I was recently
reminded of the passing of Joe Bageant. Joe was an unusual sort, best known for
a book called Deer Hunting with Jesus. Joe was raised poor, a working class
southerner. At some point in his life he developed leftist leanings, went off
and received a good education and became a magnificent writer. However, Joe never
fully forsook his roots; the people, the plants, the animals, the soil, the
smells, the blood, and the spirit of the South remained alive in his heart and
soul and sprang to life in his words, despite having left that world behind.
Over the years
Joe became disillusioned with the intellectual elite of the left as well as
hard right Capitalist barons, both of which seemed exceedingly willing to allow his kin to
work in poverty, trapped by ignorance: to fight the wars, feed the mouths, man the
mills, and toil in mines for minmal compensation, only to be discarded when bodies
failed. For the biggest part Joe's kin were unwilling to take handouts,
preferring to earn the meager life they had, a hard and proud people. He admired
them for these traits, yet simmered in anger at those that took advantage of
their ways.
Most of Joe’s
kin considered themselves libertarian minded when it came to beliefs in governance,
but in actuality, were very much practicing socialists on a local scale, though
they’d be loathe to admit that fact. They shared meager provisions with neighbors,
lending helping hands when needed. They did charity work through churches and
local organizations like unpaid volunteer fire departments, coaching little
league teams, or conducting charity drives and bake sales for any number of
good causes.
Joe traveled and
lived in Mexico and Belize in latter years, finding other poor hardworking
people, differing in color and language but similar in spirit to those he grew
up with. He joined them in their daily lives. Over time he became less hopeful
of political solutions; his tone became bitter and angry, but all the while,
cognizant of the great capacity humans have to love and care for each other on a
personal scale. Joe documented random acts of kindness and sharing and savored
what he could of the simple world of the poor in all its various manifestations.
He shunned big
money and fame for with that money and prestige comes censorship and Joe refused
to be censored, nor would he toe the party line when the party line lacked
merit.
Joe fought for
the things in which he believed because he gave a damn. He really cared.
It wasn’t some intellectual
pursuit or a game of one-upmanship that spurred Joe to write, it was seeing
others in pain and misery that by damn could have been avoided by more
sensible thinking. He became the voice they did not have.
The opposite of
love isn’t hate. It’s apathy.
Joe cared.
We should, too.
