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.