Paula
Lavigne
America, Inc.
UPS strike helps to reveal true
power of US. corporations
The American flag has adjusted to the growth of the
nation from the 13-star design used during colonial
times to our present-day 50-star, red, white and blue.
And if our star-spangled banner is supposed to change
with the nation, there’s only one obvious style left.
Corporate sponsorship.
I think we’re in a perfectly natural environment to
offer the flag up for advertising. We could snuggle a
logo somewhere on the blue field or put some nifty com
pany jingle on the white stripes. The “Star-Spangled
Banner” brought to you by Ford. Hey, patriotism sells.
Or do we sell our patriotism?
I’m just kidding about the corporate sponsorship (as
Francis Scott Key rolls in his grave), but it illustrates an
important point on who really moves the world and who
can bring it to a screeching halt. A perfect example of
this would be events of the past few weeks.
While President Bill Clinton’s signature on the bal
anced-budget amendment was lauded in White House
ceremony and declared one of the great advances of
America, I doubt very many Americans really cared
much beyond the headline. The amendment is supposed
to have an impact on Joe Citizen, but whether that
impact will be something visible or even tangible
remains to be seen. And it probably won’t be seen for a
while.
It took a lot of negotiating among the nation’s high
est-ranking political officials to come up with some
thing like that. Yet, like I said, it’s prominence has
already faded. Joe Citizen doesn’t usually lounge on the
White House lawn.
But when Joe Citizen can’t ship $50,000 worth of live
lobster from Boston to Walla Walla, Wash., by tomor
row, there’s one mad Joe Citizen who wants to see some
action. And when he reads the front page, the balanced
budget amendment is going to pale in comparison to
what’s going on with the United Parcel Service strike.
What the UPS strike shows us is how much we live at
the mercy of corporate America. Each day’s news shows
how the UPS is hurting everyone from the CEO who
hopes he doesn’t lose a multi-million dollar deal because
a shipment of 6,000 computer parts is stalled in a truck
somewhere, to a bride-to-be who hopes she gets her
dress before a Saturday wedding. Hospitals are frantic
because they’re not getting medical supplies. Farmers
are worried because their equipment might not arrive in
time for harvest.
And students may be worried when they’re supposed
to read 30 pages in a textbook from a shipment that still
hasn’t reached the bookstore. Their back-to-school plans
may be bogged down when they can’t ship their lava
lamp and 40-gallon aquarium from mom’s basement to
Abel Hall.
This isn’t some curse handed down from the federal
government. This is thousands of employees from a pri
vate company going on strike and holding up 80 percent
of the nation’s shipping industry.
This is America. Feel patriotic? Order as many flags
as you can, but don’t expect someone to mail them to you
all at once. The U.S. Postal Service, operated by the U.S.
government, takes only four packages at a time. And it
just can’t keep up.
Lavigne is a senior news-editorial major and the
Daily Nebraskan 1997-98 editor.
Haney’s
View
I
,1
*^
■4|
UPS^
Matt Haney/DN
Jessica
Kennedy
Tick-tock
Despite desire and logic, biological clock keeps ticking
As he entered, his big baby blues
searched the room for a familiar face.
Upon noticing his entrance, women
slowly moved to surround him,
swooning at his presence. The
women, normally calm and sophisti
cated, weakened at the sound of his
childish laugh.
That’s an inordinate amount of
power for a three-month-old and a
reality for most twenty-something
women. The call of the biological
clock, as my friends and I are discov
ering, is loud, penetrating and diffi
. cult to ignore.
We met Joey at his uncle’s 21st
birthday party. The entire room of
flirty, playful women became a gag
gle of cooing, ogling wannabe moth
ers. Since that fateful incident, my
roommate and I have frequently dis
cussed the resounding thunder of our
awakened biological clocks.
I’ve always known that I wanted
children sometime down the line;
after graduation, after the start of my
career, after a few years with my
spouse - alone. I always figured the
decision to have children would be a
fully logical and rational one. Ha!
With that initial, quiet, even unas
suming tick-tock a few years back,
my desire for rational decision mak
ing was to be slowly eroded. Facing
graduation this December and the
prospect of “growing” up, the tick
tock has grown into a body-shudder
ing, mind-clouding urge. Seeing chil
dren on the street or, gasp, holding a
small child, turns me into a cooing
fool.
My roommate and I used to joke
about who of our friends would get
married first and have kids. As of late,
that discussion has rapidly progressed
into serious conversations about
who’ll have kids first, how many and
the pros and cons of family size. Our
evening walks are filled with debates
aooui ine Daiance or ramny, careers,
economics and world population.
Our mothers remind us “there’s no
rush,” a sentiment we eagerly reaf
firm.
There’s never a rush until you’re
walking down the street or through
the zoo and a beautiful, wide-eyed
child flashes you a big, warm smile.
No rush until a baby or child falls
asleep in your arms. No rush as you
slowly begin to understand there’s
something bigger, more powerful out
there than our little lives.
For a few of my friends, the tick
tock falls on deaf ears. For these
women and men, there is no room in
their lives for children — not ever or
not for a long time. Sometimes I am
jealous of their ability to focus, but
then I think how lonely I would be
without the chaos, also kiiown as chil
dren.
The call of parenthood (for men as
well as women) is magical. It sneaks
up on you, embraces you, opens your
eyes and warms the heart. The gears
of the biological clock have been
patiently turning since before memo
ry. The entire phenomenon is com
pletely beyond humankind’s control. I
see the need to create life as the num
ber one reassurance that there is some
greater power out there.
Biologists, nhilosonhers and athe
ists can pooh-pooh my sentiments all
they want or credit my feelings to
chemical processes, I don’t really
care. All their science and all their
theories can’t explain to me the com
plete and utter surrender that occurs
within me when a baby gazes loving
ly and trustingly up at me.
In the end, Mom is right...there is
no rush. School needs to be finished,
a career started and a husband found.
But in the meantime, the biological
clock keeps getting louder.
Kennedy is a senior advertising
and broadcasting major and a
Daily Nebraskan Summer Edition
columnist.