"Fare Thee Well," Joan

Thursday night, as the United States Senate was in the final throes of ceding its soul to voices of fear and deceit, Joan Baez walked onto the stage of the Chicago Theatre for the last time, having willed her 77-year-old voice to one final tour across the country and around the world.

This was Chicago's turn for a "Fare Thee Well” concert, and that magical voice pierced the warm rain of the city's night with haunting lyrics and familiar folk tunes lamenting the raspy disharmony of hate and daring to confront it with the perfect pitch of love.

Baez did what she has done throughout her life, and mine. Born during World War II, she grew into one of the country’s most persistent critics of all wars, a passionate pacifist but a forceful, opponent of injustice and violence.

She wrote the songs that were nested in her heart and sang the songs written by her fellow travelers in the protest movement that defined her life. And so the phrases resonate—diamonds and rust, houses adorned with rising suns, hard rains soon to fall, driving old Dixie down, Bobby McGee, Michael rowing his boat ashore, forever young, sweet chariots, amazing grace, and gypsies everywhere.

Joyce and I were there that night, along with our son Jeff and his girlfriend Julie—Baby Boomers and Gen-Xers sharing a journey across this cultural divide. It was a pre-planned but still prescient trip (including the astonishing musical experience that is Hamilton and a raucous improvisational treatment of Shakespeare). We were anticipating the best of America--the mystique of the big city, jazz, dance, the arts in many forms, Uber drivers from Ghana with tales to tell, and hotels overlooking baseball's Wrigley Field but without a game to play.

But alas, the country was in the midst of a protracted and vicious battle over a controversial nominee to the Supreme Court. We needed an escape from what this debate had revealed -- presidential smuggery, congressional cowardice, and a political culture poised to slide into moral bankruptcy. 

President Trump and his beleaguered nominee
for the vacant seat on the United States Supreme Court

There was a sense of urgency in the theater. The audience skewed older—silver hair, slower steps, canes, and walkers in abundance, including mine. But there were granddaughters too, accompanied by grandmothers who hope they will one day understand. There were fathers and sons talking about being a man.

Time Magazine cover, November 23, 1962 | Vol. LXXX No. 21

Perhaps it was predictable that this dark shadow would be cast across our land when Joan Baez was booked for this final appearance in Chicago on this final tour of her career. Every one of us had come to celebrate the contributions of her life and witness and to enjoy the beauty of her music. But from the first song, it was clear that her voice that night was not about past sit-ins or marches on Selma. It was not about past campaigns for human rights or women's rights or voting rights or civil rights of any kind. 

The set of songs she sang, no matter the familiarity of the lyrics, was about present-day injustice, politicians without values, history without context, and a culture that is increasingly coarse and bereft of moral leadership. It was about now, not then. It was about us, not them.

What we got from Joan Baez was not an antidote or a cure. But it was a response, powerfully sung and passionately felt. 

And now she needs to say farewell. How can she go? The hard rain is still coming. Michael's boat is not ashore. There are many more Bobby McGees. There are promises to keep out there blowing in the wind.

But this is one of those promises:

Oh fare thee well, I must be gone

And leave you for a while

Wherever I go, I will return

If I go ten thousand miles

If I go, if I go, if I go ten thousand miles

(Songwriters: David GudeFare Thee Well lyrics © The Bicycle Music Company)

So fare thee well, dear Joan. You have served us well, loved your world, found the light, and given us hope. It is the fulfillment of a life well lived.

By amazing grace you found your way, and by amazing grace you go.

The Justice, the Unjust, and Just Us

Judge Neil Gorsuch has been nominated by President Trump
to fill the vacancy on the Supreme Court

When Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia died almost a year ago on February 13, 2016, I was struck by the moving tributes that came from a wide array of people, including those who did not share in any way his judicial philosophy. The following day I posted on this blog a short piece entitled The Justice and the Unjust, which contrasted the rhetoric of the ongoing presidential debates with the behavior of the late justice. I posed the question of whether the presidential candidates who lauded his judicial legacy might have anything to learn from his style and temperament.

Since then, the vacancy on the Supreme Court occasioned by his death has been the target of internecine squabbling caused by the refusal of the Republican majority to allow a vote on President Obama's nominee, arguing that the seat should not be filled in the last year of the president's term and should await the outcome of the presidential election. Never mind that such an argument is preposterous and unconstitutional, it worked. A newly inaugurated President Trump has nominated Judge Neil Gorsuch, and a deeply divided Senate will take up the question of who will fill this position so crucial to the country's future. 

It seemed that it might be useful to revisit the previous essay and update the key ideas to the present circumstances. What follows is a major rewrite of the original piece, with a minor but perhaps significant adjustment to the title. 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. Nonetheless, there are things he can teach us.

Justice Antonin Scalia was known for
his sense of humor

Unfortunately for the country, there was a Republican debate scheduled within hours of Scalia's passing. 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 a matter of minutes, however, 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.

I was struck by the glaring 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. 

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 as well, 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.

Justices Ginsburg and Scalia were judicial opposites
but were also the best of friends.

Justice Ruth Ginsburg, arguably the most liberal justice on the Supreme Court, was 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 changed my view of the man, although not my view of his jurisprudence.

The 2016 presidential election demonstrated how far we have moved away from the standards of public discourse we once knew and embodied. Now it seems that 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. Soon we will see.

In the next few weeks, we will have a chance to test our mettle. If confirmed, Judge Gorsuch will be in a position to influence American jurisprudence, and many aspects of our lives, for over 30 years. There will be a need to explore his views at great length to determine his perspectives and qualifications. That would be true of any nominee. But there are other issues afoot that threaten to set us off on a destructive path for generations.

There will be political retribution for the intransigence of the Republicans in refusing to even call a hearing on Obama's nominee to replace Scalia. Judge Merrick Garland is a highly regarded and generally moderate judge. For no reason of his own, he was left to hang in limbo as a vacancy went unfilled for what has been a year and will undoubtedly extend for several months. Like it or not, the Democrats will exact their mess of pottage in return for this perceived sleight. It is both understandable and regrettable.

Likewise, delicate Senate procedures that have been in place for decades are at risk, driven in part by a president that seems to give not a whit about history, tradition, mutual respect or implied agreements. It is often unspoken understandings that make things work, and it is their dismissal that destroys coalitions that have served us well for a long time.

It is not a time for just us, looking out for our own interests and caring only for own victories. 

Nor is is it a time for every perceived injustice of our personal lives to be laundered in the public forum, however consequential those may have been.

Instead, we must find the inner strength to demand of others as well as ourselves that it is only justice for all that should guide our deliberations.

Whatever side we may be on, this is a time for carefully chosen words, respect for institutions and colleagues, understanding of what is really at stake, and a willingness to seek the common good.

And when the debate is over and the decision is made, perhaps our lawmakers can take counsel from Justice Scalia and slap each other on the back, tell a good story, and have dinner together.

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.

From Free Libraries to Free Birth Control: The Stranglehold of Rigid Literalism

Spencer Collins, 9, stands in front of his Little Free Library before leaders
of his hometown of Leawood, Kansas, shut him down.

An updated and somewhat expanded version of this post appears on Medium.com.

Perhaps you've heard the story of Spencer Collins, the nine-year-old boy who got crossways with the civil authorities when he erected a "Little Free Library" in the front yard of his home. It seems that the city codes in the plush suburban environs of Leawood, Kansas, prohibit structures that are not attached to the primary residence--things like tool sheds, side-buildings, detached garages, and such. They don't specify free lending libraries operated by nine-year-old kids, but clearly it's the same kind of crime.

The gravity of his offense did not occur to Spencer when the avid reader built his roadside stand as a Mother's Day gift. He figured that the love of reading instilled in him by his mother could be shared with other kids in his neighborhood. So imagine the surprise of Spencer, not to mention his parents, when they returned from vacation and found an official-looking letter providing a few days to dismantle the library or face a citation and attendant penalties.

The issue with the city officials isn't content; no books on evolution or other insidious topics deplored by many Kansans are to be found here. It isn't a matter of licensing businesses; this isn't a blood-sucking, profit-making enterprise like a lemonade stand or its ilk. No, the sole issue here is consistency in enforcing laws and codes. If you make an exception for a kid the next thing you know some developer will be running an outlet mall in his backyard. Enforce the law!  Who can argue with that?

I'd like to give it a try.