Note: If you wish to receive, via e-mail, (1) my weekly newsletter or (2) daily copies of these posts, write to me at rrbates1951@gmail.com. I’ll subscribe you via Mailchimp for the weekly or email you directly for the daily (your choice). Comments may also be sent to this address. I promise not to share your e-mail with anyone.
Friday
When I was a young child, one of my favorite books was Helen Bannerman’s Little Black Sambo (1899). I forced my parents to read it to me over and over, and to this day I have parts of it memorized. Unfortunately, the fact that “Sambo” became a racial slur means that I haven’t been able to read it to my grandchildren, which is a pity because its plot is great for enhancing a child’s self-esteem. In the course of the story we see Sambo outwit five tigers, each of which threatens to devour him.
Sambo must bargain away his fine suit of clothes, piece by piece, to escape. By the end, however, not only has he retrieved his clothes, but he has entirely turned the tables. He himself has become the devourer.
I’ll explain how in a moment, but I need to explain why I’m bringing it up. At present, the world’s richest man and the world’s most powerful man are having a spectacular falling out after having had—briefly to be sure—what MSNBC’s Nicole Wallace describes as “the most corrupt and superficial relationship in American history.” While the relationship held, they managed to do untold damage to America, but now their competing narcissism has led to a conflagration. No one is sure where this one ends.
Now to the story. Sambo is walking proudly through the jungle since his parents have bestowed upon him a fine set of clothes, including a “pair of shoes with crimson soles and crimson linings” and a large green umbrella. When each tiger threatens our hero—“Little Black Sambo, I’m going to eat you up”—Sambo gives away first his “beautiful little red coat,” then his “beautiful little blue trousers,” then his shoes, and finally his umbrella. When the last two tigers initially reject his offer (two shoes for four feet, no way for a tiger to hold an umbrella), Sambo quickly comes up with ingenious solutions.
As each of the tigers strives off with one of Sambo’s possessions, he proudly announces, “Now I’m the grandest Tiger in the Jungle.”
Which, of course, is how both Trump and Musk see themselves. And as in the story, there’s room for only one grandest tiger.
The consoling message here, for those dispirited at how the country we love is being trashed, is that we have but to wait. The destroyers will destroy themselves. Here’s what Sambo witnesses from his hiding place behind a tree:
[H]e saw all the Tigers fighting, and disputing which of them was the grandest. And at last they all got so angry that they jumped up and took off all the fine clothes, and began to tear each other with their claws, and bite each other with their great big white teeth.
At this point, each tiger grabs another tiger’s tail, leading to a climactic conclusion:
And the Tigers were very, very angry, but still they would not let go of each other’s tails. And they were so angry, that they ran round the tree, trying to eat each other up, and they ran faster and faster, till they were whirling round so fast that you couldn’t see their legs at all.
And they still ran faster and faster and faster, till they all just melted away, and there was nothing left but a great big pool of melted butter (or “ghi,” as it is called in India) round the foot of the tree.
Sambo gets his clothes back and his father, returning from work, collects the ghi in a big brass pot he happens to be carrying. In her turn, Sambo’s mother uses it for pancakes. In this eating drama, Sambo gets the last bite:
And then they all sat down to supper. And Black Mumbo ate Twenty-seven pancakes, and Black Jumbo ate Fifty-five but Little Black Sambo ate a Hundred and Sixty-nine, because he was so hungry.
Sadly, winning back America will take more that watching its oligarchs fight amongst themselves. Still, the two are exposing vulnerabilities that patriots can exploit.
