Just One Day of Greatness

A Modest Proposal for an Ambitious Bumper Sticker

For some time now we have been living with a slogan promising to "Make America Great Again." Appearing first as the catchphrase for the Trump primary campaign, it then extended to the general election and ultimately became the mantra for the Trump administration as they began to govern the nation.

It has appeared on baseball caps, t-shirts, lawn signs, television screens, podiums, and other surfaces, some of which one would never imagine and I would avoid describing. It has been analyzed ad nauseam, become a stimulator of cheers and jeers, and likely will be soon forgotten depending on how successful are those who proclaim its message and program.

The phrase appeared unbidden on America's cultural landscape, promising much and delivering little. In fact, one could argue that its adherents have done more to divide than unite, more to coarsen the public discourse than to inspire it. Once considered the leader of the free world, America has become a bellicose bully without principles, an undependable ally and a dangerous foe. 

I have a modest proposal.

Let's try for just one day of greatness and see where it leads us.

Making America great again is a pretty daunting task. We bring mere humans to the job. At best they are imperfect vessels for virtuous objectives and worthy ideals. The realities of governing in this political climate make consensus elusive and succumbing to one's own self-interests very tempting. Given all the forces that conspire to derail our highest aspirations, maybe we should try something that is a little less demanding. Let's pull the target closer in, put suction cups on the arrows, and cheer all the archers for their best efforts rather than the sum of their bullseyes.

I don't pretend that shortening the distance simplifies the task. In some respects it might require us to stop something rather than do something.  Sometimes that is hardest of all.

Here for starters are a few things that might get us going toward our one day of greatness.

• One Day of Silence. It is essential that we begin with 24 hours of all listening and no talking or communicating by our president and the White House staff. Not one word. Not a single tweet. No campaign rallies or backroom deals. No press-baiting or media schmoozing. He can discuss supper with Melania but that's it. No chatting with the kids about their latest fashion line in China or their plan for a branded hotel in Puerto Rico. For one blessed day, the only message to emanate from the White House is silence. On this foundation, the whole concept stands or falls.
• One Day of Globalism. To the global community of friends and foes, we will send one message spoken with one voice, assuring the world that our country is committed to peace, justice, and to the common good. We will state unequivocally that putting America first is a statement of patriotism and not isolationism. We will hire on that one day experienced ambassadors and diplomats to fill critical vacancies representing our country around the world. We know who they are. Call them.
• One Day of Decency. This an appeal to demonstrate sensitivity and common sense in matters of culture and politics. No berating pleading mayors of cities devastated by hurricanes, with bodies rotting in the streets, while you are playing golf at a luxurious resort. No instructions on using one's celebrity to get away with crotch-grabbing, especially while seeking election as leader of the free world. No dehumanizing name-calling for the leaders of other nations and one's own political opponents, or political friends for that matter. No commenting on professional athletes exercising their rights to free speech, threatening another culture war with no reason or value. If this cannot be achieved with the NFL and NBA, limit it to water polo teams, then let the courts sort it out. And finally, and this will be a tough one, no lying.
• One Day of Equality. All three branches of government will affirm equal rights under the law for all persons regardless of race, religion, gender, and other basic human characteristics. Racism and white supremacy will not be tolerated in this society and all branches of government will act accordingly. If there is a question as to whether a certain person or group is eligible for inclusion under the equal protection clause of the Constitution, include them. 
• One Day of Ecology. We will acknowledge the virtually unanimous consent within the international scientific community that human activity is largely responsible for global warming and other factors that question the long-term viability of the earth. For one day we will suspend the enforcement of devastating executive orders that repeal regulations essential to the earth's survival, including the Paris Accords. For this day all politicians will be forbidden to speak about science. Just to be on the safe side, this will include politicians who think they may actually be scientists.
• One Day of Civility. While some of these ideas may be difficult for every American to connect with, this is one that every single person can do. Speak softly. Seek forgiveness. Do not judge. Try to understand. Seek the common good. Embrace pluralism. Try to compromise. Respect the religion of others. Be a global citizen. In respect to the president alone, the requirement to be civil shall extend to two days.
• One Day of Kindness. I write this in the aftermath of the worst mass shooting in the history of the United States. The only response to such horrific events is to do what we saw our friends and neighbors do as they risked their own lives to assist victims, usually people they did not know. In such times we "appeal to the better angels of our nature" (Lincoln's First Inaugural). To be kind is to draw not so much from one's mind as one's heart. It is the outward measure of greatness.

I humbly offer this proposal, complete with occasional diversionary witticisms lest we take ourselves too seriously, as an encouragement to focus on the right things. Therein lies a viable future worthy of our nation's grand experiment in freedom, broken and fragile as it may seem right now. I welcome additions, suggestions, criticisms, even recommendations that I never write another word.

There is one response that I will neither welcome nor consider, and that is to tell me it is impractical. Practicality has snuffed out way too many dreams. We need much more than stifling predispositions and boring predictability. 

If we can do this for just one day, however imperfectly, we can demonstrate possibility, which is the pathway to hope.

Then perhaps we truly can make America great again.

Or proud again. Or kind again. Or respected again. Or inspiring again.

Not for the first time. Not for the last. But perhaps for our slice of human history, we should just take it one day at a time.

A World Spinning on Black Ice

Most of us who have lived in the northern hemisphere have experienced the phenomenon of black ice. Its name is perhaps a bit of a misnomer because the ice is not really black, but a thin, clear sheet of glaze over a black pavement, making the road look normal when in fact it is treacherously slick. When motorists hit it unaware their car can unexpectedly spin out of control, often with tragic results.

Spinning on ice is a terrible feeling. You have all of the normal controls used to navigate the vehicle but none of them work in the usual fashion. Turning left often causes the car to go right. Pressing the brake hard doesn't stop or even slow you down; it only accelerates the spin. Normal reactions are usually the opposite of what you should do.

In these moments you realize that you are out of control and there is nothing you can do to stop it. You are going to spin until something intervenes--a guard rail, a shoulder of grass or dirt, another vehicle equally adrift. And it all happens in a manner of seconds.

I have been feeling just like that since January 20, only nine days into a new administration in Washington, D.C. I say this in a deeply heartfelt way and not as someone whining because my candidate didn't win. I have made no secret of my distaste for Donald Trump and for the entire 2016 presidential election, whatever party or person one may prefer. I posted an essay about seeing the election through the eyes of a Canadian immigrant and another trying to find some sense of equilibrium as I sorted through the voting outcome. Many of my friends checked out of watching the news, blocking out their despair over the new world order that seemed to be on its way. I didn't go that far, but my pain was palpable and made manifest in many ways.

I didn't even have time to articulate my desire to "give the guy a chance" before the executive orders and cabinet appointments made that impossible. I won't try to expand upon all the things that immediately became troubling, but the list is long. 

But it's not the list so much as the underlying issues that need to be sorted out. The real problem is the need to disentangle policies from their foundations. Where does immigration policy separate from racist and religious foundations? Where does economic policy separate from class and ethnic foundations? Where does foreign affairs policy separate from corporate profit foundations?  Where does domestic policy separate from human rights and special interest foundations?

And then there is the man who is our president. How does his immense wealth, and the relationships that attend it, shape the decisions that are made on behalf of the American people? To what degree does his personal behavior subject him to potential blackmail or other similar threats? What can we make of his enormous ego needs that push the country into having to deal with competing head counts at marches and other gatherings, or with bogus claims of election fraud?

How can we understand the ridiculous flirtation with the Russian thug who has amassed a vast fortune through theft, bullying, and even murder, all the while using his influences to affect the electoral outcome in the United States? What are we expected to do with policy pronouncements that come in the middle of the night by tweet, or with outraged reactions to SNL skits or movie star critiques? How can we live in a fragile world with a world leader who cannot measure his words or subdue his petty anger?

As I write this, airports are congested in response to an executive order banning a variety of nationals and persons of certain faiths from entering the country, despite being in possession of valid visas and passports. A silly argument about paying for a silly wall is occupying attention around the world. Europe is in an uproar over the future of NATO and questions about trade and treaty abound.

Yes, there have been protests on an impressive scale and around the world. But that is not necessarily a good thing, in comparison to what ought to be. Our president has triggered these marches, but it is our country that ultimately takes the hit. This is too much, too fast, too far.

All this in just nine days.

Which brings me back to black ice.

We have entered the road at full speed. There is no attention given to speaking with clarity and purpose, having taken the time to iron out the language and make certain that key players understand. There is little respect for the leaders of other nations and even less for other cultures. There is no room for subtlety. Where a small Phillips screwdriver is needed a jackhammer is preferred. We are led by someone on a huge learning curve who thinks he is always the smartest person in the room. There are too many earth-shattering, globe-changing issues on the table.

We've got to slow down. We must.

Nah! We're pushing the pedal all the way to the floor.

And why shouldn't we?

After all, there's just that long beautiful stretch of black road ahead.

Healing Voices in the Night

Tuesday night, for the first time since I was a teenager, I went to bed before a presidential race was called and without hearing the expected speeches of concession and victory. By the time I slid beneath the covers, the outcome was all but certain, awaiting only the final stamp of approval from the pollsters, most of whom were already hard at work framing excuses for their monumental failure to accurately project the grizzled anger of the country.

A political junkie for most of my life, I have spent untold hours reading about issues and listening to the candidates and pundits examine them. I have loved the inside stories, the inner workings, the gossip and the strategy of campaigns. Canadian by birth, I saw myself as an outsider looking in (as I chronicled in a recent post), until I became a naturalized citizen in 1965.

I first voted in a presidential election in 1968 and this year marks my thirteenth presidential vote; I cast winning ballots six times and losing ballots seven times. In only one case did I ultimately regret my choice and in no case did I believe that the candidate I opposed would either destroy Western civilization or promote the killing of puppies. Peaceful transitions were made; we licked our wounds and waited for the next cycle.

I approached this election much the same way but quickly began to see that we were in for a slog--an election cycle that began to imitate life itself, interminable debates between insufferable candidates, a 24/7 media frenzy that sopped up anything that would fill airtime, and a new low in civility that should alarm anyone concerned with the political process.

We ended up with two deeply flawed candidates. One was fighting a historically symbolic battle with a sterling resume but with accusations of corruption that cost her the trust of the electorate. The other was the consummate outsider, flaunting traditional values, brutal in his characterization of others, paying his own way from his vast personal resources, and promising change with nothing to offer by way of policy or program except "trust me."

For me, the choice was clear. My abhorrence of one candidate's appeal to the dark underbelly of our country--racism, bigotry, misogyny, and many others--was more than sufficient to nullify my disappointment in the other's mishandling of emails and a questionable interplay between fund-raising and political access.

An ignorance of critical foreign policy issues and a cavalier attitude toward nuclear weapons left me deeply concerned about global stability. I had never experienced an election that featured a candidate so frightening to me and so dangerous for the world. I took solace in believing in my heart and thinking in my head that he could never be elected.

I wrote the previous two paragraphs not to stir emotions or rekindle the political firestorm, but only to explain the depth of feelings that prompt these reflections. I do understand that people of goodwill were deeply committed to the other candidate. I wish it was possible for both sides to engage in a dialogue that might not change minds but would at least help us to understand each other. That seems a bit elusive at the moment, but perhaps it will come another day.

Feeling as I did, one can perhaps imagine how the story that began to crawl across my television screen became a horrifying truth. The impossible was happening, the unelectable was being elected, the so-called carnival barker was to become the leader of the free world.

There was a lot to listen to and learn, but my body was rebelling. I couldn't deflect the fist that kept pounding me in the gut every time the networks announced they had a new projection. And my Parkinson's Disease, which usually behaves when I take my pills, announced it was going to have its way with me this night. It doesn't play well with stress, and it had apparently discerned that I was experiencing a fair measure of that. So here came the tremors and dyskinesia and other annoyances. I wasn't about to let the specter of this frightening moment in history invade my nervous system. I went to bed and slept soundly.

When I awoke, I first reached over to my iPhone to make sure it wasn't just a bad dream. Alas, no. Then I realized I had been processing ideas during the night because new thoughts were swirling within me. The most prevalent one was personal defiance. It went something like this:

"You know what? I'm 69 years old and I don't have to take this. If this is the kind of country you people want, go for it. I've got hundreds of books in my library that I would love to read, while sipping good coffee. I can watch basebalI, which imitates life better than almost anything. I don't know much about music, but I enjoy the haunting beat and unruly experimentation of great jazz. With a few clicks of a key, I can bring the world's finest movies into my living room. I can turn off the news, quit watching Rachel and skip the New York Times daily update. Let the victors reap the spoils and be damned." 

As of this moment, that is still sounding like a pretty good plan, But this incessant voice keeps muttering from deep down inside me. It first came in the night and stirred me awake with inelegant phrasings and incomplete sentences. Stuff like this:

-- "pretty cute granddaughters you've got there, Grant"

-- "be gracious, give him a chance to succeed"

-- "coward"

-- "in Missouri, if you don't like today's weather just wait until tomorrow"

-- "all persons are of inestimable worth in the sight of God"

-- "first the Royals, then the Cubs...see, hope can never die"

-- "that peace and justice thing you've talked about all these years--do you really buy into that?"

-- "about those blog posts you put up over the last ten years -- did you believe that stuff?"

-- "you're not so old -- sounds like an excuse"

-- "dream big dreams"

-- "pretty smart granddaughters you've got there, Grant"

I turn in my bed and stare at the ceiling. I am angry and hurt and frightened. Then I hear those soft voices again, over and over, still quiet, but unrelenting.

The sun sneaks through the slats in the blind and begins to draw lines of light across the ceiling. I get up and go get my pills.

It is the dawn of a new day.

A Canadian Immigrant Ponders the U.S. Election

In the summer of 1959 my mother, sister, grandmother, and I packed all our worldly possessions into a North American Van Lines truck and sent it on its way to Independence, Missouri, USA, where we were moving from our home in a small town near Toronto, Canada.

It took the moving van a month to make it to Missouri, but for our family it was the journey of a lifetime. As we crossed the Windsor/Detroit border, I can still remember pressing my nose against the rear window of the car, watching with complicated feelings as my Canadian homeland disappeared in the distance. We also left behind my father, who had deserted our family because he was unable to control his addiction to alcohol. Gone also was a host of friends and family. I was twelve years old.

It's a lonely job patrolling the
US/Canada border. No walls are planned.

I was an alien, and I had a green card to prove it. I was in a strange land where my classmates thought Canadians lived in igloos, hockey was played on a horse, and a Chesterfield was a cigarette instead of a divan.

But before long I was assimilated. It was easier for our family than some immigrants. This was a time before Canada became a bilingual nation, and it could be reasonably argued that Canadians speak the same language as Americans. Mostly, eh?

Over the years as I adapted to a new country, I learned some things. One might call them takeaways.

I found it a bit disconcerting to discover that few Americans knew anything about Canadian history or culture, whereas I had been schooled about our neighbors to the south. Many Americans couldn't find Canada on a map, and were surprised to discover that it was considerably larger than the U.S., although admittedly a lot of that land is frozen tundra. A takeaway: American exceptionalism sets a nice framework for patriotic speeches, but it might be helpful if we understood more about the rest of the world, especially if one aspires to lead the nation.

Even at that tender age in Canada, I remember being interested in politics. I figured all I had to do was exchange names like Lester Pearson and John Diefenbaker for those of Richard Nixon and John F. Kennedy. It turned out to be a bit more complicated than that. There are various forms of democracies--a parliamentary system is different than a republic. A takeaway: There are different ways of governing, and we can learn from many of them,

In an eighth-grade social studies class, I recall having to debate another student about a proposal in the 1960 election having to do with farm subsidies. I knew little about the issues of that election, let alone anything to do with farming. But debate it I did. A takeaway: It was perhaps my first inkling that maybe some aspirants to public office don't know what they're talking about.

In those days there was a pretty clear pathway to citizenship. I had to live in the country for five years, take a test to prove that I understood the basic principles of the Constitution, and repeat an oath denouncing any allegiance I might have to my country of origin and swearing my absolute fealty to the United States of America. In 1965 I went with my mother and sister to a courtroom in Kansas City and there we participated with 20 or 30 others in a ceremony that would make us citizens of this land. The judge picked me out of the group to lead the pledge of allegiance. I gulped and hesitatingly started it with "I pledge allegiance to...", hoping that others would cover for me if I couldn't remember the words all the way to the end. They did, and I was an alien no more. A takeaway: Maybe native born Americans should take a test to prove they understand the Constitution too.

The 1968 DNC Convention took place as much in the streets
as in the hall. Politics were changed as a result.

My interest in politics piddled along throughout high school and college until it came to full bloom in the contentious election of 1968, my senior year in college and the first time I was eligible to vote in a presidential election. Despite attending a small, midwestern, church-sponsored college, I  had relatively liberal views, opposing the War in Vietnam, supporting equality for all regardless of race or gender. During the 1968 Democratic National Convention, I favored the long-haired, anti-War demonstrators in the streets over the establishment candidates in the hall trying to thwart the followers of Eugene McCarthy and the inheritors of Robert F. Kennedy, who had been assassinated just a matter of weeks before.

In November that year, partly in a fit of pique over the Democratic Party's handling of the anti-War movement, and partly in a blush of naïveté that convinced me I could trust Richard Nixon when he said he had a secret plan to end the war, I cast my first presidential vote for Nixon. I have been in a state of perpetual penance ever since. But I did get an important takeaway: Don't trust politicians, or at least be wary; trust the process, but keep your eyes open.

Four years later I embraced the quixotic campaign of peace activist George McGovern, only to find it dashed to pieces on the rocks of political reality, winning only Massachusetts and the District of Columbia. I was devastated. The takeaway: Follow your dreams, but protect your heart.

In the years that followed, I learned how to be an American. It was kind of like being a Canadian with some nuances of difference. Canadians often sing an appeal that God would save their Queen, whereas Americans sang the hope that their flag would continue to wave.

The U.S. military is a far more powerful presence in the world than Canada's, and is often called upon to protect allied nations from hostile invasions. Canadian forces were less likely to do so, although my father had served in the Canadian army during World War II. However, Canada played a formidable role in the creation of NATO, arguably the most significant treaty of the 20th Century; it is still providing a security safety net for widely disparate nations of the Western world. The takeaway: Embrace our differences, respect those who look, speak, and pray in diverse ways, for we have much to learn from one another.

In the past 40 years the American political landscape has experienced a staggering litany of notable, sometimes earthshaking, events such as these, to name only a few:

• Nixon's resignation amidst a scandal defined by corruption and cover-up
• An American election handcuffed by hostages in Iran
• The rise of an aging but charismatic movie star to become one of the most beloved American presidents
• A young and effective politician overcoming an impeachment scandal arising from his personal life
• A pivotal election turning on "hanging chads" from a recount of Florida ballots, ultimately decided by a deeply divided Supreme Court
• Terrorists killing thousands on 9/11 and defining a presidency, first by widely supported retaliation and then by profound questions about flawed intelligence that led to an unpopular war in Iraq
• The hope-filled election of the first African American president, unexpectedly stirring racial and cultural wars and Congressional gridlock
• A 2016 presidential primary that featured the nomination of potentially the first woman to serve as president, a populist revolt from the left, and a 17 candidate GOP field from the right that resulted in the nomination of the most divisive candidate in over a century

The takeaway: The incredible vitality and pluralism of American society is its blessing and its curse, giving rise to our highest aspirations even while stirring the basest forces of hate and ignorance.

All of that and more is on my mind as this Canadian-born, U.S. naturalized, citizen reflects on the American election of 2016. I have voted for 12 presidents, six times with the winning side and six times with the losing side. Some of those elections brought me deep feelings of despair and others literally brought tears of joy to my eyes. I have no doubt that one of those emotions--despair or joy--will burrow into my soul when the ballots are counted and the network projections fill my television screen on November 8, 2016.

I think the takeaways from my modest immigrant journey will continue to inform me, even in this campaign the pundits declare is like no other. There are principles suggested by those takeaways that use words like respect, diversity, humility, constitution, strength, aspiration, vitality, global, process, governance, and trust. They are the words that this Canadian immigrant seized on as he grew from a twelve-year-old boy to a 69-year-old senior, still making his way as an American from Canada. Here are a few musings unpacked from the story of this election, filtered through my life as an immigrant, and contrasted with the American narrative.

When I heard the word "immigrant" I never thought of it as applying to me, until now. Something has happened in this election cycle that has recast a word previously attached to the Statue of Liberty and the admirable notion of "melting pot," and has turned it into something vile and threatening. We have lost sight of the fact that "country of origin" is an accident of birth, not an earned privilege. That is the reason why America has been so generous in welcoming those who have come in search of a better life. I am not suffering any indignities for having migrated here as a young lad, but I am more conscious these days of not being a natural born citizen, as if that somehow makes me a lesser being. Silly, I know. But still.

Trust is the primary currency we can use to make the American political system work; both parties have squandered much of their collateral in this election. I don't appreciate Secretary Clinton parsing her words around accusations of improper use of an email server. Neither do I accept the Democratic National Committee rigging the system to minimize Bernie Sanders' chances of winning the nomination. These missteps are matched by Trump's fury of lies over his business practices and ethical shortcomings. It has left us with two of the most unpopular candidates in history heading the two national tickets. This disillusionment means that many votes will be squandered rather than treasured, an ominous failing that risks the very stability of the country.

The glass ceiling is already shattered; we're just cleaning up the shards. I don't mean to minimize Hillary Clinton's historic campaign to become the first female president. I also want that barrier down so that my granddaughters won't ever have to think about it. But the truth is that the United States is a bit late to the game. Margaret Thatcher was prime minister of the UK during the Reagan era. A recent study conducted by the World Economic Forum shows that 63 of 142 nations surveyed have had a female head of state--not great, but notable. When I listen to Hillary Clinton I don't even think about her becoming the first woman to serve as president; I think about what she is saying. That's a good thing. Let's quit crowing so much and just get it done.

The Constitution is neither a list of suggestions nor a cultural straitjacket, but a living document ingeniously written to define foundational principles in a changing world. Sometimes it feels like immigrants understand that idea more clearly than many native born Americans who don't ever have to take an oath to uphold the Constitution. The most memorable moment of either convention was when Khizr Khan, the Muslim father of an American soldier who died in Iraq, reached into his pocket and pulled out his own copy of the Constitution, offering it to Donald Trump. The cavalier attitude of Trump toward the equal protection clause and the religious freedom clause is chilling. It's been over 50 years, but I'm pretty sure I had to understand both of those principles when I took the quiz before I lifted my hand to recite the oath of allegiance.

Political correctness is not the opposite of civility, nor does its rejection mean that one can say anything about anyone with impunity. The idea of political correctness came into the vernacular when advocates of social change began to demand a precision of language around those changes. Words are important, but sometimes it got silly. Now it has swung too far the other direction and common courtesies and normal respect are being labeled as political correctness. It is not a question of freedom of speech; the right to do something does not require one to do it. This is particularly true of those who would lead us, and whose words become a model for discourse in our society. Shame on those who mock and deride others and use rejection of political correctness as their cover.

Declaring we're the greatest nation in the world requires that we understand and respect the world with which we compare ourselves. As I mentioned previously, I was troubled by how little Americans knew about their neighbor to the north, in contrast to what I knew about my neighbor to the south. But there is a difference between childhood innocence and adult ignorance. This election is being characterized as featuring the "most qualified candidate to ever run for president" (perhaps some hyperbole there, but refers to Clinton) and "the least prepared candidate to be commander in chief" (refers to Trump, largely on his claim that his own brain is his primary consultant on foreign policy). Ignorance is becoming increasingly dangerous in a world where subtle differences between cultural or religious groups have life or death consequences. And here's the biggest danger of all: When citizens start letting demagogues do their thinking they relinquish the power of "We the people," the very cornerstone of American democracy.

An adopted child is often reminded that he or she was chosen to be a part of this family, unlike those who were born into it. As an adopted citizen, I have had to learn how to be an American while still valuing my Canadian heritage. I have taken this seriously, studying American history and culture, raising our two sons to respect their country and the blessings it provides.

This election leaves me swirling in discontent and apprehension, different from any previous balloting I have experienced, even those in which I was deeply invested. I think of it as not so much an election of ideas as an election of soul. I don't mean that in a specifically religious sense, but in a human sense. If we allow unprincipled politicians to gain power through divisiveness, ignorance, and hate, our country will be diminished and our place in the world will decline in measurable ways.

It may seem strange coming from a Canadian immigrant, but it is really about patriotism--love of country, respect for each other, generosity of spirit, and a vision of hope.

America, wherever our birthplace, whatever our faith, let's do it together, eh?

The Justice and the Unjust

Is there any chance that the presidential candidates who are lauding the judicial legacy of Justice Antonin Scalia might also learn from his style and temperament?

Now I need to be clear and state unequivocally that I am no fan of Scalia's legal philosophy, and I believe that many of his decisions have been damaging to the country.

But as I watched the Republican debate last night, coming just a few hours after the announcement of Scalia's death, I was struck by the horrible contrast between the whining, backbiting, inelegant, and completely shameful performances of those who would be president, and he whose death was being measured as much by the person he was as the views he held. To be honest, I didn't really know that side of Scalia and have to confess that my immediate reaction upon hearing of his death was one of satisfaction that this ultra-conservative voice would no longer be a block to issues I cared about.

But the more I reflected upon it, the more I thought that sometimes style can be just as important as substance, and may even be a pathway to achieving one's goals and fulfilling one's hopes. There is a long-standing American principle, and perhaps a larger human principle, suggesting that one does not have to make enemies of those who hold differing philosophical, religious, or political views. It appears that Justice Scalia was one who shared that perspective.

Justice Ruth Ginsburg, arguably the most liberal justice on the Supreme Court, is one of Scalia's closest friends. While he was the most intellectually rigorous conservative voice on the Court, he is also known for constantly seeking new insights, This can be illustrated by his role in transforming the importance of oral arguments.

Prior to Scalia coming on the Court, justices rarely asked more than a few questions and were mostly silent during Court hearings. Scalia changed all that, peppering the lawyers appearing before him with many questions in an effort to explore the legal boundaries and learn something. And most importantly, the warmth of his personality, his sense of humor, and his love of life injected a human element into his decisions and his relationships. Reading and watching television tributes about him has changed my view of the man, although not my view of his jurisprudence.

But like everything, there is a context, and it was the setting of last night's debacle in South Carolina that stirred these thoughts. Like a masochist, I feel that I'm tethered to these debates, unable to shake the notion that I must keep watching, no matter how painful it is. Last night was horrible on many levels, not just for the unseemly jousting over Scalia's replacement before many people had even heard of his death.

This country is in need of political debates worthy of the name, not the train wrecks we see in the Republican debates, and increasingly in the Democratic ones as well. The arguments are often demeaning, replete with name-calling, and accusations that opponents are liars. But rarely are these tactics constructive or informative. These politicians seem unable to prevent themselves from uttering outbursts that are immediately destined to become soundbites for hundreds, if not thousands, of replays on the 24/7 media. To the casual observer and to the international community, this is what our country is all about. Perhaps they are right.

How grand it would have been if one message emanating from the death of a doctrinaire but widely respected Supreme Court justice, sometimes acerbic but often playful, willing to befriend those he opposed, would have been to see those values embraced in that debate. Within sixty seconds it was obvious that such was not to be. Instead, we got children playing in the sandbox and arguing over a pale of water and a plastic shovel.

At the beginning of the debate, the moderators asked everyone to pause for a moment of silence in honor of Justice Scalia. The best thing that could have happened for the late justice and his family, for the candidates on the stage, and indeed for the entire country, would have been for that moment of silence to have extended the entire two hours.

Garrison Keillor's America vis-à-vis the Dark Vision of Donald Trump

Saturday night my wife and I attended a stirring program at the Starlight Theater in Kansas City, featuring Garrison Keillor and members of the cast from his long-running radio program, A Prairie Home Companion. It will likely be the last live performance we will witness. Keillor has announced his retirement after a 41-year run. 

Over that time, which began the year our oldest son was born, we have listened to hundreds of his weekly programs, acquired numerous tapes and CDs, attended several live performances, and  in 2006 enjoyed a memorable cruise to Alaska which featured Keillor and his entire cast as the entertainment for the week. (In fact, that was the year I started this blog and here is a link to my post about APHC and that cruise, way back when.)

Keillor is an American original, a genuine folk humorist blessed with a musical capacity that bridges the genres and mixes it lightly with a comedic sense, impeccable timing, and self-deprecating charm. He is a storyteller par excellence. Sometimes when he starts one of his classic tales from Lake Wobegon, the mythical Midwestern town at the heart of his artfully created world, you wonder if the story will find its way back to an ending that is worthy of its telling. But usually, by hook or crook, he traverses the landscape he has imagined and lands adroitly on a moral point that is centered in the America he loves. And we love it too.

There will be a plethora of reviews, tributes, and retrospectives by the time Keillor hangs up his red shoes for the last time. Far be it for me to presume to assess his place in American culture, confident though I am that it will be notable indeed.

But there were some other stirrings in my soul the other night as I began to have a clearer sense of the kind of America Garrison Keillor paints for us each time he sits down on his stool in front of a microphone and begins to spin through skits, songs, and stories, a world that his audience recognizes in its heart, and yearns for in its head.

Unfortunately, my joy in the moment was tempered by an inner dissonance. I found myself contrasting Keillor's America with the one being bandied about in American society these days, led by an egocentric billionaire for whom money is the sole measure of value, force the pathway to security, and ridicule the commerce of diplomacy.  

His is a dark vision. It appeals to our baser selves. It is all prose and no poetry. It is a world without boundaries for those with their own helicopter, their name emblazoned on its side. It is a vision where every humiliating affront is declared as "just boys being boys." It is a vision composed of walls and armies and demagoguery. It is a society where building casinos is likened to building cathedrals. It is a dark and make-believe world that is being created and fueled by fear and empowered by hate. And this traveling salvation show is driven by one who declares there is nothing in his life for which he needs to ask forgiveness.

This is a dark and terrifying vision of America. 

But there is a better way.

Garrison Keillor also skewers American life and all its foibles. He makes fun of his religious upbringing and the strait-laced virtues of small town Lutheranism. Then he leads the audience in singing "Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory of the Coming of the Lord." No malice here.

He would make fun of the notion of building a gigantic wall to keep “illegals” out, then put a perspective to it by returning us to old, familiar campfire songs like: “So wide you can’t get around it, so tall you can’t get over it, so low you can’t get under it, you gotta go inna the door.” (That’s the way I learned it, anyway.) Somehow, this wall would so much more powerful in its symbolism if it wasn’t accompanied by the list of building supplies to be picked up at Home Depot.

Garrison Keillor lampoons bureaucrats in Washington, DC, with the best of them. His satire is incisive and just as penetrating, but it is not filled with personal loathing, as if every federal worker was stupid and on the dole. There is a difference between criticizing and demonizing.

If one vision of America is centered in personality and ego, Keillor's is self-effacing, his hair windblown but not intentionally so, his wardrobe often unfashionably askew, his ego undoubtedly fluffed by audience adulation but without illusions as to how important that really is.

Garrison Keillor's patriotism is inclusive. His concert tour lifts up the beauty of America, "from sea to shining sea." His audience is not a bunch of different people; it is one people under a canopy of heaven, singing songs we all know, laughing at ourselves, and celebrating the vast community that is America. The other vision is about "just us, not them." It appeals to an American exceptionalism that has winners and losers, and a puppeteer determining which victors get which spoils.

I am not an innocent drawn to quixotic causes, but I am a dreamer. I have been blessed to see a lot of this world, to experience its beauty and its brokenness. I have seen the worst and the best of people. I have seen the world changed by the simplest of persons, and I believe that leadership is a sacred gift proffered to us so as to help us be about good work in the world.

Leaders unite, they do not divide. Leaders respect, they do not ridicule. Leaders sing hymns, not their own song.

Garrison Keillor is not running for president, but his vision of America laughs, cries, and sings its way into our hearts. Sing along, lest we all get swept away into the darkness.

Five Things That Should Be Undebatable

No one should pay much attention to what I think about the candidates who debated on Thursday night, whether from the prime time stage or the losers table (for those who didn't make the Fox News cut).

There is very little likelihood that I will be voting for any of that group, so disgusted am I with the Republican obstructionist tactics over the past seven years. The disdain for the President is palpable and began the day he took office, thereby negating any argument that their disagreement is principled or policy-based. 

I have a point of view as to what drives the antipathy, but it will take some years for us to see it clearly. History will be generous to Barack Obama. Had the Disloyal Opposition honored the judgement of the voters in 2008 and again in 2012, and simply engaged in a good faith, bipartisan debate on the issues that prevailed in the election, this country and the world would be in a far better place.

But now, seventeen of those naysayers are asking the country to send them to the White House and, if successful, they will undoubtedly be expecting the graciousness and patriotism they denied their predecessor. If one of those aspirants to the Presidency is successful, I will be reaching down deep into my soul to find the wherewithal to give that person the support that any recipient of America's greatest treasure--its vote--deserves, and that Barack Obama was denied. Flawed human that I am, I probably will not be gracious. But I will try.

But in the meantime, we need to take a look at the process that we are now engaged in and speak some truth about what is happening in this electoral season. Here are some brief observations about five things that should be undebatable in a civilized society.

Politics as Theater. None of us should be under any illusion that politics is not, in part, theater. That is how politicians get attention, it is how parties generate enthusiasm, and it is how policies get cooked for human consumption. What we must understand, however, is that theater does not make a leader and, when used improperly, can destroy a leader. Like the Wizard of Oz or the emperor who has no clothes; it is all theater. So far, the Republican campaign has been driven entirely by a candidate who believes his words create reality and his bravado is his message. It's all theater. 

Political Correctness.  Donald Trump, confronted with misogynistic statements he has made about women, declared that he didn't "have time for political correctness." That answer received a raucous applause, encouraging him to repeat that defense in post-debate interviews. In fact, he worsened it by attacking the female interviewer who had asked the question in the first place. How much "time" does it take to refer to someone as a "woman" instead of a "fat pig?" Of course, there are some who take this to extremes, but Trump's name-calling is not about political correctness. It is about being rude, gauche, and demeaning. 

Respect for People. One of the foundational principles of our society is that people have worth, that ideas are fair game, but people are respected. Look back at the memoirs of political leaders over recent decades. Lyndon Johnson was one of the most ruthless legislators when he was majority leader of the U.S. Senate, and his arm-twisting techniques continued into his Presidency. But he also had respect for his opponents, befriended them and their families, and had the most formidable list of accomplishments of any president since FDR. At the same time, he genuinely cared for people and their needs, choosing to help the disadvantaged rather than demonize them. There are many criticisms one could level at LBJ; disrespect of people is not one. How one wishes that it would be so today.

Respect for Culture. In the 911 era, our country has moved from celebrating a rich, multi-cultural, melting pot to a time of distrust of other cultures and religious movements. Some of this is understandable, but it requires more of us in order to distinguish between cultures of hate and cultures of peace. Pride in American exceptionalism often leads to American exclusivism. We see this in the immigration debate, in the suspicion focused on mosques in American cities, and even in attitudes toward allies like France and Germany. Cultural diversity is a central tenet of American society and we should expect our political candidates to articulate and explain those differences rather than exploit them.

Faith and Culture. The Constitution built a wall of separation between church and state. Sometimes we forget that was to protect the state from the church as much as the church from the state. Our task, especially in a political season, is to honor and respect a candidate's faith without being expected to make that faith normative for the entire country. It gets tough when it comes to issues like abortion, but distinctions between personal beliefs and public policy must be made. There are several candidates in this race who believe they are called by God to public service, including running for president.  An anonymous quote I like is, "Seek out the company of those who are searching for the truth. But avoid at all cost those who claim to have found it!" Theological humility serves us all well.

The political year is off to a rough start. In the midst of many issues to be debated, perhaps there are some that ought to be undebatable--separating politics from theater, using words with care, respecting people and culture, and properly using our deepest faith commitments.

With foundation stones like that, we can have an election worthy of the American people and our place in the world.

Embracing the Ebb and Flow of Life

Three seemingly unrelated things that tell us something about ourselves and our world...

First: I recently began to reread Alas, Babylon, a classic apocalyptic novel published in 1959. The author, Pat Frank, captured the worst fears of the Cold War by depicting life in a small Florida town that miraculously survived a nuclear holocaust that destroyed most of America.

I can't really explain what provoked me to pick up the book. I had a copy in my library for decades, but it apparently did not survive the occasional culling that goes on now and then. But it has been reissued and I had Amazon send one my way.

The first night I started to read the book, we had a tornado warning. For one hour, I read the novel with a storm siren howling in the distance, our ears tuned to the weather report, flashlights at hand, readying ourselves to hurry to a reinforced area in the center of our basement that serves as an emergency shelter. It was surreal. I didn't pick the book up again until the sun was shining.

Second: A couple of weeks ago, my brother-in-law died after a five-year battle with a debilitating stroke that left him paralyzed on his left side. The last ten days of his life were spent at a hospice house, his wife and daughters at his side. The vigil was healing in some ways and difficult in others. One cannot feel good about a life that was taken too young and with things yet to do.

But a few days later his church was filled with family and friends who came together to celebrate and learn from his life. We heard things we had never heard before, laughed aloud at stories that captured the beauty and uniqueness of his life, shed tears that had been welling up for a long time, and celebrated through song, story, and prayer the richness of his life. It was redemptive.

Third: A few weeks ago a series of remarkable events gave many of us reason to feel new hope for America. The Supreme Court upheld provisions of the Affordable Health Care Act that would have cost millions of Americans health care coverage had the outcome been different. Then came another ruling that declared same-sex marriage to be constitutional in all fifty states. While there are still deep divisions within the country on both issues, the Court reflected the changing cultural consensus and set in place a framework by which these issues can be processed.

At the same time, a tragic shooting spurred by racial hatred turned a historic African-American church into a house of forgiveness and reconciliation. In South Carolina and elsewhere, courageous leaders stood up to the forces of hate and led to the removal of a flag that was for many a symbol of slavery and racism. And in the midst of it all, President Obama delivered a stirring eulogy to the slain that artfully and sensitively captured that powerful transformational moment.

A friend wrote me and said, "It is a great week for America." I agreed and my heart soared with a sense of hope I had not felt for some time. I have been distressed by the direction of the country--the horrible electoral gridlock, the obscene influence of money in politics, and an increasing income inequality that threatens the well-being of our country. I wrote about my malaise earlier this year. So my pleasure at these landmark moments was palpable.

Then came Donald Trump, spewing words of racial hatred, imposing his megalomania on all who would listen, turning his delusions of grandeur into some kind of political platform. It was like he turned and spit into the fountain of goodwill that had been filled during a remarkable few weeks in the summer of 2015.

I had to pause and think about how we are shaped by the ebb and flow of our lives. Good times replace the bad, pain gives way to joy, moments of insight are blunted by stupors of thought. It is just the way it is. If we understand that, we can live in hope, aware that this too will pass.

And so it is that a scary apocalyptic novel can be better read in the full light of day. Pain over the loss of a beloved family member is salved in part by the awareness that we shared a slice of his life and we are better people for having done so. And we must remind ourselves that buffoons will come and go, particularly in politics. But they will not stand because voices of dignity, reason, and humanity will ultimately drown out the haters and quell the designs of those whose egos dwarf the country they would presume to lead.

In Missouri, we often say that if you don't like the weather just wait a bit and it will be completely different. And so it is in the ebb and flow of life. Tomorrow is always another day.