I Found A Peanut: Intolerance in the Name of Tolerance

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Intolerance in the Name of Tolerance

I don't read Cal Thomas very much. But in this provocative editorial, he makes a good point: is free speech really free if it isn't extended to all points on the political compass? If one can be tolerant of a dictator and terrorist supporter, why isn't the same tolerance extended to American conservatives in America?

Some may find what he says to be fightin' words. Others might find his words to be challenging words. But overall, we need to ask: is the newest form of intolerance specifically targeting conservatives, or even moderates, in favor of the far left? This, I think, will be an important issue in the upcoming presidential campaign.

I would not be as bothered by Columbia University's decision to host Iran's President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad if Columbia and other universities had a consistent policy toward those they invite to speak and the rules applied equally to conservatives and liberals; to totalitarian dictators and to advocates for freedom and tolerance.

Any conservative who has ever tried, or actually succeeded, in speaking on the campus of predominately liberal academic institutions knows it can resemble to some extent the struggle experienced by African Americans when they attempted to desegregate lunch counters in the South during the civil rights movement.

Source: realclearpolitics.com

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The Peanut Man

The morning is cool, a mist rising off the land. Just past dawn, still sleepy. But you're moving on down the road anyway.

There, under the trees, steam rising from the boiling pot, blending into the wisps of fog. The peanut man.

With the sun still barely tipping over the rounded earth, and the early morning cries of birds, the crossroads up ahead, you think: what did Robert Johnson first see when he met up with the devil? The fire glows hot as the peanut man smiles, chanting "hot boiled peanuts, fresh, sack 'em up. Hot boiled peanuts."

He hands you the sack, wet, hot, tempting with the fullness of hot boiled peanuts. You both smile, changing your money, fragile slip of paper, for what he has to offer: heat, a crunch, a taste like no other, the peanut, extraordinary food.

You hop back in your car. If you're smart, you find plenty of towels, paper or otherwise. Peanut bag goes in your lap, warming you.

Scoop out a hot boiled peanut. Here's where the juice begins, for real. If you know hot boiled peanuts, you don't crack open the peanut and transfer the meat to your mouth.

No, put the peanut in your mouth. Bite down. The warm, salty water, rich with the taste of peanut rushes across your tongue.

Lap your tongue around the peanut and shell. Suck. This is what life tastes like, meaty, salty, and warm, rich.

Remove peanut and shell, extract peanut. Toss shell somewhere. Return peanut, bare, naked, to your mouth. Taste it fully as you chew, the earthy taste of the simple peanut. Packed with protein, served with panache in that cradling shell, the peanut is about as good as it gets in the simple goodness of life.

If you've found a peanut, a whole bag of hot boiled peanuts, you've found food, warmth, sustenance, an entire culture, and something to muse about as you journey on.

Not to mention peanut shells to throw at your brother or buddy. Doesn't matter. The essence is the peanut, rich, rolling in the currents of history, from the Delta to the dawn of a new techno-millenium.

Brother Peanut is going along for the ride. And the peanut man, he'll always be out there, somewhere. No matter how long or hard the trip, suddenly, you round a curve, and there he is, smiling over his pot.

I Found A Peanut

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Intolerance in the Name of Tolerance

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The Peanut Man

Think I'm doing a good job? I'd love some fresh tea, thanks!

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