Posted on 2007-04-21
Thanks to Mary-Mary for the tip. :)
Well, it took the brother 61 years of toilin', totin', boilin' and butlerin' in the big house, but he's finally been promoted. Bruthaman -- Ben-baby -- is now chairman of the board!
Check this out. http://www.unclebens.com/
The man's got his very own office 'n' e'erythang. It seems company executives decided it was time to break away from the stereotypical, iconic blackman-as-house-servant image.
Man, oh man! My brain is reeling. I can't handle all this. It's just too much in one week. I find out Imus has gotten the axe, canned (actually, I saw that one coming), and now I find out the genial, smiling Uncle Ben -- Aint Jemima's cuz -- both of whom I've known since childhood, gets booted from "duh big house to duh bowedroom."
Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?
Yep. It's true. We're in the Last Days for sure. It's global warming. It's cats f*cking dogs and dogs f*cking cats. It's the Apocalypse and Sanjaya winning "American Idol" all at once! We're all doomed!
*running from the room screaming* "Run, Fo-rey-ust! Rrr-u-uu-n!"
But hold up.
"Scree-eech!" *coming to my senses*
Wait one damn minute. Don't grab the freeze-dried rations, hiking boots, blankets, buffalo jerky, water purification tablets, backpack, shotgun, shells, shortwave, cell phone, laptop, Razr, I-Pod, etc., etc., etc., and head for the mountains just yet.
There may be hope yet for the world as we know it. (Hell, yeah, I know it sux, but it's better than a post-Apocalyptic hellhole populated by flesh-eating zombies and monster cockroaches wearin' people suits a la Edgar The Bug in "Men in Black.")
Maybe the world hasn't shifted on its axis. Maybe we're safe and things haven't changed so much after all....
When I reached the website and the images loaded, I noticed a few things. Like that shiny, brass wall plaque to the right of those big, impressive double doors. "CHAIRMAN." That's all it says. No name. Just "CHAIRMAN." And when the doors open, there's this ugly, hideously drab office (but I'll get to that later), with a message overlaid on top of that image in a neat, little black box with white print.
"Hello, I'm Uncle Ben," it begins.
Innocent enough -- right?
Au contraire.
Aside from the fact that my inner vision had me reading, "Hello, I'm Uncle Tom" (and that's no lie; I had to pull up short and go back and read it again), I'm immediately suspicious. This man apparently has no last name. And not only is he still called "Uncle," now the man is using that hated racial slur, used to demean elderly black men back in the day (the equivalent of calling a mature, virile blackman "boy"), self-referentially!
"I'm Uncle Ben"?!! That's like a suited-down brutha striding up to you, confidently extending his hand and introducing himself as "Nigguh Pete."
WTF?
Now what kind of corporate executive or head of anything -- other than yo' momma's sister's family -- goes around calling himself "Uncle" anything? Like, say, "Hello, I'm Uncle Bill (Gates)"? Or, "Pleased as punch to meet you. I don't have a last name (or a mirror, either, apparently; why else would he go out in public with his hair so jacked up?). Shucks, jus' call me Uncka Donald. Come own iyyun an' set a spell"?
How about this one: "I ain't your damned 'Ain't Oprah.' Kiss my $1.5 billion black a**! Security!!!"
But I digress....
Okay. So, I'm up in this office. It's hideous -- brown on brown in brown. Big, homely brown desk. Brown (hardwood) floors. Brown wood paneling. Beige/off-white rug. Blahs all around. It's the kind of office no self-respecting bruthaman with any sense of style or taste would be caught within 40 feet of. There's a brown face on the wall, too, a "portrait" of the new chairman, the only real color in the place -- in more ways than one. It's the spittin' image of the face that smiles out at me from the shelves at my neighborhood Safeway. It's a visage that beams pleasantly and seems to say, "Ha do, ma'am. How may I serve you?"
I note that the name plate on the desk -- again -- has no name. It reads "CHAIRMAN." And I begin to see how carefully thought-out this charade is. They couldn't use a name, because they would have had to call him "Mister" or maybe "Doctor." I guess that simple, conventional courtesy was too radical a concept for the boys on Madison Avenue. It somehow was much easier for these PR wizards to fathom that the public would accept a house servant suddenly and inexplicably being kicked upstairs straight to the boardroom after six decades of loyal service, with no additional training. Dang. Not even night school?
They're right, of course. I mean, gosh. Who would buy that a man who's performed his humble responsibilities with skill and dignity, nearly a half decade after the Civil Rights Movement, would now be accorded the simple dignity of a proper title?
Nor, apparently, could they bring themselves to give the man a last name -- presumably because then they'd have had to change the brand name. But it's not like they'd have had to market "Mistuh Jones'-Mau-Mau-Ain't-Gon'-Shuffle-No-Gottdamn-Mo'-So-Eat-Me-Rice!" Yeah, I admit it has a nice ring to it, but I can be reasonable. "Ben's Rice" would have suited me just fine.
But back to that butt-ugly office. It's interactive. The first thing -- after the nameless name plate -- that catches my eye is that little, brown photographic image on the work table beyond the desk chair.
H-m-m. Lemme see what moves this man.
*click*
I'm whisked around behind his desk, and I'm thinkin', "Cool."
It's almost as dreary from this angle, black and -- what else -- more brown. There's an oatmeal sofa in the background, complete with the obligatory chess set on a nearby coffee table. The all-too-obvious message? "This is no ordinary knee-grow who got his job through Affirmative Action or white guilt" (as in, say, for example, "Golly, we sure are sorry for using you as a demeaning mascot for over six decades."). No, siree, Bob. This is a thinking man!") The desktop is sleek and shiny -- brown marble. Brown leather notebook. Flat-panel monitor.
Wait. Back to that notebook. Let's see whut this brutha b thankin'....
*click*
"FROM THE DESK OF UNCLE BEN -- CHAIRMAN"
"Traversing through Bengal and Doab, I learned that they have an oft-quoted proverb: grains of rice should be like two brothers -- close, but not stuck together. I think brothers should always attempt to be more like my COUNTRY INN chicken & vegetable rice -- tasteful and well-prepared."
WTF? I don't how much Mars (the parent company) paid those ad execs to come up with this silly artifice, but what former butler brutha do you know uses "traverse" -- except maybe when referring to a curtain rod? Or "oft" except in, "Day-um! Dem pigs jus' up an' oft dat brutha when he reached fo' his wallet!"?
Give me a break.
Okay. I'll grant that a brutha should be tasteful and well-prepared. Sounds reasonable -- but ask yourself: is old Ben in a position to speak on the subject? I mean he's about as well-prepared as deep-fried, pickled Minute Rice. And tasteful? You're kiddin' me -- right? His office looks like a colostomy bag blew up in it!
I'd bet new money there wasn't a single, solitary black person involved in this abysmal attempt at a corporate makeover. It's not only completely preposterous, it's an insult to our intelligence.
Let's face it. It was a failed undertaking from the git-go.
I appreciate the sentiment/effort, guys, but lesson one: you can't make slavery and servitude right with trivial window dressing. (Duh.) Lesson two: you can't put a white character in blackface and make him believable. (Bi-ii-ig duh.) Lesson three: If a man can "traverse" through India, play chess and heads a board of directors, he deserves an office befitting his intelligence, sensibilities and status. In short, if you make any man chairman of the board of a major corporate enterprise -- especially a blackman -- and give him an office, you'd bettuh trick that mutha out!
From the article in The New York Times
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/30/business/media/30adco.htmlex=1176868800&en=bf8ac1e66bef8358&ei=5070
that reported the story:
"This is an interesting idea, but for me it still has a very high cringe factor," said Luke Visconti, partner at Diversity Inc. Media in Newark, which publishes a magazine and Web site devoted to diversity in the workplace. "There's a lot of baggage associated with the image," Mr. Visconti said, which the makeover "is glossing over."
"Cringe factor"? Indeed. I've stopped laughing myself sick. Now, I just wanna go, "Ee-uu-uuw."
I feel unclean.
Where are those damned Gold Dust Twins
http://www.geocities.com/~jimlowe/tmoore/golddust.html
when you need 'em?