I’m the Person I Always Was—Only Now I Say What I Think Out Loud

Yes. You’ve probably noticed. I’ve been speaking my mind. 🙂

When I got divorced in 1990, I became a very busy single mom working two and three jobs. Life continued apace, and the country had lots of interesting things going on, but I kept my thoughts to myself because I didn’t feel qualified to speak up. I’m a facts gal. I always have been. And if I’m not in possession of the facts, I’d rather be silent than be stupid.

Back in those days some male members of my family had a lot to say about politics—even knowing that I didn’t agree with them*—but I let it roll off because I didn’t feel like I was up on all the facts, so I couldn’t have an intelligent conversation about it. During that time, I prided myself on keeping the peace, and I’ve since prided myself on keeping things light. On the blog I talk about travel and my fortunate life. On Facebook I talked about my kid, my pets, my now-husband, the yard, my work … all the things I love and care about.

And as long as I did that, I was OK.

Oh, I watched all the ugly, partisan memes that twisted the truth (or often lied). I saw lots of them on my brother’s Facebook feed. I watched that angry, mean stuff from Alex Jones, Mark Levin, and Fox News (and so, so many others) posted by people I thought I knew. I heard the disgust in certain voices when the word liberal was spoken or written. It hurt when people I know used the word libtard in my presence. I didn’t like it, but I said nothing. I was “a good girl,” it seems.

But on 25 November 2015 in South Carolina, Donald Trump publicly mocked a disabled man, and I’ve not been able to move past that.

There’s a lot more than that, of course. Trump lies. He’s selfish and greedy. He’s a racist, a xenophobe, and a hater of the worst sort. He’s a science denier. He is a serial sexual assaulter. He’s also not particularly bright, which is something that really bothers me.

I kept silent a little longer. But now I just can’t. Staying silent destroyed my personal serenity and played havoc with my mental and physical health. “I cannot and I will not retract anything,” Martin Luther said at the Diet of Worms in 1521, “since it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience.” That’s where I’m at, y’all. There is no pillow so soft as a clear conscience.

Interestingly, because I’ve spoken up now, because I’ve stepped out of my good-girl role, because I have dared to criticize the man they voted for, some people I know have called me a hater.

To those people I say: clearly you don’t know me at all. I have always had these opinions you don’t like. I’m just talking back now because I have my facts in hand. Oh, I’m a smartass, all right. Sure, I’m angry. And yes, I have a very low tolerance for bullshit (and always have). But I’m no hater. There’s a difference.

*Because I’ve had the same fundamental beliefs about life, and the goodness of it, and the notion that in the end we as humans and as a nation will be judged by how we treat the least among us since I was about ten years old, arguing politics at the dinner table with my daddy, who encouraged me in all things, even my renegade allegiance to the Democratic party.

“Yet we know what we must do. It is to achieve true justice among our fellow citizens. The question is not what programs we should seek to enact. The question is whether we can find in our own midst and in our own hearts that leadership of humane purpose that will recognize the terrible truths of our existence. We must admit the vanity of our false distinctions among men and learn to find our own advancement in the search for the advancement of others. We must admit in ourselves that our own children’s future cannot be built on the misfortunes of others. We must recognize that this short life can neither be ennobled or enriched by hatred or revenge.”
Robert F. Kennedy, speech, “On the Mindless Menace of Violence,” in Cleveland, Ohio, 5 April 1968

Not the Right Stuff: Winning At All Costs

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I was raised by an American patriot, a U.S. Air Force pilot who did, in fact, have the Right Stuff in every fiber of his being.

You know that phrase, right? Brought to national consciousness by the Tom Wolfe book about astronauts (The Right Stuff, 1979), this phrase has come to mean, in the very best sense, someone who embodies the qualities of courage, confidence, dependability, toughness, and daring. Someone who always chooses the high road, who always does the right thing, the fair, honest, trustworthy thing. Someone who doesn’t lie or make excuses.

I am just old enough to remember a time when just being American gave you the assumption of having the Right Stuff. You might say I drank the Kool-Aid of the American Myth. But I was raised by members of the Greatest Generation, people who worked hard, sacrificed for their country (and their kids), who believed in the nation and its founding principles, and who not only believed that American myth, they embodied everything good about the myth.

But they’re gone now, and I don’t believe the myth any more.

The reason I don’t believe it is the behavior of Republican Party. The party of Lincoln, they like to remind us, but don’t you believe that for a minute. As this article notes, Lincoln would be horrified by today’s GOP; he would identify much more with Democrats. (In fact, the Republicans and Democrats have essentially swapped platforms. So enough with the the false equivalencies, meme makers.) As recently as the 1950s and ’60s, Republicans in our nation’s capital played an important role in passing the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (shepherded by a Democratic president), righting—or beginning the process of righting—so many wrongs caused by the Civil War. (Read about this here. And here.)

But something happened.

I started noticing it—the fraying of the fabric of the Right Stuff—in 2000, with those hanging chads in Florida. It was astonishing to see the GOP send a hoard of lawyers and PR people down to Florida to meddle, to control (to take over!), to shape the story rather than to just keep an eye on it, to win at all costs—and to ultimately steal the election from the rightful winner, Al Gore Jr., a Democrat. In a recount of all undervotes and overvotes conducted by the National Opinion Research Center at the University of Chicago, Gore emerged the victor under all standards. In his account of the election (Too Close to Call, which is on my bookshelves as I write), Jeffrey Toobin observed, “[I]t is a crime against democracy that [Gore] did not win the state and thus the presidency. …The wrong man was inaugurated on January 20, 2001.”

That wrong man, George W. Bush, ushered in an era of strongly partisan politics that continues today. (I won’t even get into his many inadequacies, but I’ll say this: I believe in my heart that my father, a lifelong Republican who served two tours of duty in Vietnam, would have been so disgusted by Bush’s failure to fulfill the requirements of his military service contract that he would not have voted for him. Daddy believed in being a person of your word. Don’t get me started on those awful Swift Boat Vets, who are as far away from the Right Stuff as you can get. Shame on them. Seriously: shame on them for the lies they told.)

It was clear to me, in 2001, that the Republican party had cheated to obtain power. It was clear to me that there was, in fact, a “vast right-wing conspiracy,” and its intentions were to win at any cost.

And if they didn’t win, they would obstruct government. We now know that while Barack Obama was celebrating his first inauguration, there was a secret meeting of Republican party leadership—who planned to obstruct his every move. This is a fact, not fake news, for those of you inclined to that sort of naysaying. Journalist Robert Draper’s book Do Not Ask What Good We Do: Inside the U.S. House of Representatives, reports that the GOP began plotting Obama’s defeat on the night of his first inauguration. This is not governance, people. This is not the Right Stuff.

It’s shameful, really.

And it was obvious, even before it was verified by our strong free press. “Nevermind the nation was falling off the fiscal cliff. Nevermind the global economic system was hanging in the balance. Nevermind we were on the verge of another Great Depression,” the Washington Post says. “When the nation needed single-minded focus, the Republican political establishment put power over the national interest” (emphasis mine). It wasn’t just in Washington. All over the country, Republican-controlled statehouses passed voter suppression laws, to remove voters from the rolls, to make it difficult for minority voters to be heard. This is more of that winning-at-all-costs thing, and it disgusts me. When we needed the Right Stuff, we got, instead, Republicans.

I should call them, probably, Tea Party Republicans—which is not the old-school Republican party of my parents (nor a few of my friends). This Republican party has declared war on people like me, to its detriment and to its great loss. I was raised (by my Republican daddy) on Right Stuff thinking, the thinking that says we need all voices and viewpoints at the table. Two heads are better than one and all that. Or, as they say, e pluribus unum (from many, one):

This shared foundation has been our motto from the earliest days. It’s an incredibly unique goal for governing, rarely successful throughout human history. It’s built around the simple truth that there is strength in unity, so we should seek it. Unity does not require agreement in all things. That is impossible. Unity is strongest, in fact, when it is diverse. Real unity is a setting aside of some disagreements and distinctions to rally around a central vision. This is the hard work of democracy.

Sadly, my daddy’s Right Stuff thinking apparently was lost on my Republican brother, about whom I’ve written previously. And he and his ilk, the Tea Party, brought us Trump, who is, it’s painfully obvious, the opposite of the Right Stuff.

He is, not to put too fine a point on it, mentally and morally deficient. I’m not going to bother to back up that statement with links because at this point you know it as well as I do. There were the lies, the rallies, the speaking to his supporters’ basest instincts. Lying. Ridiculing the disabled. Lock her up, throw them out. People of color being beat up. Pussy grabbing. Lying and more lying. And registered Republicans standing by, holding their noses, perhaps, but not speaking out against any of this.*

Even now, I have friends who continue to mouth the let’s-give-him-a-chance mantra, in spite of the mounting evidence that the 2016 election was manipulated by Russia—Russia! A hostile foreign power, for heaven’s sake! If this doesn’t enrage and unsettle you, it may be that you have placed ideology above preservation of the American way (as in “truth, justice, and …”). Or, as I say, lack of the Right Stuff.

Not long ago, someone I once worked with (he is a Tea Party Republican, lives here in my town) called me, on Facebook, “the enemy.” Not in a general sense. He called me by name, and told me that—because I’d just expressed my opinon—at least now he knew I was the enemy. About this warlike language, the author of the article I’ve quoted above says, “It is this sort of tribal thinking that we have seen wreck civilizations throughout history. The great American experiment is unique in so many ways but one of the most unique attributes is this voluntary setting aside of certain tribal priorities and desires for a shared greater good. We dare not dismiss these strong tribal divisions. They are deepening, not healing.” (Emphasis mine.)

The enemy. I gotta tell ya, that gave me a chill.

Some years ago I was told to my face I couldn’t possibly be a Democrat and a Christian. No, really. I’ve been called a hater by an old friend. Every few days my brother posts something on Facebook about haters (by which he means, I think, Democrats) or libtards (by which he means, I think, Democrats). Right after he unfriended me, he posted this: “Someone unfriending you because of your anti-liberal post is kind of like the garbage taking out itself.” Now, aside from the fact that, again, he unfriended me, how was I supposed to interpret that? I’ll tell you: that I—Democrat that I am from that day in 1971 when I first registered to vote—am garbage. And you know what? I’m at peace with that. I can look myself in the mirror.

And, strangely, I feel more like the hated than a hater.

I was raised to be fair, tell the truth, to treat others the way I would want to be treated (with kindness and respect, among other things). These are Right Stuff qualities, and though I know I sometimes fail, I do strive for them. I was raised to be competitive, to go after the things I wanted, but that winning in and of itself was not the goal. “Winning at all costs” is not the sort of human being I was raised to be. Winning at all costs is not a Right Stuff characteristic.

And failing to speak up when there is clearly something seriously wrong here is not a trait of those with the Right Stuff either. (The Washington Post says, “It remains unclear whether Republicans will ever act ‘as if larger principles are at stake,’” as they did during the Watergate investigation.) As I write, with new revelations daily about Trump and his associates’ Russian connections, there is just barely an inquiry, nothing that could really be called an investigation. Some Republicans, in fact, continue to obstruct calls for such an investigation.**

We’ve lost the narrative of the Right Stuff, y’all. And the longer we go with one party placing power and winning above country and people, we will continue to be lost.

* Well, at least two I know of—George Will and Max Boot—have spoken out and publicly left the party.

** Before I finished this piece, Robert Mueller was appointed special counsel to oversee an investigation into Russian interference in the 2016 United States elections. It’s a start.

 

When Is a Super Bowl Television Commercial Un-American?

I was invited to a Super Bowl party at the beginning of February. These were new friends who have a longstanding tradition of throwing a Super Bowl party, and it was fun. A great American tradition, right?

Of course, I’m one of those people who loves the event as much for the rollout of interesting new commercials as for the game. Remember the EDS ad “Cat Herders” from 2000? Oh my goodness. (And I can relate.)

Obligatory cat photo (Bean).

You can’t really catch all the nuances of a long-form commercial at a party, so I came home and looked up some of the commercials—especially when a few of them started to be excoriated on social media. Some people were calling them un-American.

Wait—seriously? Coca-Cola shows folks having fun with a music bed of “American the Beautiful” … Audi depicts a young girl participating in a Pinewood Derby–like event while her father ruminates about the inequality many women still encounter in the twenty-first century … and Budweiser, for heaven’s sake, that bastion of American sentimentality,* gives us the story of their founder’s journey from Germany. From Germany, people! I had German great-greats just six generations ago!

(*Clydesdales, anyone? Clydesdales and puppies? Oh my goodness. They’re all about the tear-jerking, and this commercial was no different.)

Five years ago (nay, a year ago), no one would have been upset by these ads. Maybe some would have shed a tear. They are little slices of Americana. But today? Good grief. Folks are boycotting Budweiser because—well, I’m not sure why. This is a big, smart company with a big marketing department manned by smart, college-educated marketing professionals. They no doubt had hundreds of folks view this ad in focus groups. They liked it, and they went with it. But some people seem determined to perceive trouble, to take offense. Some seem determined to be angry.

Lighten up, y’all.

Not for Federal Identification!

Things keep popping up in my news feed about driver’s licenses. A friend who’d moved from Tennessee to Arizona was surprised that her new Arizona-issued license bore the ominous phrase “Not For Federal Identification.” A friend who lived in Kentucky was shocked to be told she could be turned away from boarding a flight.

In case you missed it, the REAL ID Act was passed (in 2005) in the wake of the 9/11 report. It established minimum standards that states must follow when issuing and producing driver’s licenses and ID cards. (A REAL ID credential can either be an ID card or a driver’s license.)

Some states just haven’t gotten around to making these changes to the way they issue driver’s licenses/IDs. And if you’ve been renewing online or through the mail, the license you have may not be compliant with federal regulations.

Here are some links that will help you get a handle on the situation:

Enhanced Drivers Licenses: What Are They?
REAL ID FAQs
Current REAL ID Status of States/Territories

All of this is important because, as you know, you must show your driver’s license or state ID in order to board a plane.

Trust me when I say you don’t need any trouble from the authorities right now. Make sure your driver’s license is good for federal ID as well as for driving. Even if the chart I’ve linked above indicates your state is in compliance, you may still be carrying an “old” license. Take a ride down to your local Department of Motor Vehicles office and find out for sure. Make sure you have alternate forms of identification with you when you go.

The REAL ID Act takes effect on 22 January 2018.

Do do it now and get it out of the way. Don’t wait until you’re about to leave for the Bahamas next Christmas.

Two Timely Poems

I don’t know about you, but I first read these poems in high school. I had a great teacher (and, one should add, a great book—I still have it) and thus was born a lifelong love of the word-thrill only poetry can provide. The rhythm, the rhymes (or not), alliteration, imagery, and much, much more come together in ways that move me, over and over. And yes, I buy books of poetry too.

I’ve been thinking about “The Second Coming” for months. Grim and dark, written in 1919 at the end of the First World War and the beginning of the Irish War of Independence, William Butler Yeats’s masterpiece speaks directly to events happening now, nearly a century later:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

If the imagery in this poem shakes you up, you’re not alone. The Wall Street Journal says, “A torrent of bad news and political upheaval has given new life to a nearly 100-year-old poem written in the aftermath of World War I.”

Flash backward a century to Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ozymandias,” published in 1818.

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:

And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Perspective, yes?

I wish you peace this season, wherever you may find it. Perhaps in poetry.

A Lighter Shade of Pale, Beyond?

We’ve got an exciting national election cycle goin’ on here in the good ol’ US of A, with one candidate making some pretty interesting claims and the opposing party reacting with outrage. (See how I did that?) My Irish immigrant husband has spent hours watching debates and newscasts and commentaries on the television. He also follows the news online, where he saw a tweet remarking that something a candidate had said was so outrageous it was “beyond the pale.”

The Irishman was surprised to hear it.

“Have you ever heard the phrase beyond the pale?” he asked. “Do you know what it means?”

Of course I do. My parents were wordies, remember? This is one of those phrases I grew up with. It means “outside the bounds of acceptable behavior.” Synonyms might be: unacceptable, unseemly, improper, unsuitable, unreasonable, unforgivable, intolerable, disgraceful, deplorable, outrageous, scandalous, shocking, exceptionable, uncivilized. You might say someone was out of line. You might say it just isn’t done.

The Irishman persisted. “Yes, but do you know what it really means?”

Oh, honey. I married a Dubliner, didn’t I? (I’ve made quite a study of Irish history, aided by the magnificence and sheer number of Dublin bookstores and my husband’s willingness to indulge me in them.) Yes, I know what beyond the pale really means.

It means, put simply, anything outside Dublin. Americans do know the phrase as “outside the bounds of acceptable behavior,” but I suspect many of you may not know from whence it came.

It all starts with the dictionary (as so many things around here do). Pale is most commonly used as an adjective or a verb, but there’s an older meaning, a noun:

1 a archaic : a palisade of stakes : an enclosing barrier : paling
b obsolete : a restraining boundary : defense
2 a : a pointed stake driven into the ground in forming a palisade or fence
b : a slat fastened to a rail at top and bottom for fencing : picket
3 a : a space or field having bounds : an enclosed or limited region or place : enclosure
b : a territory or district within certain bounds or under a particular jurisdiction
4 : an area (as of conduct) or the limits (as of speech) within which one is privileged or protected especially by custom (as from censure or retaliation)
<conduct that was beyond the pale>
5 a obsolete : a vertical stripe (as on a coat)
b : a perpendicular stripe in an escutcheon

The word is Middle English, from Middle French pal (a stake), from the Latin palus. It dates from the 1300s, and is a doublet of the word pole, which has the same Latin origin. So a pale, in the Middle Ages, was a wooden stake, often sharpened on the top, meant to be driven into the ground, often to be used (with others) as a fence or a boundary. Impale, you see, also stems from this word. (As a side note, the adjective pale, while just as old a word, comes from the Latin pallidum [pale or colorless], from which we also get the word pallid.)

So what’s that (sniff) “anything outside Dublin” business? It’s history. The Norman invasion in 1169 brought Ireland under the control of English kings, but as time went on and the Anglo-Normans assimilated with the Irish locals, this control waned. (The English had a lot of infighting to look after on their own island.) By the Tudor era in the 1500s the English crown really only exerted power in and around Dublin—and they’d built a fence to protect it. Really, it was just a fortified ditch. A pale.

And the language, the vernacular, reflected that: the pale was “a defence, a safeguard, a barrier, an enclosure, or a limit beyond which it was not permissible to go.”

Beyond the pale, then, was anything outside the boundary. Wikipedia says, “Within the confines of the Pale the leading gentry and merchants lived lives not too different from those of their counterparts in England, save for the constant fear of attack from the Gaelic Irish. The idea of the Pale was inseparable from the notion of a separate Anglo-Irish polity and culture. After the 17th century and especially after the Anglican Reformation and the Plantation of Ulster, the “Old English” settlers were gradually assimilated into the Irish population … The term continues to be used in contemporary Irish speech to refer to County Dublin and its commuter towns, generally critically—for example, a government department may be criticised for concentrating its resources on the Pale.”

See? My husband was a little surprised to find the phrase common parlance in this country, but he’s forgotten that the phrase came here with English settlers in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries—when the Pale would have been a thing—and it stayed here.

Let each citizen remember …

voted

Let each citizen remember at the moment he is offering his vote that he is not making a present or a compliment to please an individual—or at least that he ought not to do so; but that he is executing one of the most solemn trusts in human society for which he is accountable to God and his country.
—Samuel Adams, 1781, in the Boston Gazette