On Cigars As Tool of the Corporate Bankster Fat-Cat Regime (but not really)

“Well he puts his cigar out on your face just for kicks
His bedroom window is made out of bricks
The National Guard stands around his door
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more”

Picture if you will an unflattering caricature in a political cartoon. Is he callous, caring for nothing else save the oodles of cash he will reap at the expense of the poor? Put a cigar in his mouth, render him a ''fat cat''. Perhaps we need a villain in a film, a mob boss with lips pressed into a cruel smile and flanked by amoral cutthroats?   Complete the motif by having him chomp a cigar.  Is a fellow plucked from rags to riches now surrounded by new-found opulence,  fame, and comfort? Light a cigar, of course.

The stereotype of the cigar smoker as a wanton expositor of wealth, crooked politics, and greedy behavior is a stigma that is false and unwarranted. Yet it permeates our culture to the extent that this caricature is unmistakably bound to anyone who happens to smoke a cigar. It is seen as an activity limited to those who are [and those who wish to be] upper-crust, puffing away in self-indulgence as the masses toil, or as a sign of political wheeling-and-dealing at the expense of the public good.

This view could not be further from the truth.

We cigar smokers are as diverse as the nation we live in. We are not all pinstripe-suited Wall Street executives or political mavens, though we welcome them  into our community as a haven from those who would cast them as villains in some class warfare passion play. We are blue-collar workers, like the thousands of truckers who smoke cigars on their treks across our country. We are men and women at the vanguard of preserving our freedoms in far-away lands, a cigar a respite from the terrors of war and the agonizing “hurry up and wait” of military life. 

We are suburban fathers who wind down a long work week with a smoke on the golf course. We are musicians and writers, penning our gifts to the world with smoke curling from the cigar in our ashtray. We are starving students and young professionals, hobbyists of a myriad of flavours, types, and nuances of cigars. We are men and women of all races, creeds, politics, and orientations who enjoy an artisanal product among family, old friends and soon-to-be friends, not latter-day barons or avaricious elitists.

Contrary to public perception, our hobby is not expensive, nor are we a closed bunch, seeking to bar newcomers. We welcome all who are willing to share a story a two, laugh through trying times, and become more knowledgeable about the things we enjoy. 

To whose of you shackled to a singular view of the cigar smoker, we implore you to walk into a tobacconist or cigar lounge. Try a cigar, and watch the persons coming to and fro, as well as those seated near you. Talk to them, hear their stories, and let your cultural presuppositions be challenged.

 Turns out you find cigar smoking retched and will never again put one to mouth? Fine. But you will at least understand that we are not one cookie-cutter type of person, but a varied community whose unique identity is tied in a roll of aged tobacco leaves, not some cultural rubber stamp. 

Note: This is Part 1 of a series in 3 parts, with Part 2 addressing the myth of cigars as equal to other forms of tobacco, and Part 3 on cigars as an artisanal, organic product. 

For those of you who have yet to read of my childhood experience with cigars, you can find it here: http://musingsofayoungrightist.blogspot.com/2013/01/cigars-and-childhood.html