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The A-List: 02.07.03

This week on the A-List:

1. The People Could Fly: R.I.P Columbia
Buried early in the chronology of things the A-List wanted to be when we grew up --cosmologist, fighter pilot, comic book writer, FX expert, professional videogame player, literary theorist, sci-fi novelist, internet columnist --is astronaut. This was back when we were in the fourth grade, an innocent time before we realized that getting to the stars (preferably faster-than-light; we needed to get back in our friends' lifetimes) would not only involve violating basic laws of physics, but would also involve understanding said basic laws in the first place. While the A-List was always one of the smart kids, highly placed in the cohort of bright bulbs, our brilliance was of the flashy verbal sort that, while impressive to teachers of Language Arts, made it hard for us to concentrate on things like numbers or (hypothetically) relativity. As a result, we made a fateful, pre-emptive decision in about the sixth grade that it'd be much more interesting (and fun) to write to stories about black folks in outer space than it would be to flunk out of the Air Force Academy training trying to get there. (When we saw the film version of Tom Wolfe's The Right Stuff we felt confirmed in our choice, over-identifying with ballsy, iconoclastic test pilots like Chuck Yeager, who in the film's fictionalized history of space flight find themselves overlooked by the Mercury program in favor of well-scrubbed, good-two-shoes astronaut/poster-boys like John Glenn.)

Looking back, we recognize that sixth grade moment for what it was: a failure of imagination, the sort of thing that distinguishes the tiny handful of people who are life's actors from the slightly larger handful who are its theater critics. (Of the good people in the audience, the less said of them by critics the better, this despite the fact that it's always the audience's collective tale being acted out on stage.) Presumably, Michael P. Anderson and the other crew of the Columbia did not suffer the failure of imagination that afflicted us, and neither did Ronald McNair, who died in 1986 aboard the Challenger. Black men in fields long viewed not just as the exclusive province of whites, but as the culminating acts of white civilization, they had fought their way into what's likely human endeavor's most exclusive arena because at some point or another they dreamed it was possible, this when there was very little proof to support them. Described almost universally by their colleagues as focused, mild-mannered and even-tempered, these were black men who, like poets working in rhymed verse, were able to make their dreams flower within the rigid structures of institutions and hierarchies. They not only survived in the tightly knit, socially conservative military-industrial culture of the space program, they thrived on teams organized around the grand themes of nation and species, and they died in spectacularly public ways while attending to the banal details of their trade: strap in, watch the dials, walk through the check-list, trust in the technology and your team-mates, wait. In the Buck Rogers fantasies of the A-List's childhood there were no such men as Anderson and McNair. For a black kid from Queens to end up in space, we thought he would have to be abducted by aliens or fall through some kind of wormhole on Jamaica Avenue; that he might end up there by tackling calculus, by going to medical school, or through voluntary military service would have struck us as absurd and naive, in fact it did, at least until the Andersons and McNairs of the world started riding rockets into the sky.

The A-List is not exactly sure what we'd do if we had a chance to do it all over (being a dreamer has its moments) but we do know that that a world with black astronauts is profoundly different than a world without. Somewhere out there is a kid who is mourning the deaths of the Columbia crew by making airplane noises and thinking, Buck Rogers-like, about how he or she would have piloted the shuttle down against all odds. Somewhere else is a kid drawing little squares on a piece of paper and thinking through the composition and placement of the perfect heat-resistant tile. Find the kid with the paper and the squares and nurture and protect her as best you can; she has important work to do where Anderson and McNair left off.

2. A Hero Ain't Nothing But a Street Sign
Say it three times fast: Amadou Diallo. Having gone from anonymous immigrant to symbol in a hail of bullets, Diallo has now become a place as well, namely the newly declared Amadou Diallo Place, Bronx, USA. Before becoming part of New York City's street grid, Diallo's name evoked a rush of (sometimes) conflicting emotions --four-year-old fury, put-to-sleep pain, reluctant joy --and New York officials hope that re-christening the one-block stretch of Wheeler Avenue where the 22-year-old Diallo lived and died will add a new sentiment to the mix, namely peace. The event itself was an object lesson in strange bedfellows. Besides city officials, anti-police brutality activists (the sort of movement folks who rarely grace a government ribbon-cutting) showed up, as did the Rev. Al Sharpton, Diallo's mom and about a hundred locals. Although the A-List finds the logic behind the move appropriate and kind, we have to wonder: what's a street sign compared to the writing on the courthouse wall in Albany, where the four officers who shot the unarmed Diallo got off scot-free? Not much, in our book.

3. Michael, Patron Saint of Children
The three whole hours of prime TV real estate ABC devoted to Michael Jackson this past Thursday will likely be misunderstood as either a scandal or sad spectacle, but contrary to what you will be reading in the papers and on the web, February 6, 2003 could likely be remembered Jackson's greatest triumph. Sure, the three hours were basically devoted to calling him the world's craziest rich man. And yes, during Jackson's heyday, his various television appearances --from award shows to Motown anniversaries --are among the highest rated in history. But neither of these observations compares to the fact that there is no one outside the world of politics and disaster who can command the attention Jackson can just by being weird. The suits at ABC gleefully threw what all assumed would be Jackson's on-screen demolition up against Nielsen juggernauts like CSI and ER, the network secure in the knowledge that even if it lost the ratings war it would win the news battle, the extended sit-down the day's top story after the Columbia investigation and impeding illegal oil war in Iraq. But the interview itself is instead a kind of creepy masterpiece, as Jackson successfully moonwalks the tightrope between coming clean about his habit of sleeping with kids, and coming off thoroughly believable when he claimed that all he does is tuck and cuddle. Jackson was clearly lying about his plastic surgery and seemed unable to manage the basic details of parenting without a nanny's assistance (he had obviously never fed a baby in his life before the feeding staged for Bashir), but on the subject of his non-sexual adoration of children he displayed the kind of visionary fatigue and outrage of a Christian being fed to lions, his worldview so totalizing and secure that he repeatedly and eagerly proclaimed it at risk to life, limb and career: I sleep with kids, and it's non-sexual. Deal with it.

Of course, the main thing such a revelation teaches is not that Jackson is dangerously out of touch (he is) or that there's nothing wrong about habitually taking strange kids to bed (there is), but that Jackson is the world's biggest star. It's an obvious point, but what became viscerally clear on Thursday was that being a global superstar (or, for that matter, a non-sexual-child-sleeper-with-er) calls for a unique mix of arrogance, selfishness and disconnect, for the ability to keep your eyes on what are (at first) highly idiosyncratic prizes long enough for the rest of the world to come around. While the lion-fodder Christians were part of a movement that would in due course change the world, Jackson's effort to save pop culture by hugging a child a night is a religion of one that he remains completely devoted to, despite its being radically out of sync with the rest of the world's mores. That it has brought him no greater punishment or censure beyond the occasional out-of-court-settlement (indeed, it's likely kept him in the public eye he loves so much) is a testament to his stardom, as is the practiced ease with which he ignores everything except his own desires on the matter. Jackson regularly accuses his father of abuse, but his behavior doesn't seem to be that of a grown-up victim, so much as it is that of stunningly spoiled child who has never been forced to face-up to or admit any limitation. After all, Jackson was willing to endure physical pain in order to make his face into what he wanted it to be; what's a few difficult interviews in order to allow him to keep him in a lifetime of kids to tuck in? In his mind he's done nothing wrong, and moreover, the adulation of fans, like the German girls who, at this late date, still melt into incoherent blond puddles at his touch, constantly amplifies the inner voices that must be telling Jackson on an hourly basis that no matter what nasty members of the press say, he is in the right. If anything was truly creepy about Thursday's interview, it wasn't Jackson's singular obsession but his fans, the millions of people (mostly German from the looks of it) who still chant his name despite rumor, scandal, decline and disfigurement. Who are they sleeping with, is what you can't help but wonder.

4. Hip Hop Generation Boycotts Pepsi: Russell Simmons Says Charge!
Russell Simmons and the Hip Hop Summit Network are urgin' the hip hop generation to boycott Pepsi products because the company dumped Def Jam South recording artist Ludacris. (Conservative yahoo Bill O'Reilly assailed Pepsi on "The O'Reilly Factor" for casting the profanity prone rapper in ads.) Now while the A-List is happy to see black folk back in the non-violent protest mind frame (we suggest Russell take it to the next level and order one of his umpteen artists to pen a vicious diss record/commercial for Pepsi rival Coca Cola) it worries us that Russell is merely doing this because of how this affects rap money, meaning his bottom line. The A-List suggests that if Russell really wants to flex some muscle he should look for something that the hip hop generation can relate to. Somehow fighting for million dollar commercial deals doesn't seem like on of them.

5. He's LeBron James and You're Not
While we were finding it tough to cry a river over LeBron James's valiant struggle to keep his high school eligibility AND drive a Hummer AND wear free gear, the A-List has always been a champion of the exploited amateur athlete. We're also highly appreciative of finely elaborated hustle, leaving us pleased as punch to hear that a court has ruled LeBron's gravy train can keep on truckin'. It's more obvious than ever that the metastasizing corruption in college and high school basketball has tainted all interested parties, which is exactly why trying to apply the old rules to young men groomed to break records (shooting percentage, luxury box sales, endorsement) is just an exercise in false piety. Sure, James and his family had their hands out, but the worst thing about their grab was the diclassi bad timing, as whatever it is they took was what was just a taste of the goodies coming to them in six months anyway. Anyone with an iota of insight could see the James scandal (such as it was) coming the day ESPN developed an interest in bringing high school games to national audiences, and although there is something distasteful about his mother using him as collateral in order to take out a loan, the folks with money and who run institutions --the sneaker companies, the sports agents, the clothing merchants, the Ohio High School Athletic Association, St Vincent's-St. Mary's, and the NBA --all have hands that are way dirtier than those of LeBron's family, who at worst are grimed by the stains a lifetime in the PJ's produces.

6. Common is uncommonly sensitive to the rights of animals!
Ex-thug turned black-love pitchman Common, may be appearing in ads for Coca Cola, but don't let it fool you: Common's crunchy. In a new ad for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, he comes out as a vegan, a sort of straight-edge vegetarian who shies away from all meat, dairy and animal products including two of the A-List's faves: honey and leather. The PETA ad, which reads: "Think Before You Eat. Go Veg For Life," shows Common preparing to bite into a veggie burger and it screams "Sensitive Black Boho" about as loudly as the periwinkle blue knit pants he rocks in this month's ESSENCE. (The A-List was so inspired by those pants that we're contacting Nacinimode, the man who knit Common's footless pajama bottoms in hopes that we can get a lime green knit jumpsuit with a giant scarlet "A" for "A-List" embroidered on the buttocks.) Common is not alone among hip hop heads for forsaking meat. Russell Simmons and The Roots have long avoided dead flesh, while Missy claims that becoming veggie helped remove some of the junk in her previously ample trunk. Shoot, we wanna lose weight too, and we would too, if it wasn't for the fact that the thought of Beyonce's face all slick smeared with fried chicken grease after a visit to Popeye's gets our knickers all in a bunch. Until a great body and empathy for the animal kingdom comes in easily swallowed one-a-day pill, we'll just have to satisfy ourselves with VEG LIFE tattoo we're planning to get on the A-List's collective belly.

7. Mandela Criticizes US Actions on Iraq, Accuses West of Disrespecting Kofi Annan
Step back, y'all! There's fire in the old man yet! The A-List was tickled this week to see former South African president Nelson Mandela come out with feisty public rebukes for Bush and Blair's promises to ignore UN recommendations on Iraq. "One power with a president who has no foresight and cannot think properly is now wanting to plunge the world into a holocaust," Mandela said last week. Later, just before Secretary of State Colin Powell unveiled his pro-war show and tell at the UN, Mandela reiterated his statements, "I'm not changing a word, not even a comma, of what I said, because I said so because I believe it," he said.

8. Newly Race-Conscious Republicans Rally Around Right Wing Latino
Just when the A-List is in danger of falling into deep, wretched cynicism about American politics and the prospects for racial harmony, along comes a Mormon from Utah to renew our faith in the basic goodness of humanity. According to the righteous Senator Orrin Hatch (R-UT), Democratic questions about the political opinions --and potential judicial decisions --of sphinx-like Bush judicial nominee Miguel Estrada are, according to colorblind crusader Hatch, merely the actions of folks trying to "smear anyone who would be a positive role model for Hispanics." Preach on, Brother Orrin! It's just like when racist liberals like Anita Hill tried to high-tech lynch poor Clarence Thomas, thereby potentially depriving black children everywhere a positive example of Uncle Tom-ism! I tell you, the A-List is appalled that anyone --anyone! --would ask about the qualifications or potential opinions of a little-known colored nominee whose most notable past experience was as a lawyer in the firm that represented then Republican Nominee Bush in his successful attempt to overcome his little popular vote problem by invalidating the votes of thousands of African Americans in Florida. Yup, we definitelysee an attempt to deprive Latino children (you know, the little brown ones, as Bush pere once famously described his own half-Mexican grand children) of an object lesson in what it takes to succeed in Bush's America! And to think: all this insight from a group of people who never really noticed or believed in racism before! Is this a wonderful world, or what?

9. What's Love Got To Do With Phil Spector?
Like Ike Turner and Suge Knight, Phil Spector knew that great American pop is best produced under threat of violence. Kicking off a bad week for creepy pop geniuses, Spector's arrest for murdering a former actress seems to confirm his longstanding reputation as a dangerous eccentric. Spector wrote some of the biggest hits of the newly integrated post-Elvis era (including the Ronnettes' "Be My Baby" and the Righteous Brothers's "You've Lost That Loving Feeling") and pioneered the girl group concept that has brought black women fame from here to Destiny's Child, but he was also known to have explosive relationships with his artists. His marriage to Ronnette lead singer Ronnie lasted only five years, and punk rocker Dee Dee Ramone alleged that Spector once pulled a gun on him during a recording session argument. What's even wilder than the charges and the fact that he hired OJ's other attorney, Robert Shapiro, to defend him, is the revelation that Spector admitted to suffering from schizophrenia and bipolar disorder in an interview published just weeks ago. We're not going to say the words Bobby Brown, but, damned if we're not thinking them.

That's it for the A-List this week. Check back next Friday for more of black America's definitive list!