as we’ve been around. In fact, Washington has been helping the states out of disaster-related binds since 1803, following a major fire in New Hampshire. (That’s 1803, more than 200 years ago, back when Thomas Jefferson, Ron Paul’s good buddy, was president.)

In the 176 intervening years, a bevy of federal agencies were established to deal with specific problems and solutions. The resulting bureaucracy frustrated the states until the National Governor’s Association—which represents state governments, not federal—suggested streamlining the system. The result was FEMA.

Evidence from the years leading up to the creation of the agency shows support for federal management of disaster relief. For example, in this New York Times article following the 1971 San Fernando earthquake, small town residents are asking for exactly that kind of help.

And here’s the kicker: The then-governor of California, who shows up in that article at a rally for public disaster relief, is Ronald Reagan—the same Ronald Reagan whose presidential library played host to the debate, the Ronald Reagan invoked by the candidates as a paragon of Republican virtue.