What's There?

Ignition:

Up about five miles in the air, I look out a window and watch the earth scrolling below. A marvel of modern technology, and a feat of modernity: Commercial Flight. Witnessing the expansive land below safely nestled in my United Airlines seat I begin to absorb a greater understanding of the political economy and modernity (at least in the cultural sense) of the nation. It can't be helped. Everywhere I look now I see a great engine propelling us forward, but with uncertain ends. All of this: the airplane, the stewards, passengers, my small cup of ginger ale, a book about "Main St.": products of a great material state. But where we are being carried to, I do not know.

The Corporate Machine in the Garden:

Where I was being carried from was Michigan. A week earlier I was returning to the Motherland, visiting my parents, and introducing them to my girlfriend for the first time. My parents recently retired and permanently relocated to Roscommon, a very simple bucolic part of the state. Their "new" home is a hinterland ripped from the pages of Jefferson's notes. A place where tall verdant trees environ streets and most stretches of the highways (Mitt Romney even complemented them on their height in the last election). Where you can drink cool clean water from the tap worry-free, and turkeys roam freely at their leisure. Situated between two lakes, the one closest to the home (the same one we visited since I was an infant) is known for its beautiful clear waters, to the north and south, and rivers running to the east and west, this land is truly an American Pastoral.

Though upon returning to this small town Shangri-la I noticed familiar restaurants out of business, vacant lots, and a distinct presence of chain stores. The most obvious one appeared when we needed to purchase groceries for the week. Appearing juxtaposed against the greenness that surrounded it was the enormous Walmart. Even here in Jefferson's Ideal we met the corporate jötunn. It had followed us all the way out into the outer reaches, deeper into the American Mythology, trying to stamp its presence into the consciousness of the people with an avuncular tone whilst exploiting the ideologies of the American Ethos with low unbeatable prices; perhaps well aware of the giant footprint it was leaving, perhaps not.

I wondered if any corporate colossus understood the footprints they make. My answer was: most likely not, but there were a few. One such giant was a Michigan Man: Henry Ford.

Detroit Agonistes:

Ford was not oblivious to the destruction he and his peers' (Edison and Firestone, and then some) business of mechanization was doing to the "Americana" of the nation. That was, in large part, why he returned to his birthplace of Greenfield, Michigan and constructed a living, breathing monument to the American Pastoral he was helping eradicate. In many ways I see Greenfield Village as one of the first attempts from trusts to amalgamate their image with the American spirit. It is not only a place where visitors can tour the courthouse Abraham Lincoln practiced law in, or Noah Webster's home (where he wrote most of America's first dictionary), but also Ford's childhood home, his first factory, Edison's workshop, the Wright brothers' bike shop. The museum shows both the genesis of the United States hand-in-hand with the genesis of electric companies, Ford Motor Co., and commercial airlines.

I have no real objections to showing the innocuous (in many ways wholesome) beginnings of different corporate primogenitors. These corporate entities are, after all, American in origin (although very multi-national nowadays), so to include them in the nation's history is very natural--especially considering their influence during the Industrial Revolution and onward. It is not like they are altering historical records like Stalin. However, Greenfield Village is a palpable representation of companies public relations campaign (at times eerily close to a cult or personality) to ingratiate themselves with the general public. By channeling different aspects of the American Mythology (i.e. the American dream, Main St., the American Pastoral, etc.) trusts gain favor with the public. This strategy helps tremendously when the jötnar lift up their feet and move on, leaving only a footprint of what once was.

Footprints like Detroit.

On the last day of our trip, my parents took my girlfriend and me on a tour of Detroit. I hadn't been back in years. Needless to say, the terrible things one reads or sees about the city appeared true. Traveling down Woodward (the main vain) towards the heart of downtown, I noticed trash littering the sidewalks and gutters. Endless block after block containing abandoned, decrepit buildings or homes, and behind them vast empty lots, the occasional Victorian relic still standing with boarded windows, tall unkempt grass growing (stories of dead bodies being found in them), and the droves of poor black faces walking about with unknown destinations.

We passed The Spirit of Detroit, and he appeared to struggle under the invisible pressure of the city's plight. In the left hand was the god that forsaken him, and in the right was the family that abandoned him. The only places that remained to have any life were Comerica Park (where the Detroit Tigers play), Ford Field (home of the Detroit Lions), and GM's Renaissance Center (headquarters of the motor company, also contains hotels, restaurants, shopping center). But it is a gaunt remnant of its once healthy self.

Detroit is like a dying feral dog. You watch it lying there, haggard and filthy, as it starts to breathe its last breaths. An overwhelming sense of guilt and sadness wash over you.  It watches you with such viridity, its eyes blameless, as it sighs with each exhale. You can't help but feel its death is all your fault. You've played some part in its demise.

Parting Thoughts:

And so as I slowly move through the air, looking down at this nation, I cannot help but think about the jötnar that walk above me. From up in this rarefied place I get a better view and understanding. The giants are even up here. I'm riding in one, sipping some of their product right now.

And that's the real shit-kicker: I participate in all of it. I am embedded. In some cases I really enjoy myself. I love Greenfield Village, and I didn't have second thoughts to purchasing chips and shampoo from Walmart. But when I witnessed Detroit, and saw what happens when the jötnar lift their feet and move on, what those footprints look like, I felt saddened because of the implications. That we are inextricably bound to these giants.

Where can we plant our feet? Where can we step that has not been stepped, or that is not occupied by the jötnar already? Where are we free to live from the shadow of these colossi? The answer I keep coming to is: Nowhere. So I have to assume that is the future. That is where we are heading towards.

And so I ask, "What's there?"