There’s more that unites us than divides us
A few weeks back I participated in a debate on the subject of reparations. It was sponsored by a civic do-gooder organization called American Public Square and televised, in edited form, by the local PBS station in Kansas City, KCPT.
Knowing that the live audience would be unfriendly and the TV audience less friendly still, I started with a seeming misdirection. I told of how I found myself repeatedly returning to the ’50s station on my Sirius car radio. The other presets – Elvis, the Beatles, the ’60s, Sinatra, conservative talk – did not lift my spirits the way the ’50s music did. In the 1950s, there were no songs like the ’60s’ “Eve of Destruction,” “Ball of Confusion,” or “The End.” No, in the ’50s, there was hope in the air. There was also a certain innocence. A monster 2020 hit like Cardi B’s WAP (look that acronym up on your own) would have been seen as simply monstrous.
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