Tuesday, March 26, 2013

The Dred Scott Case of 2013: Gay Marriage




Dred Scott

      Dred Scott, acting under the conditions of the Missouri Compromise--stating, in short, that new states shall be free states--undertook to seek his freedom, having been taken by his owner to a free state, and therein kept as a slave.  Under the law, he did not see how he could be kept in an enslaved condition in a state that did not recognize slavery. 

     You see, Stephen Douglas had proposed the Kansas-Nebraska Act, which would give all states the power to decide the "slavery question" for themselves, and saw it through passage.  This negated the federal jurisdiction over slavery, and ushered in what we know of as "States Rights."  Abraham Lincoln, debating Douglas ferociously, condemned this act, believing the Founding Fathers, unable to get the Constitution ratified if they pushed for abolition; for, they knew they would lose the support of Georgia and South Carolina, and there would be no new constitution for a nacient democracy, such as ours was in its infancy, to see growth unto and through the ages, did all they could to provide for slavery's eventual end.  Then, Lincoln argued that Douglas had undermined the strategy of the Founding Fathers, and was assuring the growth and maintenance of slavery unto perpetuity.  This was an unbearble position for our country, Lincoln argued, and would not repair divisions that threatened our very being as a country:  Lincoln proclaimed, "A House divided against itself cannot stand..."

We are still a House divided.  Those against full and free equality for gay people relegate the right to marry to states.  States Rights.  Just as with "the question of slavery."  A gay couple, legally married in New York goes to Alabama, let's say.  Are they not still married?  Well, no, actually, as Alabama does not allow gay marriage, the marriage is not legal there, and no rights attendant to married couples shall be applied to that gay couple.  It's Dred Scott and his freedom all over again.  It is the question of, "Who is a rightful citizen of this country?", all over again. And, while marriage has been the domain of states, about 1100 federal laws, including benefits, family leave, next of kin status, a reprieve from estate taxes when a spouse dies, and the extension of Social Security benefits upon death are all part and parcel of those laws.  The 1996 Defense of Marriage  Act (DOMA), signed into law by President Clinton, is very much a federal case, making marriage, gay or otherwise, very much a federal case. Today, our Supreme Court hears arguments that will determine if we have grown up yet, if we can get our House together, and if we will lead the world as the greatest democracy on earth.  We will have to wait and see...

    

     On March 6, 1857, the Supreme Court handed down its decision on Dred Scott v. Sanford.  What follows is an excerpt of the Supreme Court decision:

The plaintiff [Dred Scott]... was, with his wife and children, held as slaves by the defendant [Sanford], in the State of Missouri; and he brought this action in the Circuit Court of the United States for [Missouri], to assert the title of himself and his family to freedom.
The declaration is . . . that he and the defendant are citizens of different States; that... he is a citizen of Missouri, and the defendant a citizen of New York.
...


The question is simply this: Can a negro, whose ancestors were imported into this country, and sold as slaves, become a member of the political community formed and brought into existence by the Constitution of the United States, and as such become entitled to all the rights, and privileges, and immunities, guarantied by that instrument to the citizen? One of which rights is the privilege of suing in a court of the United States in the cases specified in the Constitution....



The words "people of the United States" and "citizens" are synonymous terms, and mean the same thing. They both describe the political body who ... form the sovereignty, and who hold the power and conduct the Government through their representatives.... The question before us is, whether the class of persons described in the plea in abatement [people of African ancestry] compose a portion of this people, and are constituent members of this sovereignty? We think they are not, and that they are not included, and were not intended to be included, under the word "citizens" in the Constitution, and can therefore claim none of the rights and privileges which that instrument provides for and secures to citizens of the United States. On the contrary, they were at that time considered as a subordinate and inferior class of beings, who had been subjugated by the dominant race, and, whether emancipated or not, yet remained subject to their authority, and had no rights or privileges but such as those who held the power and the Government might choose to grant them. [Italics and underling are mine].

  

            So, here we are, 156 years after the Dred Scott decision was handed down.  It was overturned after the 13th and 14th Amendments were ratified  (1865 and 1868, respectively).  The 13th Amendment abolished slavery.  The 14th Amendment granted all rights and privileges of citizenship to the once enslaved.  And, today, we are debating whether or not gay people ought to have the full and fair rights and privileges of citizenship in the world’s greatest democracy?  Yes, we are. 

            Let’s face it:  we love to hate.  We seem to need some group or other to hate.  Now, the question is, do we have the guts, the grace to stop hatred and discrimination for this, I want to say last bastion of hatred, but I know we will find others, so, do we?  Do we have the guts to “give” gay people the right to pursue, “…life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness…” that our Declaration of  Independence set forth as the absolute conditions of democratic citizenry?  We can only hope.

  

Because, this guy:



Antonin Scalia





And, this guy:

Clarence Thomas
                                                                                                (ironic, no?)




And, this guy:


Samuel Alito







And, most times, this guy:





…get to decide, according to their various predilections, what will and will not be Constitutional in our republic…Just as Roger Taney’s court of 1857, that got it so right (yeah), in the Dred Scott case.


‘Tis true, what old Ben Franklin told a woman, outside of the hot room where the Constitutional Convention had convened. 
She asked, and I paraphrase, “What kind of government have you bequeathed to us?”
Franklin answered, “A republic, madam, if you can keep it.”


To those of us who believe the full glory of this country has not been reached, but that we can get closer to it, we await the hearing today, and the Roberts’ court decision, with the wish that we can hold onto the hem of this republic, pull it close, embrace it firmly, and KEEP IT, for all generations to come.




















And, let us never forget...













Friday, March 22, 2013

Beautiful Boy


Beautiful,
Beautiful, beautiful,
Beautiful Boy,

Before you go to sleep,
Say a little prayer,
Every day in every way,
It's getting better and better,

Beautiful,
Beautiful, beautiful,
Beautiful Boy…

I can hardly wait,
To see you to come of age,
But I guess we'll both
Just have to be patient,
Yes it's a long way to go…

                                                                    Beautiful,
                                                             Beautiful, beautiful,
                                                                 Beautiful Boy…

                                                                                            “Beautiful Boy” – John Lennon



            An Algerian boy, Mahdi, with liquid brown eyes that hold the sadness of what he has seen within them, and the noor—the light of God—shining through them, soft-spoken and gentle, has joined my class.  He was afraid to say why he believes Muslim and Arab countries have problems with Israel and the United States: 

“I am afraid, you know, um, that, uh, they will be, uh, how you say?... mad at me, not like me, so…I not going to say.”

Another student, Edgar, says, “You think we’re gonna be mad at you if you tell us what you been through or think or something?  Man, we’re not like that.  You can say what you want.

“No…I scared and, uh, should not…I should not…”

“We want to hear what you have to say.  It’s ok, man.  We’re cool.  It’s ok.”

“You,” I tell him, “are safe here, respected here, and have the freedom to say anything.  In this country you have the right to speak freely. No one will hate you or hurt you.  Mahdi, you are part of our family.  We can agree or disagree with each other, but you—and everyone here—is loved and appreciated.  And no one will go crazy or say hurtful things to you.  Ask them.  I do not allow ignorance or attacks.  It just doesn’t happen here.  Everyone knows, I protect you.  I protect you and everyone in our class.  You don’t have to speak.  Just know that you can and no harm will come to you.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.  I think I know this.  I…Ok.  I…in Algeria, we see very, very bad things on the news.  And, it hurt us, you know?  And…


Mahdi goes on to tell us about the Israeli blockade of food and medicine from the Palestinian people, the soldiers with guns who provoke the Palestinian people, and a little bit about how Islam is misunderstood, and that terrorists who claim to be Muslim are not Muslim, that Islam is a peaceful religion.

“You know how we say ‘Hi, uh Hello?  Salaam alaikum.’  It mean ‘Peace be with you.’


I tell him “Shalom” means “Peace”.  He smiles and tells me he knows this and is happy.  He tells me he has Jewish friends, and knows, "Not all of everyone...uh anyone bad or the same."


“And, and I want to tell you a story about the Prophet Muhammed.  He have a Jewish neighbor, and the man, he put garbage in front of Prophet Muhammed’s door everyday for many, many days.  Then, one day, Muhammed see no garbage by his door.  A neighbor say the Jewish man who was mean to him was sick.  So, Muhammed, he go see, uh, visit, yeah?  Ok, he visit him. The man say, ‘Why you here?  I put garbage by your door.  We not like each other.  Why you here?  And Muhammed, he say, ‘Because you are sick and I come to help you.’  The man, he say, ‘Why?  I put the garbage by your house.’  And Muhammed say, ‘The garbage is thrown away.  Do not worry about it.  I am here because we are brothers, all God’s children, and I here to help you, to make things better.  I love you.”  And the man, he cry and hug Muhammed and say, ‘I want to be like you.  I want to be a Muslim.’”


We talk about conversion.  We talk about getting along without converting.  We talk about respect for all people, no matter their religion.  Mahdi wants us to know Muhammed and Islam are good, not like some people think.  We talk about ignorance and how it hurts our world.  We talk about forgiveness and how it helps all of us to be better people, is a gift we give ourselves and those we forgive.

Mahdi stays after school.  I know he wants to talk.  He tells me why many in the Arab and Muslim countries have problems with Israel and blame the United States for so much.  He tells me that the news here favors the Israelis and does not show the real horror the Palestinians must live with.  We talk about the media, censorship, staged scenes, and photo-shopped images.  We talk about wrongs on all sides.  He understands.  He even knows some people on both sides do not want peace because it would mean a loss of power to those who “negotiate.” It is an intense conversation.  But he has another story to tell, one that explains why he struggles to forgive Israel, even though he believes that forgiveness is good and right. 

                        “Ms. Reale, can I tell you this I saw that hurt me inside?

I am moved that this beautiful boy wants to talk, to get this out, and that he trusts me. 

“Miss, I was watching the television one day, and I see an Israeli man, and he with a Palestinian woman.  All around her there is Israeli men.  And this man (he clasps his hand around his forearm), this man, he bite her.  He bite her, Miss, like an animal bite.  Then she scream and he throw her up against a wall, and all the other men, they start throwing rocks at her.  They don’t stop.  They hurt her with these rocks and they don’t stop.  And she cry and have no place to go.  This hurt me here (he puts his hand over his heart), and make me to get sick.  That what make us mad over there, in my country.  And we don’t know why the United States, they don’t help her, you know?  Help the Palestinian people more.  They like nobody, like dirt.  But they are human being, you know?  We all God’s children.”



Yes, Beautiful Boy, I know.  And, I know I am blessed to have you in my class, my life.  And I know the world will be a better place with both of us in it, as we try to forgive and love—even when it is so very hard to do so.  That is where grace comes in:  It is easy to love when all is well.  It takes grace to love when life is so very, very difficult.


There is a proverb that says, “When the student is ready, the teacher will come.”   We are all students and teachers.  I am glad I was ready for Mahdi.






           

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Torn


There's nothing where he used to lie
The conversation has run dry
That's what's going on
Nothing's fine, I'm torn…


I'm all out of faith
This is how I feel
I'm cold and I am shamed,
Bound and broken on the floor…


Illusion never changed
Into something real
I’m wide awake and I can see
                                                             The perfect sky is torn…



“Torn” – Natalie Imbruglia




            There is nothing more brutal than watching children stand at the foot of their parent’s casket.  So solemn, small, and all alone.  Unable to speak.  Just tears, so many, many tears.  Our brother-in-law died.  He was 51.  He leaves behind four children.  My sister-in-law is a widow at 44 years old. 

            We didn’t see the kids as much as we wanted to because of him, and my sister-in-law as well.  He had a great heart, and was in some ways beautiful, but had no control over his mouth, his unreasonable expectations, his tortured self, and it was a bitter brew.  To have known him almost all my life—we grew up together—and know his astounding work ethic, his intelligence, his humor, his graciousness as a host, his true love of us all, and to know the other side, so dark and damaging and dominant was heart-breaking.  And our love for him was very real, and we were always torn. His childhood wounds—he lost both his parents young—were never worked through, never cleaned and bound.  He ranted and raged and took his pain out on all of us.  So we had this terrible choice to make:  try to be there, overlook the abuse, get sick and stay around, or go.  We left.  For years.  And we were always torn.

            Regret is a motherfucker.  You see the kids, the casket, and, all at once, you want to make things right, make everything all right.  And there is no way.  And you tell the kids you love them.  You tell them you are there for them.  And your nephew says, “But you weren’t around that much.  Why?  Why weren’t you around?”  And you want to die. And you can’t tell him how badly you were torn.

            My therapist told me what they tell everyone, “You cannot control anyone, only yourself.” A basic tenet of psychotherapy; too bad Woody Allen didn’t get this.  So, anyway, you choose self-preservation.  You stay away, in angst and depression, and wonder, at a time like this—when all is said and done—did that self-preservation thing feel better?  Better than you do now?  And that “I gotta put myself first” thing therapists tell us, well, how did that work out for us?  …But you weren’t around that much.  Why?... Where were you?...

            Do I feel any better now, when all has been said and done?  The answer is, I’m torn.  Yes, I feel better for not having to watch the kids being damaged.  Trust me, I was not passive when we were around.  I tried for years to do something about it, but my efforts were futile, and I was ferocious in my frustration and fears for the kids.  No, I do not feel better because I love those kids and hate the years of missing them.  But, I knew we were all limited in what we could do.  I was realistic.  We hung in there for years.  And we left when we started feeling sick inside ourselves just being there or thinking about going there.  And, I’m torn for another guilt-laden reason:  I am feeling relief that he is gone.  I am feeling a way back into the kids’ lives that his mental illness blocked for so long.  And, I’m feeling that maybe—fuck the “maybe;” this is no time for equivocation; the truth is that I believe the kids are better off without him.  I hate that. But, this is how I feel; I’m cold and I am shamed, even though I know our greatest hope for another, for any other, never changes into something real when you are wide awake…And, again I’m torn:  My sister and I lost a parent while still children ourselves, and I know that loss is primal, is, especially when relationships are contentious, forever.  I hate that they will suffer all the insufferable feelings.  I hate that we can’t do anything much about that.  And I hate that I have these awful feelings about him being gone. There is nothing more brutal than watching children stand at the foot of their parent’s casket… I live this truth.  Ann and I were those children. Loss is a motherfucker.  Guilt is a motherfucker.  And, nothing’s fine; I’m torn.

            Buddha said, “Life is difficult.”  What a fucking understatement.  LIFE  is CONFLICT, and just how much you can stand, and how much you can resolve or affect it in any way that makes the living any easier.   Life is a motherfucker.   Nobody survives it.  We search for our purpose.  We hope to make something good of our time here.  We don’t even know, empirically, if there’s a there after here; we pray there is, maybe even believe, and hope it is grand. We grope around, make mistakes, commit our sins, make amends, fall and fail, resound, succeed, witness miracles—even make them, seek to grow, be our best selves (if we are somewhat alright in the head), are funny, crazy, selfish, self-less. We are amazing.  We are all this, do all this without ever truly knowing to what end in the end.  So, I am really not all out of faith; I mean, look, the Republicans just went out to dinner with the President, gay marriage is gaining tremendous support and acceptance, most of us don’t want a crazy person to get a gun, even if it means delving into private mental health histories and making legal gun-getting harder, and I have had a full human experience, ever-growing compassion, and a deep ability to love and love more, love better, despite my early, primal loss, and, probably, because of it.

           
            Hemingway said, and I paraphrase, “Life breaks everyone, and some of us get stronger in the broken places.”   Breakdowns give us the chance to rise up.  Shatterings can let the light in.  We, all of us, are torn.  And where the heart has been rent, love finds its place to repair.  That is not just a wish.  It is my belief.   It is what I have lived.  And, for our little ones, it will be, although and because they are torn.