Stupid White Men-- and Other Sorry Excuses for the State of the Nation! - Michael Moore [102]
I had something I wanted to say about Ralph Nader.
My relationship with Ralph is a complicated one. I had once worked in his office back in the late eighties. He had given me a job when I was unemployed, and this generous act was something I resolved to never forget.
From my cubicle next to Ralph’s office on the second floor of a building built by Andrew Carnegie, I published a media-watch newsletter, modestly called Moore ~ Weekly. I also started shooting what would become Roger & Me.
Everything was fine until the day I signed a deal with a publisher to write a book about General Motors. When Ralph heard the news of my good fortune, he wasn’t breaking out the $50 cigars.
“What makes you qualified to write a book about General Motors?” he demanded. He also wanted to know by what right I was making this film, why I was spending more time in Flint than in D.C., and why wasn’t that newsletter being published more regularly?
Finally he peered down at me and just shook his head in pity. “Well, you can take Mike out of Flint,” he offered derisively, “but you can’t take the Flint out of Mike.” He asked that I pack up and leave.
I was crushed. I found a place to edit my film and moved on. When the movie came out, as a show of support and no hard feelings, I called Ralph and offered to give his projects the proceeds from my Washington premiere. He refused the offer. Instead, he and an associate trashed me in the New York Times. I was crushed again. Two crushes and I get the message. I didn’t speak to him for the next eight years.
By the late nineties, I figured it was time to give him a call. (I must have been not getting enough rejection in my life.) I invited him and his staff to attend the opening of my latest film, The Big One. They did. I stood in the back of the theatre and watched Ralph having a good time and a hearty laugh. Afterward I had him stand and take a bow, which was received by loud and enthusiastic applause. On the way out I gave him a hug. Ralph is not a hugger—actually, neither am I. I guess I saw it a movie somewhere and it looked cool.
Two years later, I’m sitting on the porch in Michigan minding my own business when Ralph calls and asks that I endorse him for President of the United States. I try not to endorse politicians because—well, for the same reason you don’t—they’re all so slick, they have bad hair, they can’t get through two sentences without telling a lie. Ralph was none of these things, just a cranky genius. In other words, not presidential material. In 1996 he put his name on the ballot and then did virtually no campaigning. It was a big letdown to those who supported him. Was he serious this time? Yes, he told me, this time it was the “real thing.” He was going to raise a good chunk of money, and he was committed to visiting all fifty states. He would have a full-time staff. Lucky them!
I wanted to get off the phone and go back to doing nothing. I didn’t want to get mixed up in all the hoo-ha I knew would come from such a run. But what was my choice? Pretend the country was in great shape? Put my faith in one of the major party candidates who were being funded by the same big shots I spend my time fighting and filming? Sit in Michigan and feed the squirrels?
I couldn’t let Ralph down. He had not let me down a long time ago, and he had never let the country down. If his voice wasn’t heard during this election, then none of the issues we care deeply about would ever get mentioned, let alone debated.
Before saying yes, I decided to send a personal letter to Al Gore, giving him a chance to explain himself and tell me why I should even think of voting for him, considering the Clinton/Gore record.
He sent me back a four-page letter, the kind where the first paragraph and the last sentence are personalized and the rest is spit out at you from a computer. He thanked me for my “provocative letter,” and then