Dear Spike:
Today we mourn a man who spent more time in Congress than any other individual in the history of our nation.
Sen. Robert Byrd began his service in the House of Representatives in 1953 and was elected to the Senate six years later. His long fight for the primacy of the legislative branch of our government ended at 3 a.m. this morning.
But Byrd’s greatest contribution to our nation wasn’t the length of his tenure, the money that he funneled to improve the conditions of those living in abject poverty in West Virginia, his staunch opposition to imperialistic military adventures, his steadfast support of health care reform or even the soaring speeches he delivered to his colleagues on the Senate floor.
No, the most important thing this former Ku Klux Klan organizer gave to us was the hope that we are all worthy of redemption.
I’ll save the details for the history books. It is enough to say that Byrd was a supporter of the greatest home-grown terrorist organization in the history of the United States. In latter years that association would have effectively, and appropriately, precluded his election. In West Virgina, in the 1950s, it likely facilitated his ascent.
It’s not precisely clear to me when Byrd changed, but he did so nonetheless. In 1964, he filibustered against the Civil Rights Act. But by 2004, he had won the endorsement of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, which noted that Byrd was one of just 17 senators that had supported its stance on every bill of interest to the NAACP.
He came to be known as the "Conscience of the Senate." And although some called him the “Guilty Conscience,” I’m not sure it matters, except as a lesson for us all on what it means to be human.
We all make mistakes. Sometimes we make mistakes so grave that they will stay with us for the rest of our lives. But while we, and others, may never forget those failings, we don’t have to repeat them.
We can change. We can be better than who were yesterday, and better still than who we are today. We can admit that we have been wrong. We can ask forgiveness. And then we can earn it.
One day at a time.
Love,
dad
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Monday, June 28, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
SOMETHING WE DO
Doris "Granny D" Haddock1910-2010
Dear Spike:
Doris Haddock knew what she had to do.
When a fellow Democrat absconded from the race to be the next U.S. senator from New Hampshire in 2004, Haddock seized the moment. With four months to go before the election, the activist known as "Granny D" announced her candidacy — entering into the dog-eat-dog world of national politics at the age of 94.
But inspired as that decision may have been, on the eve of the debate with her incumbent opponent, Granny D was feeling tired, overwhelmed and scared.
"Please God," she prayed, kneeling at her bedside in a flannel nightgown. "Don't let me make a fool of myself."
Maybe the Almighty called down a favor. Or maybe Haddock simply rose to the occasion. Whatever happened, on that following day, Granny D kicked her opponent's ass.
Seventy-five percent of those watching the debate said she'd won the war of words.
But this isn't a story about miracles. In a nation where political debates are low-ratings events and politics is a big-money game, the enormously outspent great-grandmother didn't have a chance. She lost the election 66 to 34 percent.
It doesn't matter. Even if Granny D had succeeded in her Quixotic quest, she would have found herself one voice in a hundred-person choir of corruption. And although she allowed herself to believe that she had a chance to win the race, Haddock knew her fight was about something even more important than winning.
"Democracy is not something we have," she said. "It's something we do."
Granny D Haddock walked the talk. We should all be so brave.
Love,
dad
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
TO OUR LOVE
Dear Spike:
Your mother and I have been married for more than seven years now and although things aren't always perfect, I've never regretted my decision to commit myself to her. She is my hero and my best friend. And I cannot fathom what my life would be like without her.
So it might be strange for you to hear me say that, every now and again, I regret that we got married.
Let me explain.
Today, voters in Maine shot down a law that would have allowed gay couples to marry. In doing so, Maine became the 31st state where voters have decided that the right to marry should be limited to those who look like your mother and I do.
By the time you are old enough to be president, today's vote will be yet another sad footnote in our nation's history. Older Americans, who oppose gay marriage in great numbers, are taking their interpretations of Old Testament scripture to the grave. Younger Americans, those who will be voting for decades to come, simply do not care to mix religion and politics, particularly when it comes to depriving fellow citizens of their rights.
Like segregation and anti-suffrage, this too shall pass.
But today I am sickened. Heartbroken. Angry.
And I am left wondering: What good is marriage?
What good is marriage if it does not represent love?
What good is marriage if it does not represent commitment?
What good is marriage, if it does not represent the will of two people to stand by one another, for richer and for poorer, for better or for worse, forever and ever?
Of course, for most of us — heterosexual and homosexual alike — marriage represents all of those things. Marriage is love and commitment and the will to stand together, through all of life's challenges, because life is too damn hard to stand alone.
But the marriage certificate that your mother and I signed seven years ago? That little slip of paper filed away in a box somewhere in the basement of the Benton County Courthouse in Corvallis, Ore.? That legal testament to our love?
It is meaningless to me. Worthless to me. And perhaps it is fortunate that today we live so far away from the town where we were married, because I feel a burning compulsion to march into that courthouse, demand that piece of paper and tear it up, shred by tiny shred.
Yes, today I regret that we got married. I regret that we felt compelled to ask for a rubber stamp from a government that does not offer that same easy endorsement to anyone who loves the way your mother and I love. I regret that we felt the need to ask permission to love one another from this nation of the people, by the people and for all the jealous, greedy, judgmental people.
I do not regret the way I love your mother. Not one bit.
I do not regret the day I stood, holding her hands and looking into her eyes, and promised to love her, to cherish her, to honor her and to be there for her forever.
I do not regret the dance we danced or the cake we cut or the toasts we made.
Not one bit.
But I'd burn that marriage certificate. By God, I would.
Love,
dad
Your mother and I have been married for more than seven years now and although things aren't always perfect, I've never regretted my decision to commit myself to her. She is my hero and my best friend. And I cannot fathom what my life would be like without her.
So it might be strange for you to hear me say that, every now and again, I regret that we got married.
Let me explain.
Today, voters in Maine shot down a law that would have allowed gay couples to marry. In doing so, Maine became the 31st state where voters have decided that the right to marry should be limited to those who look like your mother and I do.
By the time you are old enough to be president, today's vote will be yet another sad footnote in our nation's history. Older Americans, who oppose gay marriage in great numbers, are taking their interpretations of Old Testament scripture to the grave. Younger Americans, those who will be voting for decades to come, simply do not care to mix religion and politics, particularly when it comes to depriving fellow citizens of their rights.
Like segregation and anti-suffrage, this too shall pass.
But today I am sickened. Heartbroken. Angry.
And I am left wondering: What good is marriage?
What good is marriage if it does not represent love?
What good is marriage if it does not represent commitment?
What good is marriage, if it does not represent the will of two people to stand by one another, for richer and for poorer, for better or for worse, forever and ever?
Of course, for most of us — heterosexual and homosexual alike — marriage represents all of those things. Marriage is love and commitment and the will to stand together, through all of life's challenges, because life is too damn hard to stand alone.
But the marriage certificate that your mother and I signed seven years ago? That little slip of paper filed away in a box somewhere in the basement of the Benton County Courthouse in Corvallis, Ore.? That legal testament to our love?
It is meaningless to me. Worthless to me. And perhaps it is fortunate that today we live so far away from the town where we were married, because I feel a burning compulsion to march into that courthouse, demand that piece of paper and tear it up, shred by tiny shred.
Yes, today I regret that we got married. I regret that we felt compelled to ask for a rubber stamp from a government that does not offer that same easy endorsement to anyone who loves the way your mother and I love. I regret that we felt the need to ask permission to love one another from this nation of the people, by the people and for all the jealous, greedy, judgmental people.
I do not regret the way I love your mother. Not one bit.
I do not regret the day I stood, holding her hands and looking into her eyes, and promised to love her, to cherish her, to honor her and to be there for her forever.
I do not regret the dance we danced or the cake we cut or the toasts we made.
Not one bit.
But I'd burn that marriage certificate. By God, I would.
Love,
dad
Friday, March 27, 2009
OOH-KAY OBAMA
Dear Spike:
Here's the entirety of a "conversation" you just had on the phone with our nation's chief executive:
"It's ringing!"
...
"Hi Obama!"
...
"Good. Good!"
...
"Dancing? Dancing!"
...
"Ooh-kay! Dancing!"
...
"Ooh-kay Obama. Good bye!"
...
"Bye bye!"
When I asked you what you and Obama had been talking about, you just smiled a wagged your finger at me.
"No daddy," you said. "Not daddy's phone call."
I think you have a crush on the president.
Love,
dad
Here's the entirety of a "conversation" you just had on the phone with our nation's chief executive:
"It's ringing!"
...
"Hi Obama!"
...
"Good. Good!"
...
"Dancing? Dancing!"
...
"Ooh-kay! Dancing!"
...
"Ooh-kay Obama. Good bye!"
...
"Bye bye!"
When I asked you what you and Obama had been talking about, you just smiled a wagged your finger at me.
"No daddy," you said. "Not daddy's phone call."
I think you have a crush on the president.
Love,
dad
Saturday, February 21, 2009
WITH SUCH CONTEMPT
Dear Spike:
Today, we recognize the practice of segregation for what it was – an abhorrent system of discrimination that continued to tarnish our nation long after we abolished slavery. And it is hard to believe that decent people could have ever thought differently.
In 30 years, I assure you, we will recognize laws preventing the legal union of loving partners with comparable dose of historical repulsion. And it will be difficult to understand how good people ever believed otherwise.
And so it is, I believe, that by the time your children are having children, we will have come to a similar conclusion about another practice that we fail to recognize for its obvious iniquity — placing upon our children and their children the burden of our fiscal irresponsibility.
Although it is suddenly en vogue for conservative pundits to wag their fingers at “generational theft,” this is not a problem of the left or the right. The national debt has risen and fallen under Democrats and Republicans alike. It has grown and shrunk — but never disappeared — through bull markets and bear markets, during war and peace, in prosperity and recession. In this republic, we all share the shame of believing that today’s needs — however pressing they may seem at the time — are of greater importance than the needs of our children.
So it was that, before you’d even learned to speak, you were indebted to the tune of $35,000 — the per capita cost of generations of deficit spending for guns, butter and trips to the moon. And so it is that, in the past few months, that debt has soared still higher, most recently with the passage of a $787 billion stimulus bill that, if successful, will create 3.5 million new jobs.
That’s borrowed money, of course. And although you and your children were not permitted to sign for the loan, you’ll be responsible for paying it back — a quarter-million dollars from your generation for each new job for my generation.
In 50 years, I believe, we’ll all recognize these practices as an arrogant and cruel assault from the past upon the future.
Perhaps then it will draw comparison to other errant chapters of our nation’s history. And perhaps we will wonder how decent people could ever have acted with such contempt for their own children.
In the meantime, I’m simply sorry. So very sorry.
Love,
dad
Today, we recognize the practice of segregation for what it was – an abhorrent system of discrimination that continued to tarnish our nation long after we abolished slavery. And it is hard to believe that decent people could have ever thought differently.
In 30 years, I assure you, we will recognize laws preventing the legal union of loving partners with comparable dose of historical repulsion. And it will be difficult to understand how good people ever believed otherwise.
And so it is, I believe, that by the time your children are having children, we will have come to a similar conclusion about another practice that we fail to recognize for its obvious iniquity — placing upon our children and their children the burden of our fiscal irresponsibility.
Although it is suddenly en vogue for conservative pundits to wag their fingers at “generational theft,” this is not a problem of the left or the right. The national debt has risen and fallen under Democrats and Republicans alike. It has grown and shrunk — but never disappeared — through bull markets and bear markets, during war and peace, in prosperity and recession. In this republic, we all share the shame of believing that today’s needs — however pressing they may seem at the time — are of greater importance than the needs of our children.
So it was that, before you’d even learned to speak, you were indebted to the tune of $35,000 — the per capita cost of generations of deficit spending for guns, butter and trips to the moon. And so it is that, in the past few months, that debt has soared still higher, most recently with the passage of a $787 billion stimulus bill that, if successful, will create 3.5 million new jobs.
That’s borrowed money, of course. And although you and your children were not permitted to sign for the loan, you’ll be responsible for paying it back — a quarter-million dollars from your generation for each new job for my generation.
In 50 years, I believe, we’ll all recognize these practices as an arrogant and cruel assault from the past upon the future.
Perhaps then it will draw comparison to other errant chapters of our nation’s history. And perhaps we will wonder how decent people could ever have acted with such contempt for their own children.
In the meantime, I’m simply sorry. So very sorry.
Love,
dad
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
OF A DREAM
Dear Spike:
Today will come and go for you like any other.
The sun has not imploded. Gravity has not been upended. The sky is still the sky and the land is still the land and the sea is still the sea.
Today is just another day for you. And, in the very grand scheme of things, for all of us.
But it does not feel that way. No, today it feels as though the entire world has changed.
Today, a black man has been elected as our president.
You are still very young, but at some point in the next four years, you will come to understand that there is someone in this nation we call our president. You won't at first understand how he came to be who he came to be. You won't know precisely what he does.
You will simply know him as a photograph. As an image on the television screen. As a name spoken on the radio.
And when you come to this very simple understanding, the man you will know as your president will not look like any of the men that preceded him as the leader of our nation.
But you will not know that this is special.
For you will not know — not for a few more years, at least — our nation's great shame. You will not know that, at one time in our history, we held people in chains and sold them as cattle and kept them as property. You will not know that, at one time in our history, we kept people from voting and sent them to sit in the back of the bus and told them that they were not human enough to eat at our side. You will not know that, at one time in our history, we hung people from trees.
Thank God Almighty that you will not know. Thank God Almighty that when you come to learn these things, you will learn them as history. Ancient as the pyramids, I pray.
You will come to learn these things in a classroom full of children of many races, colors and creeds. You will come to learn these things in a classroom full of children belonging to parents who look like your parents and who do not. You will come to learn these things in a classroom full of children who, like you, will be learning these things for the first time, too. You will come to learn these things in a classroom full of children who, like you, will not know that the ascension of a black man into the White House is in any way significant.
For as far as you will know, that is how it always has been.
As you grow you will come to know that our shame is not so ancient, that our wounds are still quite fresh. You will learn that there is still so much work to be done.
You will learn of a dream not yet realized, of a check still not cashed.
Do not be dismayed.
Listen to me, my child: The world can change.
I know that it is so.
Love,
dad
Today will come and go for you like any other.
The sun has not imploded. Gravity has not been upended. The sky is still the sky and the land is still the land and the sea is still the sea.
Today is just another day for you. And, in the very grand scheme of things, for all of us.
But it does not feel that way. No, today it feels as though the entire world has changed.
Today, a black man has been elected as our president.
You are still very young, but at some point in the next four years, you will come to understand that there is someone in this nation we call our president. You won't at first understand how he came to be who he came to be. You won't know precisely what he does.
You will simply know him as a photograph. As an image on the television screen. As a name spoken on the radio.
And when you come to this very simple understanding, the man you will know as your president will not look like any of the men that preceded him as the leader of our nation.
But you will not know that this is special.
For you will not know — not for a few more years, at least — our nation's great shame. You will not know that, at one time in our history, we held people in chains and sold them as cattle and kept them as property. You will not know that, at one time in our history, we kept people from voting and sent them to sit in the back of the bus and told them that they were not human enough to eat at our side. You will not know that, at one time in our history, we hung people from trees.
Thank God Almighty that you will not know. Thank God Almighty that when you come to learn these things, you will learn them as history. Ancient as the pyramids, I pray.
You will come to learn these things in a classroom full of children of many races, colors and creeds. You will come to learn these things in a classroom full of children belonging to parents who look like your parents and who do not. You will come to learn these things in a classroom full of children who, like you, will be learning these things for the first time, too. You will come to learn these things in a classroom full of children who, like you, will not know that the ascension of a black man into the White House is in any way significant.
For as far as you will know, that is how it always has been.
As you grow you will come to know that our shame is not so ancient, that our wounds are still quite fresh. You will learn that there is still so much work to be done.
You will learn of a dream not yet realized, of a check still not cashed.
Do not be dismayed.
Listen to me, my child: The world can change.
I know that it is so.
Love,
dad
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
FOREIGN POLICY EXPERIENCE
Dear Spike:
Your mother and I sat down for dinner tonight. Nothing gourmet. Far from it in fact: we had salisbury steaks, tomatoes, peas and poutine.
The latter dish is a Canadian fast food staple consisting of french fries, cheese curds or mozzarella and gravy. I think the word "poutine" might mean "coronary" in French, but I'm not sure.
Before digging in, your mother considered the menu and asked: "Since we're eating Canadian tonight, does that give us foreign policy experience?"
I recognize that, by the time you're old enough to read this letter, this joke will have no relevance to you.
But tonight, it was damn funny.
Love,
dad
Your mother and I sat down for dinner tonight. Nothing gourmet. Far from it in fact: we had salisbury steaks, tomatoes, peas and poutine.
The latter dish is a Canadian fast food staple consisting of french fries, cheese curds or mozzarella and gravy. I think the word "poutine" might mean "coronary" in French, but I'm not sure.
Before digging in, your mother considered the menu and asked: "Since we're eating Canadian tonight, does that give us foreign policy experience?"
I recognize that, by the time you're old enough to read this letter, this joke will have no relevance to you.
But tonight, it was damn funny.
Love,
dad
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
A VOICE DEFIANT
Dear Spike:
Growing up, you're going to have to endure a lot of this.
Some people talk to their kids about school, or sports, or television. And I suppose we'll have those discussions, too. But we're also going to talk about philosophy. And foreign affairs. And politics.
Lots of politics.
You'll find no lack of contempt for that subject in this world. But I've long believed that politics is more than a necessary evil. It is the conscience of a world ever in flux. It is a measure of where we are as a global society: Of what evil we will allow and of what evil we will stand against.
You don't need to agree with my lofty assessment of the subject. I'll be content if you simply conclude — as the Greek writer Plutarch did, shortly before togas went out of fashion — that politics "is not a public chore to be gotten over with." In other words: It takes work. And discussion. And reason.
Thus, our dinner menu will include a regular course of the science of government, policy and political philosophy.
Yes, I realize that your friends will simply be dying to join us for supper.
Everything has a political element. We were at the park this morning when I noticed that there was a good deal more fathers than mothers standing on the periphery of the playground, watching their children slide and swing and spin and climb. This at 10 a.m. on a weekday.
In Utah.
Unusual? Yes. But shocking? Not really. Times are changing. Even here, where "the traditional family" is not just a Norman Rockwell fantasy, there are plenty of families like ours, where mom's paycheck is bigger than dad's (and justly so, I might add.)
That's politics.
It's still a bit unclear to me whether today will be remembered as a significant day in America's political history, though I sense it was (and not because of what I saw on the playground this morning.)
This evening, as your mother rocked you to sleep, I washed the dishes and listened to Sen. Hillary Clinton speak at the Democratic National Convention, throwing her support — in no uncertain terms — behind the candidacy of Sen. Barack Obama.
There is still some question as to whether Clinton's supporters will follow her lead. In this nation, which so zealously celebrates the equality of all of its citizens, never had a woman come so close to being her party's nominee for president. So it was that, among many voters — older women, in particular — there was no small amount of disappointment and resentment when Obama squeaked by with the nomination, (a historic event in its own right, of course.)
I was not disappointed. Quite to the contrary.
Someday, I suppose, I'll have to explain to you (a child who, I fear, has come into a world that has unjustly provided her with far too few female political role models) why I didn't support the first woman to have a legitimate shot at The Oval Office.
It's because I'm a feminist.
And Clinton, for all of her grit and determination and intelligence and savvy, would not ever have been seen as a viable contender for the presidency — fact is, she would not have even been a U.S. senator — had she not first been the wife of a rather popular former president.
There would be an asterisk in the history books.
It is said that Bill Clinton saw his wife's candidacy as a referendum on his own presidency. And if he got his way, (and so often he did) the story of the first woman president would be the story of a woman whose husband helped her get the job.
Instead, tonight, a new story emerged. Or maybe it has been emerging for some time and your father is simply too dense to notice. In any case, this evening Sen. Clinton delivered what can only be described as an impassioned plea for her supporters to carry Obama to The White House.
In doing so, she spoke in a voice defiant of her husband, who has been infamously bitter about Obama's victory. She put her party — and from her perspective, her country — before herself. And before her husband.
The story of our nation is a story of women who had to stand behind their husbands before they were allowed stand alone. In that regard, perhaps the asterisk next to Sen. Clinton's name would have been no more than a recognition of that rather lamentable truth.
But there are times when there can be no question that someone is standing alone, regardless of whom she once stood behind.
I think tonight may have been one of those times.
In a world that has unjustly provided you with far too few female political role models, you could do far worse than Hilary Clinton. And tonight, at least, you could do no better.
You're free to disagree, of course. That's politics too.
And around our dinner table, it will be considered bad manners if you don't.
Love,
dad
Growing up, you're going to have to endure a lot of this.
Some people talk to their kids about school, or sports, or television. And I suppose we'll have those discussions, too. But we're also going to talk about philosophy. And foreign affairs. And politics.
Lots of politics.
You'll find no lack of contempt for that subject in this world. But I've long believed that politics is more than a necessary evil. It is the conscience of a world ever in flux. It is a measure of where we are as a global society: Of what evil we will allow and of what evil we will stand against.
You don't need to agree with my lofty assessment of the subject. I'll be content if you simply conclude — as the Greek writer Plutarch did, shortly before togas went out of fashion — that politics "is not a public chore to be gotten over with." In other words: It takes work. And discussion. And reason.
Thus, our dinner menu will include a regular course of the science of government, policy and political philosophy.
Yes, I realize that your friends will simply be dying to join us for supper.
Everything has a political element. We were at the park this morning when I noticed that there was a good deal more fathers than mothers standing on the periphery of the playground, watching their children slide and swing and spin and climb. This at 10 a.m. on a weekday.
In Utah.
Unusual? Yes. But shocking? Not really. Times are changing. Even here, where "the traditional family" is not just a Norman Rockwell fantasy, there are plenty of families like ours, where mom's paycheck is bigger than dad's (and justly so, I might add.)
That's politics.
It's still a bit unclear to me whether today will be remembered as a significant day in America's political history, though I sense it was (and not because of what I saw on the playground this morning.)
This evening, as your mother rocked you to sleep, I washed the dishes and listened to Sen. Hillary Clinton speak at the Democratic National Convention, throwing her support — in no uncertain terms — behind the candidacy of Sen. Barack Obama.
There is still some question as to whether Clinton's supporters will follow her lead. In this nation, which so zealously celebrates the equality of all of its citizens, never had a woman come so close to being her party's nominee for president. So it was that, among many voters — older women, in particular — there was no small amount of disappointment and resentment when Obama squeaked by with the nomination, (a historic event in its own right, of course.)
I was not disappointed. Quite to the contrary.
Someday, I suppose, I'll have to explain to you (a child who, I fear, has come into a world that has unjustly provided her with far too few female political role models) why I didn't support the first woman to have a legitimate shot at The Oval Office.
It's because I'm a feminist.
And Clinton, for all of her grit and determination and intelligence and savvy, would not ever have been seen as a viable contender for the presidency — fact is, she would not have even been a U.S. senator — had she not first been the wife of a rather popular former president.
There would be an asterisk in the history books.
It is said that Bill Clinton saw his wife's candidacy as a referendum on his own presidency. And if he got his way, (and so often he did) the story of the first woman president would be the story of a woman whose husband helped her get the job.
Instead, tonight, a new story emerged. Or maybe it has been emerging for some time and your father is simply too dense to notice. In any case, this evening Sen. Clinton delivered what can only be described as an impassioned plea for her supporters to carry Obama to The White House.
In doing so, she spoke in a voice defiant of her husband, who has been infamously bitter about Obama's victory. She put her party — and from her perspective, her country — before herself. And before her husband.
The story of our nation is a story of women who had to stand behind their husbands before they were allowed stand alone. In that regard, perhaps the asterisk next to Sen. Clinton's name would have been no more than a recognition of that rather lamentable truth.
But there are times when there can be no question that someone is standing alone, regardless of whom she once stood behind.
I think tonight may have been one of those times.
In a world that has unjustly provided you with far too few female political role models, you could do far worse than Hilary Clinton. And tonight, at least, you could do no better.
You're free to disagree, of course. That's politics too.
And around our dinner table, it will be considered bad manners if you don't.
Love,
dad
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