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It is finally official. After a literal tug-of-war between the traditionalists and jingoistic wannabes, Atlanta Airport was christened (yet again!) as Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. Quite a mouthful, eh? But that is if I am ever gonna call it by its official name, I prefer the ATL airport code. The entire ruckus started when Maynard Jackson, the former mayor of Atlanta left for his heavenly abode or at least as supposed by his followers. He had the distinction of being the first black mayor of Atlanta that was slowly rising out of the slur of racial segregations. He was undoubtedly a man who led Atlanta into an era of booming progress, heralded by the 1996 Olympics. But for some, he was just “their” man, in a black skin reminiscent of the raised black fist (flashback to the victory podium in Mexico City 1968 Olympics) to showcase brotha power. But Hartsfield was no little pawn either. He was a man responsible for making Atlanta what it is today – an economic powerhouse in the erstwhile lazy Southeast. The airport deservedly carried his name until the death of Mr. Jackson, following which the color issue sprung back to attention. The black majority wanted the airport named after its savior and the whites wanted to cling on to whatever little was left of a “white” Atlanta.
I simply do not fathom this last minute attention shower following a person’s death. Nobody cares a damn when he is living in solitude or recuperating on his deathbed. But as soon as he kicks the bucket, everyone climbs the proverbial bandwagon to shower the city with monuments in his name. This reminded me of our good ‘ol Bombay (also renamed to Mumbai) where in a particular summer everything under the sun was rechristened as Chhtrapati Shivaji. Undoubtedly he was a great man, but I would care less if I am forced to remember his name while entering any major transit station be it the railways or the airport. I don’t think his royal chhtrapatic humble self would have approved of the renaming spree. Mumbaikars, smart as they are, promptly replaced the VT with CST. No one could have even guessed. I guess breaking free from the shackles of the colonial rule starts from the mind rather than renaming imposing grandoise structures built by those colonial rulers.
For once, I was thankful that I didn’t live inside the Greater Bombay jurisdiction. Who knows, they would have asked me to change my name to Shivaji. As flattering as it may sound, I could have refused under practical grounds of not having a white horse and a sword to flash around. A simple Shiv Sena membership even might have given me those perks but I rather be found dead. Digression apart, so getting back to the city which is too busy to hate, I similarly could care less what the airport is called as long as my luggage is not misplaced and those jerks stop hiking the price of the trolleys.
by Patrix | on Wednesday, October 22nd, 2003 at 1:40 pm | 
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