GADFLY: Carnival Memphis an Anachronism?

Contrarian
though I like to think I am, I’m still a big believer in tradition, at least
some of it. I love traditional weddings, traditional religious services (albeit
as a spectator), traditional symphonies and operas and traditional meals on
holidays (to me, turkey is the “other white meat”). Memphis, I have found, is a
traditional kind of town, with all of its own traditions. Traditional food
(barbecue has become one of my sacraments), traditional restaurants (you know,
the ones people go to not because the food or service are any good, but because
they’ve been going there for a thousand years) and traditional celebrations
(e.g., Memphis In May) are all a part of the ingrained culture of the River
City.

There is, however, a fine line between tradition and
anachronism. There are things in this town whose time may have long since
passed, and yet continued to be observed. The Mid South Fair was one of them, as
its declining attendance indicated, and has died an ignominious and overdue
death, being moved to, of all places, Tunica, Mississippi, a place where many
well-intentioned plans go to die. Another of those anachronisms is a tradition
known as “Carnival Memphis.” It is, in my humble opinion, a pathetic attempt by
the members of what used to be called the “landed gentry,” the remnants of
Memphis’ feudal society (what the sociologist C. Wright Mills called the “power
elite”) to preserve (more accurately, revive) the memories of the antebellum
South, with all of its attendant pomp and circumstance, but worse, with all of
its caste-like exclusivity, privilege and elitism.

Carnival Memphis has something of a checkered past. It
started out as a celebration of the place of “king cotton” in the city’s
commerce, and indeed, started out being called “Cotton Carnival.” It was always
a whites only event (except for the parts that allowed the hoi-polloi to stand
on the outside looking in, like at the increasingly pitiful—and, thankfully,
now defunct—Mardi Gras-like parades Carnival sponsored where the
haves—almost exclusively white—would throw worthless trinkets from their
lofty, mobile perches to the have nots—almost exclusively black— waiting
anxiously along the parade route). The whole ceremony of “Carnival” is one in
which the social stratification is painfully evident, as the erstwhile
plantation owners celebrate their power and privilege, while the surrogate field
hands are forced to press their noses to the window. After all, how would cotton
ever have become king without the characters in that drama knowing, even if not
being totally comfortable with, their respective roles.

Oh sure, at some point the powers-that-be recognized the
awful appearance of this celebration of white dominance (if not supremacy), and
let a minority “krewe” into the festivities. Hell, they even started “honoring”
minority businesses and activities, as they did this year by honoring http

two of Stax Records’ most notable (and black) celebrities, but this was, at
best, an exercise in tokenism (and a certain amount of guilt asuasion). At some
point, perhaps when cotton lost its luster during the market scandals of the
90’s (or lost its position as the “king” of all textiles), the decision was made
to drop the word “cotton” from the name of the celebration. To this day, even in
the publicity for the various events associated with this festival, you will
search in vain for any mention of the word cotton. Yet, the tradition lives on,
even if its raison d’etre doesn’t.

One of the traditions of Carnival Memphis that is alive and
well is the designation of a bevy of young beauties as “princesses” of the
event. Every year our local newspaper features a multi-page spread announcing
the names and displaying the pictures of these ingenues, and this year was no
exception. So I curiously perused the abbreviated CV’s of the “royal court,”
staring out at me, all sugar and spice, from last Sunday’s paper, trying to find
some kind of redeeming value in this exclusive enterprise. One of the designees
actually listed membership in her school’s “frisbee club” as an achievement, and
many of them give what seemed to be an obligatory nod to one or another
beneficent or eleemosynary activity, more, I suspect, as an exercise in resume
polishing than anything. I don’t blame, or want to denigrate these young women.
They don’t know any better. They were born and bred to take their place in this
throw-back ceremony, much as thoroughbred horses are bred to run around mile
long dirt tracks. Their pedigrees, also prominently displayed along with their
pictures, proudly announce all the members of their immediate (and
not-so-immediate) families who participated as “royalty” in Carnival
celebrations gone by.

Of course, the first thing that jumped out at me from the
display was the fact that, with one notable (and somewhat sore-thumb-like)
exception, all of the young women whose smiling visages look out from the pages
of the paper, were white, and lily-white at that. I have to admit, that startled
me. Oh sure, I know there are vestiges of official discrimination left in this
city, including country clubs that have, since time immemorial, excluded
minorities from their membership, and even large companies who are sued on a
nearly daily basis for violating anti-discrimination statutes.

Tokenism is alive and well in Memphis, whether it’s the
exception made to the rule for a sole minority member of an exclusive country
club, or the exception made to the rule for the sole minority ingenue to an
event that celebrates the separation of the races. But an event that proudly,
even chauvinistically, celebrates the unbearable whiteness of being? What are
these people thinking? And, as if to emphasize the shameful heritage of this
celebration, I couldn’t help but notice how many of these accomplished young
women, who could probably attend prestigious schools in other areas of the
country, chose to attend college in Mississippi, a state which still, in many
ways, hasn’t overcome its history of racism, the best examples of which are its
recently-departed United States senator singing the praises of the
segregationist, Strom Thurmond, or its current governor, Haley Barbour, who
achieved his office, in part, by

failing to disassociate himself from a white supremacist organization and
wrapping himself in the Confederate flag.

I’ve been participating in an exercise in racial
reconciliation for the past two months, called “Common Ground.” It is a program
of structured dialogues among multi-cultural members of the community designed
to explore the causes of racial division and strife in our community (and
goodness knows, there’s enough of that to explore) and, hopefully, to come up
with some kind of action plan to improve that situation. And here, in the middle
of this constructive attempt at racial understanding, tolerance and acceptance,
comes this big, fat example of everything that’s wrong with the racial attitudes
of this community. There is a giant disconnect when an event like “Carnival” can
be trumpeted, even as our country is celebrating its embrace of the concept (and
indeed the reality) of diversity with the elevation of the first black candidate
for the presidency of our country.

But then again, some traditions in this town die harder
than others. After all, cotton may no longer be king, but at least Elvis still
is.