The voice of God
By Brandon Astor Jones
"You tell me whar a man gits his corn pone, en I'll tell you what his 'pinions is." — Jerry
The words above were spoken by a slave named Jerry. When Mark Twain listened, Jerry often shared his wisdom. Jerry wanted to be a minister, and he was perfectly qualified, but history shows that the only pulpit he ever occupied was atop the plantation woodpile.
Jerry was also good at making unusual sounds. The owner of the plantation often thought that Jerry was busy sawing wood, but more often than not, the saw-sounds came from Jerry's mouth. Jerry was a crafty man.
In the essay "Corn-Pone Opinions", published posthumously in 1923, Twain honoured Jerry's philosophical views when he wrote, "... a man is not independent, and cannot afford views which might interfere with his bread and butter. If he would prosper, he must train with the majority; in matters of large moment, like politics and religion, he must think and feel with the bulk of his neighbours, or suffer damage in his social standing and his business prosperities. He must restrict himself to corn-pone opinions — at least on the surface. He must get his opinions from other people; he must reason out none for himself; he must have no first-hand views."
Jerry and Twain were right. Too few people are willing to do much thinking on their own.
While plantations and slaves in the United States no longer exist, in the traditional sense, there are many subtle contemporary variations.
Of course, as long as there are politicians and religion, there will also be woodpiles. The difference is only that these days some of the more willing slaves are highly educated, and they would never think of fooling their owners.
More than a few men and women in Georgia's political and religious community would be well served to read up on the likes of Jerry. Unfortunately, they are too busy trying to please their owners and trying to get into various rooms of the State House. Moreover, they have lost touch with the everyday people of colour who spend every waking hour struggling to get into or keep a little house or apartment to survive in.
Georgia's attorney general, Thurbert Baker, is a man of colour who, I suspect, has had few if any "first-hand views" of anything; he is now atop the state's woodpile. He seeks the favour of voters — let me clarify that: he is seeking the favour of Georgia's ultraconservative white voters. He has been running throughout the state proclaiming a crime emergency.
If truth be told (and that is not likely), crime is down in just about every category. According to Jim Wooten, columnist for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, "Baker travelled the state last week to declare himself meaner than hell and unwilling to take it any more. Henceforth, he emoted, the State Board of Pardons and Parole should abolish parole for 26 violent crimes, including, well, everything more serious than wearing brown shoes with a tuxedo."
I guess we all know where Baker gets his corn pone. Not a lot more needs to be said by the likes of me. I will just let Twain's words speak for a lot of people's feelings:
"A political emergency brings out the corn-pone opinion in fine force in its two chief varieties — the pocketbook variety, which has its origin in self-interest, and the bigger variety, the sentimental variety — the one which can't bear to be outside the pale; can't bear to be in disfavour; can't endure the averted face and cold shoulder; wants to stand well with his friends, wants to be smiled upon, wants to be welcome, wants to hear the precious words 'He's on the right track!' uttered, perhaps by an ass, but still an ass of high degree, an ass whose approval is gold and diamonds to a smaller ass, and confers glory and honour and happiness, and membership in the herd. For these gauds many a man will dump his life-long principles into the street, and his conscience along with them ... And out of it we get an aggregation which we consider a boon. Its name is public opinion. It is held in reverence. It settles everything. Some think it the voice of God."
[The writer is a prisoner on death row in the United States. He welcomes letters commenting on his columns. He can be written to at: Brandon Astor Jones, EF-122216, G3-77, Georgia Diagnostic & Classification Prison, PO Box 3877, Jackson, GA 30233, USA. Brandon and his friends are trying to raise funds to pay for a lawyer for his appeal. If you can help, please make cheques payable to the Brandon Astor Jones Defence Account and post to 41 Neutral St, North Sydney NSW 2060, or any Commonwealth Bank, account No. 2127 1003 7638.]