It's no secret that I can't bloody stand President George W. Bush.
WORST. PRESIDENT. EVER.
I object mightily, however, to the Iraqi journalist who threw his shoes at the President during a joint news conference with Iraq Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki on Sunday. Shoe-throwing may seem a small offense in comparison to the war crimes Bush stands accused of in the forum of world opinion, and ultimately, I hope, in a court of law. Bush's own wrongdoing, however, remains irrelevant.
The crux of Bush's offenses turn on his lawlessness: his unlawful invasion of Iraq and his flouting of the Geneva Convention and of the United States Constitution. Another act of lawlessness -- an assault against an individual and an act of aggression against a visiting head of state -- remains unjustifiable. Two wrongs do not make a right.
A shoe is the least of what I would like to throw at George W. Bush. More than anything, however, I would like to throw the book at him: specifically, my very thick book of United States Constitutional Law and my book of international law, including the laws against torture.
The act not only dishonored George Bush. It dishonored the office of the United States Presidency. It also dishonored the rule of law, which is the very foundation upon which civilization stands. Those proclaiming Muntader al-Zaidi a folk hero might well argue that the journalist dishonored the office no more than President Bush himself has, during his disastrous 8-year reign. That doesn't make the shoe-throwing incident right.
Those who ache for the restoration of respect for human rights must practice such respect for precisely those individuals we personally revile the most. If we cannot protect them and levy punishment in accordance with the rule of law, then we cannot protect anyone.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
A Much-Needed Ned for the United States
Barack Obama is the United States' "Ned," the guy you meet shortly after coming through a crazy, traumatic experience -- like being abandoned in a foreign country by a superjerk travel buddy or suffering through eight years of the Bush-Cheney administration.
Just when you thought all hope was lost, this guy shows up out of nowhere and reintroduces you to what normal is and what normal feels like. Following in the wake of an ordeal that beat you down and made you wonder if you were crazy, the rediscovery of normalcy feels like a revelation:
"Oh yeah, that!"
To illustrate the meaning of Ned, I offer this story: On my post-bar-exam jaunt through Europe in late summer 1989, I had a falling out with my travel buddies. One night in Bologna, they called me to their room to advise me that I would not be welcome to join them on the next leg of what had until then been "our" trip. If I wanted to get from Italy to anywhere else on the planet, I was on my own.
I wish I could say they ditched me for having very audibly hooked up with the swarthy, green-eyed Venetian down the hall at our pensione...or for inviting the Italian Olympic skiing team to crash in our suite...or for being the one who magically never had cash when restaurant bills or admission fees turned up and who never quite got around to settling up with fellow travel mates for amounts owed. If I was going to take the penalty, it would have been nice to at least have had the pleasure of having committed a satisfying crime.
Alas, the real reason was not nearly so glamorous or fun. On the first night of our trip, before we made it out of the gate at JFK, my travel buddy -- let's call him "Dick" -- got himself arrested. Our British Air flight to London had been delayed by two hours, and our luggage had been loaded onto an earlier flight, which was now in the air, over the Pond, without us. Plus, our seat assignments on the flight, which we had booked months in advance but apparently never checked, sucked.
So of course, merely six months after the crash of Pan Am Flight 103 in Lockerbie, with our flight delayed, our baggage out there in the ether somewhere, and our seats positively sucking, it somehow made sense to Dick, standing at the check-in desk, trying to change our seat assignments, to make a joke about bombs in our bags.
I was in the waiting area reading People Magazine and blissfully unaware of the colossal act of stupidity that had just transpired behind me. As Dick returned from the check-in desk, a bunch of cops and men in burgundy polyester coats and walkie-talkies closed in around us. Next thing I knew they were putting Dick in handcuffs, taking him away to the Port Authority jail and asking me if I knew what he had said.
I must have looked sufficiently baffled, shocked and clueless to fit the profile of the "stupid little blonde girlfriend," because the cops dismissed me immediately, a development that eased my panic at the prospect of getting searched.
Then, with the law of bodily searches still so fresh in my post-bar-exam head, a dreadful realization dawned on me. We were in a fucking international airport terminal, the one place on earth other than a Turkish prison where you would have the least possible protection against against bodily invasion by law enforcement authorities. Not only could Dick and I get searched under the usual state laws of arrest and probable cause, the guys at the international airport could do a cavity search if they felt like it, just to keep in practice….
Mind you, had Dick's verbal diarrhea occurred after 9-11, we both would have woken up at Guantanamo, with our luggage blown up by the bomb squad and every orifice on our persons sore, chafed and emptied out. We were lucky.
Fortunately, this was 1989, so we simply missed our flight and spent several hours at the Port Authority jail awaiting disposition of Dick's case. By 3 or 4 a.m. the FAA and FBI had decided that Dick was more stupid than dangerous and, therefore, not worthy of their charges or time. New York State, however, slapped him with a misdemeanor, amounting to the airline version of shouting "fire" in a crowded theater, gave him a court appearance date, and cleared us for departure the following morning.
Two mornings later, upon arrival at Heathrow Airport, Dick took a good ten minutes at customs while I breezed right through. This inspired Dick to make a joke about drugs in our bags.
You know how you make an ugly face, so that your mother tells you, "Don't do that, or your face will freeze like that"? From that moment on, my OMFG-I-can't-believe-how stupid-you-are expression -- the squinty eyes, the scrinched up nose, cheeks, forehead and mouth, as if I was sniffing Elizabeth New Jersey -- was permanently frozen on my face and pointed at Dick. It also didn't help that Dick kept telling me to "Shhhhhh."
It can't have felt good to be on the withering end of my holy-shit-you're-an-idiot face. By Amsterdam Dick and I started taking separate rooms at hotels. We hooked up with two other law school friends, who happened to be following about the same route as ours through Europe. Dick shared a room with them. This new arrangement seemed to take the edge off and eased tensions between Dick and me. Together we traveled from Amsterdam to Munich to Salzberg to Bologna, where our new travel mates took me aside and advised me that on our next leg to Paris, Dick's delicate psyche would require the comfort of the absence of me and my emotionally devastating face.
The next morning, they headed off to Paris and left me behind in Bologna, to fend for myself. First, I had a transatlantic cry over the phone with my obviously worried mother. Then I set out to look up another law school classmate, Ned, who had done his junior year abroad in Bologna and had returned this summer to recover from the bar.
I found Ned at a nearby pensione, one that happened to be nicer than mine and that had a vacant room right next to his. So I moved over. That day Ned took me on a tour through Bologna. As we meandered through the intimate, porticoed streets, with their reddish brown walls and pale gold and white ceilings, Ned took the time to point out all the highlights: the Piazza San Pietro, the Chiesa San Domenico, where Guido Reni is buried, the tower at the University of Bologna, where Da Vinci first used a telescope to gaze into the stars. Next we went to the University art gallery, where we saw paintings spanning from the cartoonish renderings of the medieval period, to the brilliant color and representational fidelity of the Italian Renaissance, and finally to the delicately brilliant light, elegance and lyricism of the Italian Baroque, all represented through one common theme, which Ned encapsulated perfectly in his comfortingly familiar "Lawn Guyland" accent: "Madonner-and-child, Madonner-and-child, Madonner-and-child, Madonner-and-child…."
That night Ned brought me and his guitar to one of his favorite trattorias. The food was inexpensive and delicious, and the long tables invited socializing and celebration. We discovered we knew a ton of songs in common and sang ourselves into the early morning hours. Equipped with a spiky hairdo, bigass earrings, a hearty red table wine and the voice for it, I did a mean version of "Hit Me With Your Best Shot," accompanied by Ned and the laughter and applause of our Bolognese hosts.
As we wended our way back towards the pensione, a revelation came over me:
"Hey, I'm having a normal vacation!"
You know, where you have fun and don't feel self-conscious and go on adventures and actually enjoy the company of your companion.
Oh yeah, that. Normal.
The next day, Ned introduced me to Florence. Florence, Italy. First, Ned set me up at a nice, reasonably-priced, well-situated pensione in Florence. Then he took me on a tour of the city, to help me get my bearings. The attractions were too many to list, so he pointed out the key landmarks: the Duomo, the marketplace, the Piazza Della Signoria, the Ponte Vecchio, and what turned out to be my favorite: the Chiesa Santa Croce, with Michelangelo's tomb and its magnificent Giotto frescos, capturing the moment when the mind of humanity turned a great, big corner: linear perspective.
Ned introduced me to the most fascinating and overwhelmingly beautiful city I had ever seen, and not once did he even remotely hint that any quid pro quo was involved. He was a perfect gentleman.
Oh yeah, gentlemen. They're good. Keep them.
Having a blast with Ned reassured me that there was nothing wrong with me that had led to my having been being so rudely ditched. I was perfectly capable of having a good time and being charming, so long as my travel buddy didn't make stupid jokes, get himself arrested, give all my potentially-searchable bodily orifices a heart attack, or tell me to "Shhhhhh."
Ned headed back to Bologna that evening and left me to explore Florence. I planned on staying there for a few days before going back to meet Ned at the end of the week and contemplate another city or heading back to the States.
That night I found myself at a lovely trattoria. Barely two pages into my novel -- (I was reading Mary McCarthy's The Group.) -- I was befriended by five absolutely adorable Italian soldiers, who paid for my dinner and entertained me enormously. Among these nubile young men was one cute little Bolognese fellow who ended up taking the train back to Bologna with me later that weekend.
The rest of my trip was a magical journey of joy and discovery. I went wherever I wanted to go, without rancor, without having to negotiate or compromise and without having to worry about cavity searches. No matter where I went to eat, I wouldn't get two pages into my book before someone struck up a conversation with me and bought me my meal. I made friends and influenced people. I had such a good time, I stretched one week in Italy out to three.
Florence immerses you so deeply and densely in art and history that it utterly overwhelms the senses. It takes time and to absorb all the visual input. On this trip, I hadn't been prepared for everything I ended up seeing. I needed time to decompress, just to sort through it and make sense of it all. I was determined to return after taking a couple years to read up and educate myself on Italy and Italian art history.
I did, in fact, return in 1991, all by myself for 21 days in Bologna and Florence. I went on a quest to find the female artists of the Italian Renaissance. I found them, along with the Italian Baroque. Met up with that little Bolognese soldier boy, too.
Back to the story. Because of Ned, I not only rediscovered normalcy, I launched into on a whole new epoch of my life, something begun when I was lost and abandoned in a foreign country. I could have returned home in defeat, but instead I ended up having a great, confidence-building adventure. Because of Ned, I discovered some of the greatest passions of my life: history, art and all things Italian. Ned not only showed me "normal," he hooked me up with transcendence. Cool.
Hey Ned, I can't remember your last name, but if you're out there, friend me on Facebook, okay? I mean, you changed my life and everything.
Now, every time I hear President-Elect Barack Obama speak, I get the same feeling of relief and revelation as I did when Ned rescued me in Bologna.
Obama talks about things like filling positions in his administration with people who are not only competent. They are the premier experts in their field. Oh yeah, looking for people who are actually qualified for their responsibilities is so sensible, so refreshing, so normal.
Today Obama said that he wants his cabinet to be filled with experts who will provide him with a variety of opinions on the issues and that he prizes "vigorous debate." So he cares about finding out what is actually going on, so he can make informed decisions, based on the facts.
Whoa.
This is what a President is supposed to feel like -- smart, thinks on his feet, capable of listening and giving a spontaneous, responsive answer, one that comes from his brains and heart, not from a pre-fab list of talking points.
Here is a guy who can not only tell you what newspapers he reads. He can tell you what they said and why he agrees or disagrees with them. He also can tell you who wrote the articles and what their bias or interests are likely to be. This guy can most definitely point out quite a few Supreme Court cases with which he disagrees. Why, he can show you recent Supreme Court opinions with which he agrees but which he would have analyzed and written differently, had it been up to him to write the opinion.
There's grey matter between them thar big ears! Hallelujah! What a refreshing change.
I can only hope that our journey over the next four years with the Obama Administration will turn out to be as enjoyable, revelatory and paradigm-shifting as the one I got by the good grace of Ned.
Just when you thought all hope was lost, this guy shows up out of nowhere and reintroduces you to what normal is and what normal feels like. Following in the wake of an ordeal that beat you down and made you wonder if you were crazy, the rediscovery of normalcy feels like a revelation:
"Oh yeah, that!"
To illustrate the meaning of Ned, I offer this story: On my post-bar-exam jaunt through Europe in late summer 1989, I had a falling out with my travel buddies. One night in Bologna, they called me to their room to advise me that I would not be welcome to join them on the next leg of what had until then been "our" trip. If I wanted to get from Italy to anywhere else on the planet, I was on my own.
I wish I could say they ditched me for having very audibly hooked up with the swarthy, green-eyed Venetian down the hall at our pensione...or for inviting the Italian Olympic skiing team to crash in our suite...or for being the one who magically never had cash when restaurant bills or admission fees turned up and who never quite got around to settling up with fellow travel mates for amounts owed. If I was going to take the penalty, it would have been nice to at least have had the pleasure of having committed a satisfying crime.
Alas, the real reason was not nearly so glamorous or fun. On the first night of our trip, before we made it out of the gate at JFK, my travel buddy -- let's call him "Dick" -- got himself arrested. Our British Air flight to London had been delayed by two hours, and our luggage had been loaded onto an earlier flight, which was now in the air, over the Pond, without us. Plus, our seat assignments on the flight, which we had booked months in advance but apparently never checked, sucked.
So of course, merely six months after the crash of Pan Am Flight 103 in Lockerbie, with our flight delayed, our baggage out there in the ether somewhere, and our seats positively sucking, it somehow made sense to Dick, standing at the check-in desk, trying to change our seat assignments, to make a joke about bombs in our bags.
I was in the waiting area reading People Magazine and blissfully unaware of the colossal act of stupidity that had just transpired behind me. As Dick returned from the check-in desk, a bunch of cops and men in burgundy polyester coats and walkie-talkies closed in around us. Next thing I knew they were putting Dick in handcuffs, taking him away to the Port Authority jail and asking me if I knew what he had said.
I must have looked sufficiently baffled, shocked and clueless to fit the profile of the "stupid little blonde girlfriend," because the cops dismissed me immediately, a development that eased my panic at the prospect of getting searched.
Then, with the law of bodily searches still so fresh in my post-bar-exam head, a dreadful realization dawned on me. We were in a fucking international airport terminal, the one place on earth other than a Turkish prison where you would have the least possible protection against against bodily invasion by law enforcement authorities. Not only could Dick and I get searched under the usual state laws of arrest and probable cause, the guys at the international airport could do a cavity search if they felt like it, just to keep in practice….
Mind you, had Dick's verbal diarrhea occurred after 9-11, we both would have woken up at Guantanamo, with our luggage blown up by the bomb squad and every orifice on our persons sore, chafed and emptied out. We were lucky.
Fortunately, this was 1989, so we simply missed our flight and spent several hours at the Port Authority jail awaiting disposition of Dick's case. By 3 or 4 a.m. the FAA and FBI had decided that Dick was more stupid than dangerous and, therefore, not worthy of their charges or time. New York State, however, slapped him with a misdemeanor, amounting to the airline version of shouting "fire" in a crowded theater, gave him a court appearance date, and cleared us for departure the following morning.
Two mornings later, upon arrival at Heathrow Airport, Dick took a good ten minutes at customs while I breezed right through. This inspired Dick to make a joke about drugs in our bags.
You know how you make an ugly face, so that your mother tells you, "Don't do that, or your face will freeze like that"? From that moment on, my OMFG-I-can't-believe-how stupid-you-are expression -- the squinty eyes, the scrinched up nose, cheeks, forehead and mouth, as if I was sniffing Elizabeth New Jersey -- was permanently frozen on my face and pointed at Dick. It also didn't help that Dick kept telling me to "Shhhhhh."
It can't have felt good to be on the withering end of my holy-shit-you're-an-idiot face. By Amsterdam Dick and I started taking separate rooms at hotels. We hooked up with two other law school friends, who happened to be following about the same route as ours through Europe. Dick shared a room with them. This new arrangement seemed to take the edge off and eased tensions between Dick and me. Together we traveled from Amsterdam to Munich to Salzberg to Bologna, where our new travel mates took me aside and advised me that on our next leg to Paris, Dick's delicate psyche would require the comfort of the absence of me and my emotionally devastating face.
The next morning, they headed off to Paris and left me behind in Bologna, to fend for myself. First, I had a transatlantic cry over the phone with my obviously worried mother. Then I set out to look up another law school classmate, Ned, who had done his junior year abroad in Bologna and had returned this summer to recover from the bar.
I found Ned at a nearby pensione, one that happened to be nicer than mine and that had a vacant room right next to his. So I moved over. That day Ned took me on a tour through Bologna. As we meandered through the intimate, porticoed streets, with their reddish brown walls and pale gold and white ceilings, Ned took the time to point out all the highlights: the Piazza San Pietro, the Chiesa San Domenico, where Guido Reni is buried, the tower at the University of Bologna, where Da Vinci first used a telescope to gaze into the stars. Next we went to the University art gallery, where we saw paintings spanning from the cartoonish renderings of the medieval period, to the brilliant color and representational fidelity of the Italian Renaissance, and finally to the delicately brilliant light, elegance and lyricism of the Italian Baroque, all represented through one common theme, which Ned encapsulated perfectly in his comfortingly familiar "Lawn Guyland" accent: "Madonner-and-child, Madonner-and-child, Madonner-and-child, Madonner-and-child…."
That night Ned brought me and his guitar to one of his favorite trattorias. The food was inexpensive and delicious, and the long tables invited socializing and celebration. We discovered we knew a ton of songs in common and sang ourselves into the early morning hours. Equipped with a spiky hairdo, bigass earrings, a hearty red table wine and the voice for it, I did a mean version of "Hit Me With Your Best Shot," accompanied by Ned and the laughter and applause of our Bolognese hosts.
As we wended our way back towards the pensione, a revelation came over me:
"Hey, I'm having a normal vacation!"
You know, where you have fun and don't feel self-conscious and go on adventures and actually enjoy the company of your companion.
Oh yeah, that. Normal.
The next day, Ned introduced me to Florence. Florence, Italy. First, Ned set me up at a nice, reasonably-priced, well-situated pensione in Florence. Then he took me on a tour of the city, to help me get my bearings. The attractions were too many to list, so he pointed out the key landmarks: the Duomo, the marketplace, the Piazza Della Signoria, the Ponte Vecchio, and what turned out to be my favorite: the Chiesa Santa Croce, with Michelangelo's tomb and its magnificent Giotto frescos, capturing the moment when the mind of humanity turned a great, big corner: linear perspective.
Ned introduced me to the most fascinating and overwhelmingly beautiful city I had ever seen, and not once did he even remotely hint that any quid pro quo was involved. He was a perfect gentleman.
Oh yeah, gentlemen. They're good. Keep them.
Having a blast with Ned reassured me that there was nothing wrong with me that had led to my having been being so rudely ditched. I was perfectly capable of having a good time and being charming, so long as my travel buddy didn't make stupid jokes, get himself arrested, give all my potentially-searchable bodily orifices a heart attack, or tell me to "Shhhhhh."
Ned headed back to Bologna that evening and left me to explore Florence. I planned on staying there for a few days before going back to meet Ned at the end of the week and contemplate another city or heading back to the States.
That night I found myself at a lovely trattoria. Barely two pages into my novel -- (I was reading Mary McCarthy's The Group.) -- I was befriended by five absolutely adorable Italian soldiers, who paid for my dinner and entertained me enormously. Among these nubile young men was one cute little Bolognese fellow who ended up taking the train back to Bologna with me later that weekend.
The rest of my trip was a magical journey of joy and discovery. I went wherever I wanted to go, without rancor, without having to negotiate or compromise and without having to worry about cavity searches. No matter where I went to eat, I wouldn't get two pages into my book before someone struck up a conversation with me and bought me my meal. I made friends and influenced people. I had such a good time, I stretched one week in Italy out to three.
Florence immerses you so deeply and densely in art and history that it utterly overwhelms the senses. It takes time and to absorb all the visual input. On this trip, I hadn't been prepared for everything I ended up seeing. I needed time to decompress, just to sort through it and make sense of it all. I was determined to return after taking a couple years to read up and educate myself on Italy and Italian art history.
I did, in fact, return in 1991, all by myself for 21 days in Bologna and Florence. I went on a quest to find the female artists of the Italian Renaissance. I found them, along with the Italian Baroque. Met up with that little Bolognese soldier boy, too.
Back to the story. Because of Ned, I not only rediscovered normalcy, I launched into on a whole new epoch of my life, something begun when I was lost and abandoned in a foreign country. I could have returned home in defeat, but instead I ended up having a great, confidence-building adventure. Because of Ned, I discovered some of the greatest passions of my life: history, art and all things Italian. Ned not only showed me "normal," he hooked me up with transcendence. Cool.
Hey Ned, I can't remember your last name, but if you're out there, friend me on Facebook, okay? I mean, you changed my life and everything.
Now, every time I hear President-Elect Barack Obama speak, I get the same feeling of relief and revelation as I did when Ned rescued me in Bologna.
Obama talks about things like filling positions in his administration with people who are not only competent. They are the premier experts in their field. Oh yeah, looking for people who are actually qualified for their responsibilities is so sensible, so refreshing, so normal.
Today Obama said that he wants his cabinet to be filled with experts who will provide him with a variety of opinions on the issues and that he prizes "vigorous debate." So he cares about finding out what is actually going on, so he can make informed decisions, based on the facts.
Whoa.
This is what a President is supposed to feel like -- smart, thinks on his feet, capable of listening and giving a spontaneous, responsive answer, one that comes from his brains and heart, not from a pre-fab list of talking points.
Here is a guy who can not only tell you what newspapers he reads. He can tell you what they said and why he agrees or disagrees with them. He also can tell you who wrote the articles and what their bias or interests are likely to be. This guy can most definitely point out quite a few Supreme Court cases with which he disagrees. Why, he can show you recent Supreme Court opinions with which he agrees but which he would have analyzed and written differently, had it been up to him to write the opinion.
There's grey matter between them thar big ears! Hallelujah! What a refreshing change.
I can only hope that our journey over the next four years with the Obama Administration will turn out to be as enjoyable, revelatory and paradigm-shifting as the one I got by the good grace of Ned.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
JOY
With Barack Obama's victory in the Presidential election of 2008, we the people of the United States can rejoice at having once again fulfilled our potential to become "a more perfect union," this time in a HUGE way, with the election of a black man to the Presidency of the United States. And yet this milestone, which has inspired joy in so many, has also, somewhat understandably, aroused apprehension among those who voted against Obama.
To be happy that an African American won the election is not an indictment of or accusation against those who did not vote for him. Nor is it a statement that his supporters voted *for* him because of his race.
After 372 years of subjugation of people of color in America and 232 years where only Caucasians have held the office of the US Presidency, to not recognize the quantum leap forward that Obama's election represents is to dismiss a key moment when we as a society realized the true potential and promise of our founding principles.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal....
What is significant, indeed crucial, is that Obama himself did not run on race. He spoke of race only when absolutely pushed to the wall, when the Hillary campaign started blasting him on his association with Reverend Wright -- a strategy which sought to arouse and exploit fears among white people that Obama conformed to the stereotype of "the Angry Black Man."
That was the situation that prompted Obama to write and deliver his speech on race:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/03/18/obama-race-speech-read-th_n_92077.html
When the McCain campaign, particularly through Palin, started rousing fears with their accusations that Obama was "palling around with terrorists," and Representative John Lewis, a hero of the Civil Rights Movement, -- a man who had personally witnessed the church burnings, the fire hoses, the murders of Goodman, Scherner and Cheney, as well as the murders of Medgar Evers and Martin Luther King -- called the McCain administration out on these tactics, the Obama campaign distanced themselves from Lewis' statements, expressly rebuking the association Lewis had made between John McCain and George Wallace.
The Obama campaign statement pulled the emphasis of the discussion away from race and back towards a more neutral critique of "angry divisive rhetoric" and then, even more notably, they moved the message back into the "positive" column, by stating the need for unity "a time of crisis when we desperately need to come together."
I think it was this constant, steady, consistent and *color-blind* emphasis on unity and the positive that won over the Independents to Obama's side and ultimately led to his victory in this election, not to mention the intense affection of all those who gravitated to his cause.
I think the more people saw and really got to know Obama, the more they liked him and saw that, even though he was relatively inexperienced in terms of years spent in public service at the national level or in an executive capacity, he had the brilliant mind, judgment and temperament to be an outstanding chief executive. He was the most qualified candidate for the job.
And then there was that breakthrough....
To be happy that an African American won the election is not an indictment of or accusation against those who did not vote for him. Nor is it a statement that his supporters voted *for* him because of his race.
After 372 years of subjugation of people of color in America and 232 years where only Caucasians have held the office of the US Presidency, to not recognize the quantum leap forward that Obama's election represents is to dismiss a key moment when we as a society realized the true potential and promise of our founding principles.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal....
What is significant, indeed crucial, is that Obama himself did not run on race. He spoke of race only when absolutely pushed to the wall, when the Hillary campaign started blasting him on his association with Reverend Wright -- a strategy which sought to arouse and exploit fears among white people that Obama conformed to the stereotype of "the Angry Black Man."
That was the situation that prompted Obama to write and deliver his speech on race:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/03/18/obama-race-speech-read-th_n_92077.html
When the McCain campaign, particularly through Palin, started rousing fears with their accusations that Obama was "palling around with terrorists," and Representative John Lewis, a hero of the Civil Rights Movement, -- a man who had personally witnessed the church burnings, the fire hoses, the murders of Goodman, Scherner and Cheney, as well as the murders of Medgar Evers and Martin Luther King -- called the McCain administration out on these tactics, the Obama campaign distanced themselves from Lewis' statements, expressly rebuking the association Lewis had made between John McCain and George Wallace.
The Obama campaign statement pulled the emphasis of the discussion away from race and back towards a more neutral critique of "angry divisive rhetoric" and then, even more notably, they moved the message back into the "positive" column, by stating the need for unity "a time of crisis when we desperately need to come together."
I think it was this constant, steady, consistent and *color-blind* emphasis on unity and the positive that won over the Independents to Obama's side and ultimately led to his victory in this election, not to mention the intense affection of all those who gravitated to his cause.
I think the more people saw and really got to know Obama, the more they liked him and saw that, even though he was relatively inexperienced in terms of years spent in public service at the national level or in an executive capacity, he had the brilliant mind, judgment and temperament to be an outstanding chief executive. He was the most qualified candidate for the job.
And then there was that breakthrough....
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
What It Means to Elect a Constitutional Scholar as President of the United States of America
For me, having come from New York University School of Law, my orientation towards the title of "constitutional scholar" is the same as that held by the members of that community.
At the law school, the term "constitutional scholar" was no more remarkable than "electrical engineer." It held a certain prestigiousness, not unlike that of "neuro-surgeon" or "nuclear physicist," because it is one of the most highly-esteemed areas of study and practice.
That said, I am sad to think that the term, "constitutional scholar" would be regarded as somehow romantic. If the study and mastery of constitutional law has come to be regarded in the American consciousness as some kind of quixotic ideal, then it is a testament to how low we have sunk as a republic and how little regard we have come to have for our civil rights and our constitutional principles and aspirations.
We can find the evidence for this intensely regrettable decline in the passage of The Patriot Act, the eavesdropping on American citizens without warrant or probable cause, the avowed American disregard for the Geneva Convention in international warfare as codified by the US Justice Department under Alberto Gonzales, the active practice of torture and physically coercive interrogation techniques, imprisonment in offshore locations without a hearing, the attempt to suspend rights of habeas corpus....
The urgency with which Americans have handed over their civil liberties, hand-over-fist, in the purported interest of security, out of fear, has established a poignant occasion for the restatement of the words of our founding father, Benjamin Franklin:
Those who would give up Essential Liberty to purchase a little Temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.
I hope that with the election of a constitutional scholar to the United States presidency, that we will see over the next decade the redemption of regard for our constitutional rights and that the title of "constitutional scholar" will be redeemed from trivialization as a merely quixotic ideal. My sincere hope is that the vocation of "constitutional scholar" will at least attain the status of a routine and unremarkable specialization, if not total restoration of the high esteem it once held.
At the law school, the term "constitutional scholar" was no more remarkable than "electrical engineer." It held a certain prestigiousness, not unlike that of "neuro-surgeon" or "nuclear physicist," because it is one of the most highly-esteemed areas of study and practice.
That said, I am sad to think that the term, "constitutional scholar" would be regarded as somehow romantic. If the study and mastery of constitutional law has come to be regarded in the American consciousness as some kind of quixotic ideal, then it is a testament to how low we have sunk as a republic and how little regard we have come to have for our civil rights and our constitutional principles and aspirations.
We can find the evidence for this intensely regrettable decline in the passage of The Patriot Act, the eavesdropping on American citizens without warrant or probable cause, the avowed American disregard for the Geneva Convention in international warfare as codified by the US Justice Department under Alberto Gonzales, the active practice of torture and physically coercive interrogation techniques, imprisonment in offshore locations without a hearing, the attempt to suspend rights of habeas corpus....
The urgency with which Americans have handed over their civil liberties, hand-over-fist, in the purported interest of security, out of fear, has established a poignant occasion for the restatement of the words of our founding father, Benjamin Franklin:
Those who would give up Essential Liberty to purchase a little Temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.
I hope that with the election of a constitutional scholar to the United States presidency, that we will see over the next decade the redemption of regard for our constitutional rights and that the title of "constitutional scholar" will be redeemed from trivialization as a merely quixotic ideal. My sincere hope is that the vocation of "constitutional scholar" will at least attain the status of a routine and unremarkable specialization, if not total restoration of the high esteem it once held.
Why I Am Not "A Globalist"
I would not describe myself as a globalist. I don't think "whether globalism is a good idea" is the right question.
Globalization is inevitable, given the prevalence and ubiquity of modes of communication and travel -- the telephone, the Internet, satellite technology, television, radio, airline travel, etc. These are the means of export, import and exchange of ideas, culture and trade...into a constant intermingling.
The right question is HOW do we effect this intermingling? So some resistance to unfettered "globalization" is in order to ensure that the values (economic, moral and ethical) inherent in the ideas, culture and products in the intermingling are fairly and ethically regulated and distributed.
To have one value dominate all others via globalization could be a bad thing. For example, if globalization favors inexpensive labor...resulting in the concentration of manufacturing or sourcing of materials only in countries that abuse or mistreat laborers...then globalization is bad, and I am against it.
The all-or-nothing orientation towards globalization doesn't really work very well. Because the channels of transmission and transportation are irreversibly open (or at least because their restraint is so prohibitively expensive and difficult), trade in and the exchange of ideas and products will continue and expand. The genie is out of the bottle, and there is no stuffing it back in.
There needs to be regulation of global markets in trade to preserve fairness, to protect workers in terms of wages, hours and safety, and to preserve and protect the environment.
In terms of political globalization, there are certain universal principles that should be given global expression -- the universal rights of human beings to self-determination, to government of, by and for the people, the right to elect one's own leaders, the rights to free and unfettered expression, the right to bodily integrity and reproductive freedom, and so forth. At the same time, there is also a need to for certain checks and balances that will allow these principles to manifest in ways that preserve and are respectful of variations in culture and ethnicity.
We need to make sure that globalism does not become the means of economic, cultural or moral imperialism due to the advantage held by stronger and more potentially dominant participants.
Globalization is inevitable, given the prevalence and ubiquity of modes of communication and travel -- the telephone, the Internet, satellite technology, television, radio, airline travel, etc. These are the means of export, import and exchange of ideas, culture and trade...into a constant intermingling.
The right question is HOW do we effect this intermingling? So some resistance to unfettered "globalization" is in order to ensure that the values (economic, moral and ethical) inherent in the ideas, culture and products in the intermingling are fairly and ethically regulated and distributed.
To have one value dominate all others via globalization could be a bad thing. For example, if globalization favors inexpensive labor...resulting in the concentration of manufacturing or sourcing of materials only in countries that abuse or mistreat laborers...then globalization is bad, and I am against it.
The all-or-nothing orientation towards globalization doesn't really work very well. Because the channels of transmission and transportation are irreversibly open (or at least because their restraint is so prohibitively expensive and difficult), trade in and the exchange of ideas and products will continue and expand. The genie is out of the bottle, and there is no stuffing it back in.
There needs to be regulation of global markets in trade to preserve fairness, to protect workers in terms of wages, hours and safety, and to preserve and protect the environment.
In terms of political globalization, there are certain universal principles that should be given global expression -- the universal rights of human beings to self-determination, to government of, by and for the people, the right to elect one's own leaders, the rights to free and unfettered expression, the right to bodily integrity and reproductive freedom, and so forth. At the same time, there is also a need to for certain checks and balances that will allow these principles to manifest in ways that preserve and are respectful of variations in culture and ethnicity.
We need to make sure that globalism does not become the means of economic, cultural or moral imperialism due to the advantage held by stronger and more potentially dominant participants.
What an Epiphany: The Prospect of Putting a Constitutional Scholar Into the Oval Office
I love that Barack Obama is a Constitutional Scholar. He approaches all the issues as a scholar would...with an open and curious mind, eager to hear, appreciate and truly understand the philosophies and arguments with which he does not agree. As the brilliant legal scholar that he MUST be to have graduated Magna Cum Laude from Harvard Law School, he has to be able to anticipate and argue ALL sides of an issue. This will give him the ability to take in all perspectives on any of the issues he will face as President and to synthesize them into a decision, a solution.
I am so excited for the election today. I am eager for Obama to be elected. I'm not counting my chickens, but if he wins, I think he will be a great president...great for the country and great for the standing of our country in the world.
My deepest hope on the International front is that he will end the habit of the US to prop up dictators and for us to return to our roots as a force for the promotion of true democracy in the world. Now that the cold war is over, there is no need for us to prop up dictators, just to have a force that opposes the Soviets or China.
It has long been a counterproductive strategy that has come back to bite us all too often -- from our propping up of the Shah of Iran leading to the Iran Hostage Crisis to our propping up of Sadaam Hussein so long as he was fighting Iran...and we all know what THAT led to.
Once again we will start to make substantive progress in environmental matters, trade pacts that require the elevation of conditions for workers worldwide...and that will reduce the unfair advantage that work forces in countries like China and Mexico have over American workers.... I feel like our country will FINALLY start moving forward again.
I am so excited for the election today. I am eager for Obama to be elected. I'm not counting my chickens, but if he wins, I think he will be a great president...great for the country and great for the standing of our country in the world.
My deepest hope on the International front is that he will end the habit of the US to prop up dictators and for us to return to our roots as a force for the promotion of true democracy in the world. Now that the cold war is over, there is no need for us to prop up dictators, just to have a force that opposes the Soviets or China.
It has long been a counterproductive strategy that has come back to bite us all too often -- from our propping up of the Shah of Iran leading to the Iran Hostage Crisis to our propping up of Sadaam Hussein so long as he was fighting Iran...and we all know what THAT led to.
Once again we will start to make substantive progress in environmental matters, trade pacts that require the elevation of conditions for workers worldwide...and that will reduce the unfair advantage that work forces in countries like China and Mexico have over American workers.... I feel like our country will FINALLY start moving forward again.
Why I Support Barack Obama
As the Democratic primary process got under way, I started out genuinely torn between Hillary and Obama. I loved the Clinton presidency. I had heard Hillary speak several times before she ran for the presidency, and I always loved what she had to say.
But I was angry that she voted for the authorization of power to Bush to go into Iraq. I was also apprehensive that the vicious partisanship and polarization that had been directed towards both Bill and Hillary Clinton during the first Clinton presidency would recur. I wanted something different from the array of Clintons and Bushes who had held the Oval Office for the past 20 years. Something inside me felt that we needed someone new.
The more I've learned about Obama, the more I've grown to like him and to love him. Many are worried that he is too liberal, but the more you examine him and delve into his past, the more you will see that he is actually a closet centrist. He started out at the anti-establishment margins -- in the black neighborhoods of Chicago, where he had to join a somewhat radical congregation to establish his street cred as a black leader. Hence Reverend Wright.
BUT -- as he has risen from community organizer to state senator, from the tough streets of Chicago to the hallowed precincts of the Senate in Washington D.C., he has gravitated to the center. What I have learned about his childhood and schooling through law school tells me that this movement towards the center is more in line with who Obama truly is.
Obama is a biracial man who was raised in a white family. To have peace within himself, he had to have found a way to reconcile and harmonize both sides of his heritage and identity. I can absolutely see the parallel in his mission and drive to reconcile and harmonize the competing and all too often conflicting sides of our American heritage and identity. He is a unifier by nature, all the way down to his DNA.
But I was angry that she voted for the authorization of power to Bush to go into Iraq. I was also apprehensive that the vicious partisanship and polarization that had been directed towards both Bill and Hillary Clinton during the first Clinton presidency would recur. I wanted something different from the array of Clintons and Bushes who had held the Oval Office for the past 20 years. Something inside me felt that we needed someone new.
The more I've learned about Obama, the more I've grown to like him and to love him. Many are worried that he is too liberal, but the more you examine him and delve into his past, the more you will see that he is actually a closet centrist. He started out at the anti-establishment margins -- in the black neighborhoods of Chicago, where he had to join a somewhat radical congregation to establish his street cred as a black leader. Hence Reverend Wright.
BUT -- as he has risen from community organizer to state senator, from the tough streets of Chicago to the hallowed precincts of the Senate in Washington D.C., he has gravitated to the center. What I have learned about his childhood and schooling through law school tells me that this movement towards the center is more in line with who Obama truly is.
Obama is a biracial man who was raised in a white family. To have peace within himself, he had to have found a way to reconcile and harmonize both sides of his heritage and identity. I can absolutely see the parallel in his mission and drive to reconcile and harmonize the competing and all too often conflicting sides of our American heritage and identity. He is a unifier by nature, all the way down to his DNA.
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