In those old, black-and-white ~jungle adventures, the bad news for people caught in quicksand got worse. The more they struggled, one hapless soul would remind the other, the quicker they would sink.
Quicksand was always the most vague - hence, the most threatening ~- of movie dangers. The thought of sinking slowly into a bottomless pit of ooze was enough to make you steer clear of jungles outside the screaming distance of Tarzan.
Since the people in movies were usually rescued in these instances, the quicksand concept was never fully defined. Maybe quicksand was not the ominous pit moviegoers were led to believe. Maybe, you sank five feet down and hit bottom, then just stood there shoulder deep in the muck until you decided to walk out.
And then there was that business of hurting your chances for survival by struggling against the elements. What is that about? Put it this way: if I ever get caught in quicksand, I'm not going spend my last moments on Earth standing motionless in the passive hope some half-man, half-ape is going to show up and jerk me from the jaws of doom.
Interestingly, the quicksand idea is far more pervasive these days on the political landscape than on the cinematic one. On matters of public policy, political leaders have adopted a strategy of forcing people to struggle against themselves.
This has gone on in the corridors of government for years. In most cases, politicians are simply pigeonholing other politicians in a deception of postures.
It has not been uncommon in Congress for lawmakers of one political party to propose broad legislation that contains elements totally and obviously at odds with the philosophy on those on the other side of the aisle.
The legislation perhaps with a "hard-to-dislike" exterior appeal but with some down-deep problems is unveiled to the citizenry and it is left for the opposition party to say, "Now, now, not so fast" ... and look like bad sports in the process.
Thing is, officials have now gone public with this strategy.
In Missouri, the cry has gone out from educators that more money is needed for the state's public schools. Teachers have rallied on the Capitol steps, they have nudged their representatives, they have talked themselves into a state of agitation about the inadequacy of money for their profession.
Much of the agitation was directed at Gov. John Ashcroft, who was accused of being only a mouthpiece for schoolhouse betterment. When Ashcroft finally moved in the direction teachers wanted him to, talking about more money for education, he did so while attaching some strings: the governor wants longer school years, greater accountability, freedom for students to pick their schools, and so on.
Legislators backed him up and so did business leaders. The National Education Association gritted its teeth. And Ashcroft called forth: "Are you teachers going to be the ones to shoot down a chance for more educational funding?"
In Washington, George Bush faced the prospect of replacing the U.S. Supreme Court's only black justice, Thurgood Marshall. At the president's discretion, civil rights groups could have again seen a high court where no persons of color are allowed a seat.
It didn't happen, but the civil rights community wasn't kicking up its heels. Bush nominated Clarence Thomas, a black man with an "up-by-the-bootstraps" background who saw the civil rights struggle from the ground level. What he doesn't see are many of the arguments of current civil rights leaders.
So the president held forth the carrot and stick. The question from the White House to civil rights groups: "Are you going to be the ones to oppose a black nominee for the nation's highest court?"
Is this hardball politics, blatant coercion, blackmail ... or just quicksand?
The more you struggle, the worse you make it for yourself. Where's Tarzan when you need him?
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