Just What Is Grumman Selling?

It's not that I didn't take the federal budget problems seriously. I did. But while I watched This Week With David Brinkley in early October, with Vice President Dan Quayle, Sen. Jim Sasser (D-Tenn.), and Rep. Vin Weber (R-Minn.) debating the benefits of capital gains cuts versus raising the income tax rates of the most wealthy by a few points, I had to smile. Actually I got bored.

That is until the commercials came on. Now these aren't your normal commercials for pine cleaner or microwave popcorn -- not on Sunday mornings during the news shows. These commercials really tell me a lot about the current state of the world. And I, for one, don't much like it.

A few years ago, I saw a Drexel Burnham Lambert commercial for the first time. You know the one: "This playground wouldn't have been built if it weren't for the financial security provided by Drexel Burnham." Yeah, we know that security now. There are a lot of schools and bridges and parks that won't be built while middle-class Americans pay for Michael Milken's fun.

Now, of course, we have a series of commercials for major defense contractors. Grumman has some good ones. With "tensions relaxing" because of the demise of the Cold War (a chilling thought for the military-industrial enterprises, I am sure), Grumman has developed a "Technology That Makes Sense Today."

But let's be clear. This technology isn't for freon-free freezers or solar-based room heaters. It's for satellites that "continuously monitor the Earth for ... anti-ballistic launchers" and battlefields for troop movements, as well as for gadgets that aid America in low-intensity conflicts in jungles and deserts around the globe.

In this commercial, Grumman, no doubt unwittingly, reminds "the anti-nuke movement" of something we seem to have forgotten: Thousands of missiles still exist out there and they are pointed at other people. Of course, for the folks at Grumman and the folks on Capitol Hill, that is why we need their satellites. I find it very reassuring to watch Grumman's corporate executives explain that need, much the same way I was reassured in decades past by seeing the Maytag repair person sitting lonely in an office just waiting for the phone to ring.

Not to be outdone, McDonnell Douglas, another defense contractor, advertises the B-2 bomber with Top Gun-type of hype. With air shots that rival the swerves and swoops of a landing at National Airport in Washington, DC, McDonnell Douglas talks about the changing world picture and the instability of the times.

But why are these companies advertising? Are these ads made for Joe Consumer ("Do I pay the rent, buy the kids school clothes, or purchase a B-2?")? Of course not.

Especially in an era when even détente is an outmoded concept, these corporations, and the well-paid elites who staff them, are running scared. Americans want a peace dividend. But the military-industrial complex just isn't ready for that. Just what will these corporations do if peace breaks out?

AND IT'S NOT JUST weapons producers making these commercials. Archer Daniels Midland is offending us by blatantly being what nobody used to want to be. They tell us that they help produce 25 million loaves of bread without being a farmer, 95 million soft-drinks' sweeteners without being a bottler, and beef for the masses without being a butcher.

That's right, they are the proverbial "middle man." By buying low (from the farmer or laborer) and selling high (to the consumer), they are making a fortune without producing anything but a profit. For the last 100 years in this country, political cartoonists have made fun of those who do no work but still make a killing. ADM is bragging about it.

In a time of heightened awareness of debt problems, ADM is proud to announce that sugar prices are lower in the United States than in the producer countries. So even though starving children beg for money in Brazilian streets, we are supposed to be encouraged to know that the system is working so well for us. And it does work well for ADM, one of the richest corporations in the world.

Recently the Sunday morning airwaves have been flooded with pictures of poor timber workers from the Pacific Northwest. These folks and their families are engaged in various normal American activities, like eating around the supper table, while asking the rest of America to remember that "forestry is people too."

The commercial that tugs especially hard on my heartstrings is the one titled "The Luchau Family." Mr. Luchau, a logger, sits in a very meager trailer around a very bare table, pleading with us to worry about jobs while protecting the spotted owl. I want to ask the American Forest Resource Alliance, the sponsors of this series of ads, why they are fighting for a system that keeps their best employees seemingly so desperate.

The final of this series by the AFRA is a thank you to Congress for listening to the stories from timber country. It expresses the hope that the Endangered Species Commission, established by President George Bush, can balance the needs of workers with the needs of the environment. These ads remind me of that old line used by the National Rifle Association, "Guns don't kill people, people do," except I'd change it here to say, "Workers don't destroy the forests, CEOs do."

These commercials do point out the scale of the problem for activists. When the defense industry has an audience for hawking its wares while most Americans are simply wary of ending up in hock, we know where this country's priorities are. And we all are given a window into the minds of the leaders who develop those priorities.

The corporations are trying to buy our support. They hope that if we spend time watching their commercials, we won't flinch when Congress spends our money supporting them.

We need to keep an eye and an ear homed on these 30-second spots on Sunday mornings. And we don't even need to miss church. The videotape machine is a Godsend. Turn it on record, and when you come home, fast forward through all the newspeak of the talk shows and catch the commercials. But don't buy the B-2; it's a lemon.

Bob Hulteen was Under Review editor of Sojourners when this article appeared.