Dispatch #36: The Intersection of Politics and Friendship and What the Hell Does This Have to do with Children’s Literature

by Lupe Fernandez

Let’s find out. We drop in on two high school friends on a road trip.

The quarter-pounder wrap crinkles under L_’s foot as he slams the brake pedal.

J_ braces himself against the Vega dashboard. “Watch it!," he says, "Do you know how to drive?”

“Hey, don’t bug me." L_ says. "I’m looking out for the feds.”

“We haven’t even done it yet," J_ says.

“You never know. We could have spies at school.”

“I didn’t tell anybody. Did you?”

“Who me? I don’t have friends.”

The Vega turns onto Telegraph Avenue. J_ looks at crumpled paper with the address for Draft Counseling Center. He peers out the window, searching the street names for Ward Street.

“There!" J_ says. "Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Hey man," L_ says, "this is Berkeley. Like Power to the People and all that.”

“Bunch of long-haired hippies.”

“You’re either part of the problem or part of the the solution.”

“Did you make that up?”

“I wish. It was the rally cry of the Sixties.”

“This isn’t the Sixties.”

“I missed out.”

J_ jabs his finger at a passing sign. “You missed the street!”

“Aren’t you looking?” L_ hunches over the steering wheel to see better out the dirty windshield.

“I’m looking," J_ says. "You’re driving too fast.”

L_ stops the Vega in the middle of the street. A truck behind him honks. L_ maneuvers a U-turn and then a left turn onto Ward street.

“That’s it.” J_ sees the address of a large two story house with steep eves and a wide porch.

L_ parks three blocks away. The boys walk up Ward Street to the house.

“You sure you want to do this?” J_ chews on his thumb nail.

“I don’t want to die killing people that speak my language," L_ says.

“You speak English.”

“The other language.”

“You can’t speak that one either," J_ says. "You’re flunking your foreign language class.”

“It’s not my war.”

“I’m proud of my country. My sister’s in the Army.”

“Good for her. I got a brother in the Air Force fighting the commies from a PX.”

“It’s not funny.” J_ slows his walk and stares at his brown shoes.

“It only gets funny when the Reds invade Disneyland," L_ puts up his palms as if he's surrendering.

“I’m serious," J_ says.

“I have all my body parts and I want to keep it that way.”

“You want somebody else to fight for your freedom.”

“Freedom to what? Invade other countries? It’s Viet Nam all over again.”

“All you do is criticize." J_ trails behind L_. "You hate school. You hate your family. You don’t care about anything.”

“You’re a rule follower. If they say jump, you jump. If they say fight you fight. If they die, you’ll die.”

L_ stop at a sign reading DC Center with an arrow pointing down a set of chipped steps to a basement entrance. The air smells of hashish and car exhaust.

“I don’t want to go to jail," J_ stops several feet away from L_.

“I don’t want to die," L_ says.

Leaves flicker sunset. A lamp clicks on in the basement window. A flower pot sits on a crack step. Laughter echoes from Telegraph Avenue.

The counselor sips his herb tea, listening to the angry young voices outside his office. There’s a scuffle. The flower pot crashes on the steps. The counselor steps outside and stands at the foot of the steps leading up to the street.

One boy remains.

Are they still friends? Should they be?

Dispatch #30: The Politics of Politics

by Lupe Fernandez

“I don’t like politics.”

How many times have I heard some a reasonable person, “I don’t like politics.”?

The word politics conjures up many images.

A cramped, windowless room, hidden in a back alley, filled with fat, sweaty, balding men smoking cigars like candy. They wear suspenders and count greasy stacks of money, boasting of who’s on the take. The unions. The police. The sanitation workers. The mayor.

A sterile corporate boardroom filled with attorneys in expensive suits, sipping imported bottled water and speaking the language of demographics, focus groups, percentiles, market shares and stock market index. The click of electronic devices. The hum of air-conditioning.

Fat talking heads on the Propaganda Channel with flashy graphics, sound bites, sitting around a coffee talking, pretending to be ordinary folk with their designer clothes and expensive jewelry, blaming the current administration for the weather, the war and the price of cheese.

“I don’t pay any attention to politics.”

Do you have pets? I have four cats. They practice feline politics. Sugar is the aging President. She’s the alpha feline, but her health is failing. Bella and Binks, opposing senators, jockey for position as the President-Elect. Duchess, the special needs cat, has the same seniority as Sugar but lacks intelligence and ambition to be President. Bella and Binks screech, scratch and chase each around the house. When Binks can’t harass Bella, he torments Duchess, eats her food, corners her in a room. The President intervenes between Senator Binks and Citizen Duchess, but Citizen Duchess often rebuffs the Sugar’s help. President Sugar doesn’t like to share the sofa or the bed with the other cats. She has a weakness for diary products, even though diary upsets her stomach. Bella likes to lay about and purr. She also urinate on beds, blankets, tables and other inconvenient spots.

Complicated?

That’s feline politics.


According to that hotbed of anarchy, The Oxford Dictionary, one definition of politics is The activities associated with the governance of a country or other area, especially the debate or conflict among individuals or parties having or hoping to achieve power.

Let’s look at basic story structure.

My protagonist or individual wants via activity, debate or conflict to overcome an obstacle. The protagonist needs courage, knowledge – tools of power – to achieve this goal. The protagonist is governed by family, friends, self-awareness, ignorance, secret organization, school, a king, a queen, supernatural forces or a dystopian society.

“I don’t like politics.”

But vote for my book with your dollars.

I, President

Campaign Headquarters

by Lupe Fernandez

I Hereby declare my candidacy for the office of President of the United States. 

My administration will support the Longer Recess, Better Cafeteria Food Initiative. 

If elected I promise to create new cabinet posts: The Department of Conferences, The Department of Critique Groups and The Department of Promotion. 

I will set our foreign policy to promote Children’s Literature across reading-loving countries. The Air Force will drop pictures books into anti-picture book countries. The Navy will sail the seven and a half seas – the melting North Pole counts as half a sea – and leave a book in every port. The Army and Marines will conduct house to house searches of book shelves to make sure they’re stock with the classics. 

Middle Grade Constituent

On the domestic front, my administration will create the No Book Left Behind program. No more remainders, orphans or out-of-print. 

My administration will raise the minimum wage for struggling writers so that they can achieve the Great American Dream – hiring a baby sitter to have time to finish the manuscript. 

The first act of my administration will be to open a Children’s Literature Library in the White House with a café serving milk and cookies, and a nap area. 

But I need your help with the campaign. A strong slogan is needed to communicate to America my narrative of the future.

Examples: 

Read My Book: No New Adjectives

Where’s The Plot?

It’s Page 1 in America

America’s Business is The Publishing Business

Tippecanoe and Illustrations, Too!

I Like Series.

Remember My First Book

Give Me a Cover I Like, or Give Me Death!

Whip Split Infinitives Now!

If you have any slogan suggestions, let us know. This is about you, the Children’s Writers of America.

Patriotic Cookie

This post was paid for by Imaginary Citizens for the Election of The Mexican-In-Residence.