EXCLUSIVE: ON BOARD THE U.S.S. JOHN F. KENNEDY WITH THE SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
We've used this space to take several pokes at the U.S. military-industrial establishment. Last year we even took Spike Lee to task for creating TV spots for the U.S. Navy. That's why we feel compelled, in the spirit of full disclosure, to report that we spent the 4th of July in the belly of the beast (well, on the flight deck of the beast): aboard the U.S.S. John F. Kennedy, in New York Harbor, attending a dinner hosted by Secretary of Defense William S. Cohen and watching fireworks.
We were among 300 guests. The ship had hosted 3000 earlier in the day, when President Clinton was aboard for the International Naval Review, but all of those people had been ferried off by the time we arrived for dinner, except the President, who'd been helicoptered off. It was an honor to be invited-- and we felt it important to go, because we didn't think there would be too many other representatives of the urban media there (and there weren't, although we did see and chat with the likes of Deepak Chopra, John Glenn, Dr. Ruth, Gary Hart, F. Lee Bailey, and Charles Rangel). We did feel a bit morally conflicted, as some of the other guests might have felt, especially when we were treated to a slightly scary, after-dinner performance of the Navy's silent drill team-- ten dudes spinning bayonet-tipped rifles with balletic precision. But we wanted to be there, finally, because we thought it would be interesting to see what it was like spending a few hours in the absolutely safest place on earth.
And it was interesting. Safe felt... fun, while we were there, anchored midway between the Statue of Liberty and Governor's Island, on an aircraft carrier that's a fifth of a mile long, with a crew of 5200. Helicopters patrolling overhead. Guarding on all sides (and somewhat below us, since the Kennedy is as tall as a 20-story building), other U.S.
warships, Coast Guard and NYPD vessels, teams of mysterious, all-black amphibious-looking things, and about 50,000 other craft, some belonging to the media. On deck, parked, a helicopter, a jet-- and a buffet, a bar, and a dance band. Privileged conversations unshielded from eavesdropping. Secret Service on the periphery, along with other security types (door staff at clubs take note: security for the Secretary of Defense is tight but genial). We were a little disappointed, by the way, when our Pentagon security clearance came through without a hitch, the day before. Clearly, our anti-establishment op-ed pieces haven't been transgressive enough.
The fireworks were OK. No radio on deck made us feel a little distant. The amazing parts of the day were: travelling by launch from Pier 78 to the Kennedy, down the Hudson, facing the massive, up-river parade of boats; arriving at the Kennedy and stepping into the cavernous hangar deck (like Captain Kirk coming on board the refurbished Enterprise in Star Trek II, or was it Star Trek IV); the orzo salad with scallops; the intense dedication we saw in each man and woman in uniform, whether wielding a weapon, a walky-talky, or a serving spoon.
In the street afterwards, when we were walking to the subway, after being ferried back to Pier 78 (bar still open all the way, thank you), we came across a guy playing solo electric guitar. To the delight of exhausted sidewalk-partiers, this guy was doing the famous Hendrix fucked-up "Star Spangled Banner," a work of pure genius that, to our ears, seemed to be asking ask how long America would need to continue seeing itself as an exclusive dinner party floating in a sea of protective hardware. We tried to focus on this as we hopped onto the A train-- but damn if we couldn't get the insane fun of military privilege out of our mind....
We were among 300 guests. The ship had hosted 3000 earlier in the day, when President Clinton was aboard for the International Naval Review, but all of those people had been ferried off by the time we arrived for dinner, except the President, who'd been helicoptered off. It was an honor to be invited-- and we felt it important to go, because we didn't think there would be too many other representatives of the urban media there (and there weren't, although we did see and chat with the likes of Deepak Chopra, John Glenn, Dr. Ruth, Gary Hart, F. Lee Bailey, and Charles Rangel). We did feel a bit morally conflicted, as some of the other guests might have felt, especially when we were treated to a slightly scary, after-dinner performance of the Navy's silent drill team-- ten dudes spinning bayonet-tipped rifles with balletic precision. But we wanted to be there, finally, because we thought it would be interesting to see what it was like spending a few hours in the absolutely safest place on earth.
And it was interesting. Safe felt... fun, while we were there, anchored midway between the Statue of Liberty and Governor's Island, on an aircraft carrier that's a fifth of a mile long, with a crew of 5200. Helicopters patrolling overhead. Guarding on all sides (and somewhat below us, since the Kennedy is as tall as a 20-story building), other U.S.
warships, Coast Guard and NYPD vessels, teams of mysterious, all-black amphibious-looking things, and about 50,000 other craft, some belonging to the media. On deck, parked, a helicopter, a jet-- and a buffet, a bar, and a dance band. Privileged conversations unshielded from eavesdropping. Secret Service on the periphery, along with other security types (door staff at clubs take note: security for the Secretary of Defense is tight but genial). We were a little disappointed, by the way, when our Pentagon security clearance came through without a hitch, the day before. Clearly, our anti-establishment op-ed pieces haven't been transgressive enough.
The fireworks were OK. No radio on deck made us feel a little distant. The amazing parts of the day were: travelling by launch from Pier 78 to the Kennedy, down the Hudson, facing the massive, up-river parade of boats; arriving at the Kennedy and stepping into the cavernous hangar deck (like Captain Kirk coming on board the refurbished Enterprise in Star Trek II, or was it Star Trek IV); the orzo salad with scallops; the intense dedication we saw in each man and woman in uniform, whether wielding a weapon, a walky-talky, or a serving spoon.
In the street afterwards, when we were walking to the subway, after being ferried back to Pier 78 (bar still open all the way, thank you), we came across a guy playing solo electric guitar. To the delight of exhausted sidewalk-partiers, this guy was doing the famous Hendrix fucked-up "Star Spangled Banner," a work of pure genius that, to our ears, seemed to be asking ask how long America would need to continue seeing itself as an exclusive dinner party floating in a sea of protective hardware. We tried to focus on this as we hopped onto the A train-- but damn if we couldn't get the insane fun of military privilege out of our mind....
posted by Lucia Toledo at 9:15 AM
1 Comments:
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