NOTE: In the days since this was written, a third witness has come forward and Kavanaugh has had lots of opportunity to speak publicly - if only to betray and illuminate the wealthy, elite, white culture in which he was raised, one with few consequences and lots of entitlement. I believe the conclusions of this piece stand even more starkly now, and the judge deserves even less benefit of the doubt.
Right, so here's the deal. There's a lot of partisan stuff going on with Brett Kavanaugh, as with any Supreme Court nominee. People on both "sides" of the aisle want to get someone on the Court most likely to side with them. It's always partisan in ways that mock the very tradition of our Judiciary. We can get that out of the way early.
Also, we can dispense with my personal objections: 1) that anyone would get confirmed before Merrick Garland gets a vote. The guy was nominated and is extremely qualified (not to mention moderate, but hey). He deserves a vote. 2) Trump nominated Kavanugh because he's got a robust philosophy of Presidential exception; the guy is about the least likely judge in the entire country to let a subpoena or an indictment of a sitting President go forward. He might be a conservative darling, but Kavanaugh was picked to personally benefit Donald Trump. That's troubling to say the least.
However, none of those things are my topics for the day. Instead I want to talk about the difficult journey of the sexual ethics debates roiling our nation. I read somewhere recently that the only real consent is an "enthusiastic 'yes.'" That sounds great. I affirm and endorse and support this idea, no questions asked. It has always been this way in fact, but, of course, it's not always been this way in culture or common practice. We've also yet to find a path through the thorny world of punishment and consequences, when it comes to sexual offenders.
Brett Kavanaugh now stands accused by two different women of making drunken sexual advances towards them, a couple years apart, roughly 35 years ago. He's making it hard on himself by denying these things so vociferously. Neither of the claims involves actual sex, so his protestations that he didn't have sex until college aren't really pertinent. Also, once you've admitted to occasionally over-imbibing, it's tough to categorically deny anything, right? I mean, you might say you don't remember assaulting these women (and maybe offer drinking as an excuse), but you can't say you didn't do it - at least not under oath, right? You just don't know.
On top of that, we've got the tricky situation of how to address youth. Let's face it, we learn things the hard way. We do. Especially in a time when "no means yes" was common parlance, teenagers working out how to deal with each other sexually is rough ground. That's not to excuse assault - please don't read that. If he did these things, it's wrong and he should've known better, even if it were more accepted then than now. Context doesn't change the right/wrong dynamic. People are still people, even if we've not yet learned to stop objectifying them.
It does, however, have some effect on how we might judge the guy today. I don't know Brett Kavanaugh. People seem to think he's a pretty moral, responsible, upstanding guy - a family man with a long history of integrity. It's just possible he could be all those things, and also a guy who did some terrible things to women when he was a teenager. Those exist together - or at least, it's possible they do. And, people can actually learn from the sins of their past and genuinely change. I'm not saying Kavanaugh has (that's what these hearings and investigations are supposed to help the Senate do), but it's certainly possible. Although, again, he's not helping himself with his response to this.
As much as I disagree with the judicial philosophy and constitutional interpretation Kavanaugh practices, and as much as I think he should be opposed because he's a self-serving pick on the part of DT, I don't think the guy (or any nominee) should be rejected simply because of the positions they hold on the law. Conservative Presidents nominate conservatives; liberal Presidents nominate liberals. I don't like it, but I've come to accept it.
To the extent that Democrats are using sexual assault as a means of blocking a nomination on partisan grounds, it's wrong. I don't know how genuine they are in actually caring about the women involved, but the skeptic in me feels like the answer is "not as much as they should be." That part of this thing feels really icky. Doing the right thing for the wrong reasons is just as bad as doing the wrong thing for the right reasons - which is the other part that makes me feel icky: to the extent that Republicans are overlooking a history of sexual assault on partisan grounds, it's wrong. I don't know how committed they are to forgiveness and second chances, but I feel like the answer is "not as much as they should be."
In the midst of this, we've got an entire argument in society about powerful men using their position and privilege to abuse, assault, and intimidate women. There have been, for the first time, widespread consequences to these actions. I'm not entirely sure, though, that we have figured out where consequences stop and punishment starts. Retribution isn't healthy for anyone. Les Moonves and Harvey Weinstein have made enough money to survive just fine if they are never able to work another day in their lives; that's not true for everyone else who's been called to account. How much is enough to atone for the crimes of the past? Collectively, as a society, we're still not entirely sure. There is no real justice for victims of rape and sexual assault, but destroying a life to atone for a life destroyed is also problematic.
Now this argument is being played out on a national stage. Should the guy lose a chance at the Supreme Court because of assaults committed decades ago? You can argue 'yes' and you can argue 'no,' but it's certainly not as cut and dry as the armies of antagonism would have us believe. There's always the competing realities of what is and what should be. There's also context.
This was amazingly illustrated in a quick interview Texas Senate candidate, Beto O'Rourke, did with Ellen the other day. She asked about a DUI conviction from his past. The guy gave one of the most politically astute answers I've ever heard. He said, essentially, "White men like me get second chances and I want to use mine to make sure everyone gets a second chance."
It's a great answer and an admirable one, if sincere. You could essentially put the same words in Kavanaugh's mouth and make a decent claim for his nomination (barring, you know, all the other arguments against it that we're not addressing here). Of course, the only reason he can even make the argument is that he's a privileged white dude.
You could say Beto's statement argues for his withdrawal from the race, recognizing that sometimes the way to combat privilege is to give it up. Our system may enable a good and righteous white man to win elections more easily and make a clearer path to equality for women and people of color, but equality is not really equality if it comes on the oppressor's terms.
I think most of us would like to believe second chances exist for people who've really changed. There's a part of us who wouldn't want to deny Kavanaugh the pinnacle of his career because of crimes in his past (if there were real change evidenced and not an increasingly callous defensiveness). The question is whether this could ever become a reality for people who aren't rich, white men. Can Kavanaugh really be an example of second chances, when he's precisely the kind of person who's always fallen ass-backwards into them?
Might it be time for the people who embody "how everyone should be treated" to sit back and endure "how most people actually are treated?"
White men make up an incredibly small percentage of the human race, but we've had an out-sized hand in how history unfolds. That history has often seen us at our most righteous, calling for universally just and equal treatment, exactly when one of our own most stands to benefit. That history has left us conspicuously silent when justice and equality for others might cost us some of our privilege, or the spoils that privilege has won us.
Why should Brett Kavanugh have to pay the price for the problems of white, male privilege? Well, for starters, maybe because we never ask that question when he benefits from it.
9/11 is only going to become more important as the distance from it to the present increases. The kids I see in schools everyday weren't even alive when it happened and so many young people have no living memory. As much as telling our stories can feel old, at times, it's important to help our collective memory.
The world is different now than it was, which is always true, but rarely do we have such definitive, recognizable transition moments as 9/11. The militant nationalism so prevalent in our society can be traced to that day and the ones following. Our obsession with safety and security are collective travails that extend from the emotional trauma of watching a nation that had never previously been attacked succumb to the kind of violence that's commonplace in so many countries around the world.
It's a real thing and we must, absolutely, with all our might, prevent it from becoming legend.
Legends lack complexity and context. When we were in Hawaii a few years back, we got to tour the Pearl Harbor memorial. What struck me most about the museum was the dearth of historical context. The US was competing with Japan for influence and control in the Pacific, and part of that meant limiting Japan's supply of oil. War was inevitable, because that particular US policy was an existential threat to their country. We can talk about tragedy - a surprise attack that cost a lot of lives - without negating the issues surrounding it's place in history. We don't tend to do that, though, we paint ourselves the innocent victims and the "other guy" as the bloodthirsty evil.
The speed with which we did that in 2001 is why 9/11 has much a troubled connection in my mind. We set out for revenge real quick. It didn't even seem to matter who was on the other end of our national fist. It got us into a lot of trouble and it shaped our society in really negative ways (beyond the governmental and economic consequences, which were nothing to sneeze at).
9/11 was a violent attack; all violence should be denounced. I don't like the distinction between civilian and military targets, because, as I said, all violence should be denounced - but 9/11 was certainly beyond even the commonly accepted rules of war: terror at it's very definition. The purpose of terror, of course, is to create a fear that grows, panic and overreaction that feeds itself in a cycle of expansion that ultimately gnaws at the roots of a society.
In that sense, the terrorists won.
That's why context is so important. We need to tell the stories of our experiences and emotions on that day. We need to communicate just how traumatic it was for people entirely disconnected from the lives lost, because violence has real consequences - when we do it and when we're the victims of it. We need to tell the stories to learn the lessons of how to respond to terror, how to control our very real and right fear and not allow it to eat us up and dictate our actions.
We need to keep 9/11 within the larger narrative of international politics, recognizing the out-sized influence the US has played in middle eastern politics and how quickly a religious narrative can be used to manipulate people and power. We need to keep perspective on the "good vs evil" dynamics and tell the story of 9/11 honestly - not filtered through the lenses we'd like it to fit.
Things have been sanitized that don't deserve cleaning. The impact of the clean-up on the fire and police officers, the rescue workers, both paid and volunteer - they're lionized in the stories we tell as they lie forgotten, suffering and dying as a result of their work. Hundreds of thousands of ordinary people in Iraq and Afghanistan died because of decisions our government made. Casualties of war are not just numbers on a page or phrases in a history book; they're real people - and there's many more of "them" who died than there ever were of "us." Such small numbers of "us" were ever asked to serve or sacrifice and we continually cut corners and pinch pennies to care for the hearts and heads of people who gave life and limb and family to fight angry, vengeful wars. We can't even be bothered to sacrifice the next marginally better drone or fighter jet to provide the medical care veterans across the country need.
Yes, I'm opposed to war and violence, precisely because they dehumanize and devalue life. It's all the more reason to support and care for those who've been victims of such war (and there are always many victims on every side of a fight).
I feel very different about 9/11 today than I did seventeen years ago, but that should also be part of the story. Reliving the vivid memories and emotional legacy of the moment as well as the changes it's wrought in us since that day, both individually and collectively. We need to recognize that while this is a singularly remarkable event, it is but one of many singularly remarkable events in our history and each come from somewhere and lead to somewhere. They fit in a larger narrative with both causes and consequences. While we may not be able to internalize all the complexities of experiencing such an event, we can understand why it happens and how we need to respond.
We can only do that, though, if we're honest - not just about the story we want to tell, but about the story that must be told. The worst possible way to memorialize 9/11 is to make it legend. The best thing to do is to keep it real.
May we all keep it real. On this day and on every one to come.
Regardless, I am who I am - at least for the moment. I'm over-protective. My main aim in life, since the moment my daughter was born, was to let go. I have distinct memories of those being the first thoughts in my mind when I held her. "Your Dad is precisely the kind of person to wrap you in air bags and never let you leave the house." It was my fear - and my determination - not to be the guy I'm most prone to be.
I'm pretty proud of how I've done so far, although I do still want to shelter her; it's my natural state, after all. She sometimes revels in this. As a, thus-far, only child, there's a part of my daughter that enjoys having things done for her. As much as we challenge (read: force) her to do things for herself, we're still often in too much of a hurry to make her buckle her own seatbelt (and she's six, I know, it's embarrassing).
While I have always marveled at just how quickly she's grown up, I've still be unprepared for just how quickly she's grown up recently. It's not linear, but exponential. Last year, in Kindergarten, she'd make the occasional pun and her inferences blew me away. Now, as a first-grader, she's her own person entirely - smart, aware, and thinking with depth and breadth way beyond what's fair for a six year old. I've realized that the influences and ideas from which I might naturally want to shield her or be the one to present are already very present in her mind and in her life and she's dealt with them in ways I can only define as impressive.
I've spent a fair bit of time working with young people; the number one thing I've learned in that time (as I'm sure I've said here before) is that they always know, experience, and understand more than their parents would ever believe. What I'm learning as a parent is that my previous work with young people does not exempt me from that axiom. No matter what my expectations for my daughter's engagement with the world might be, they're going to fall short.
This is both terrifying and incredibly comforting.
I've never been a big fan of the emphasis our society places on safety and security. I think it's usually overkill and often exacerbates an atmosphere of fear over any kind of relief. As part of that, I've struggled with the vast array of "drills" they do in schools these days, to prepare for all kids of trauma. Last year, in Kindergarten, I thought I was told the school didn't do lockdowns, so I put off my worry. As first grade approached - and entry to the "big" elementary school - I mused, out loud, about how I might approach my daughter's school to perhaps surreptitiously take her for ice cream, or something, when those drills occurred.
She overheard the conversation and while I don't remember her words exactly, they went something like, "we did those last year, Dad, where we all sat quietly in the corner so people couldn't see us from the door - nothing will ever happen in school, but we have to make the teachers happy."
I don't know if that's how it was presented to them, but I'd like to think my daughter has both learned a thing or two about Christian social critique from her old man and maybe inherited both sound logical reasoning and a compassionate heart.
In the end, the whole experience has helped relieve some pressure. I don't have to work extra hard to make sure my daughter is her own person, because there's nothing else she can become. I'll have an influence on her - for good or ill - but from the moment she was laying there in my arms, screaming her giant, grossly-misshapen head off, whatever control I thought I might have was simply an illusion.
I suspect the sooner we learn that lesson, the better.
I was listening to a bunch of self-satisfied, out-of-touch blowhards (otherwise known as the US Senate, in this case, specifically the Judiciary committee) talk about the Supreme Court (and nominally Brett Kavanaugh) today. I didn't intend to listen, but NPR has decided to interrupt regular news coverage for the day and broadcast it live. Some of them were going on and on about how nominees keep saying they're not going to rock the boat and then get into office and try to swamp it. Some of them were talking about how credentials and experience should trump the kind of hearing they're wasting our money and their time on today. Most of them, though, are throwing around the term "rule of law" as if it were a room full of lawyers.
That's what gets my goat.
You may say that my one semester of Intro to Law as an undergraduate makes me unqualified to speak on such a matter, but I'd argue the fact I've covered the basics of law and government without all the extraneous nuance makes me exceptionally qualified to opine on a very broad, unspecific point: We have got to stop letting lawyers run things - especially the Supreme Court!
Were you aware that you don't have to be a judge to be on the Supreme Court? Would it surprise you to learn you don't even have to be a lawyer?
It's true. In fact the only real qualification is that one be appointed by the President with the advice and consent of the Senate. That's it.
I've said for years that the first name on my Supreme Court list were I to ever find myself President and faced with a Court vacancy would be Jim Cameron - the guy who taught my American Political Institutions class in college. He's a constitutional law scholar, but more importantly a practical and caring individual, full of wisdom. Now, he's gotten up in a age a bit and retired from teaching, so perhaps I'll need to formulate a new list (you know, in the event we adopt my new election plan of picking a name out of a hat for every position and taking turns), but the point stands.
You don't need to be a great legal scholar to be a great Supreme Court justice, you just need a little intelligence, a lot of common sense, and a heart full of compassion.
Why do we insist on having "the greatest legal minds of her generation" sitting in those robes? Well, they tell us it's because the minute arguments and facts of law argued over in these immense cases are so extraordinarily difficult to parse and understand, let alone decide, that people need to be extremely well trained and versed in the process. Of course, who is it that tells us that? Lawyers. Who gets to decide who those people might be? Presidents (often lawyers) and Senators (I believe still over 50% lawyers). It's sort of the same gilded wall people in my profession have built - that only theologians can really do theology. Well, you don't have to be a lawyer to be a good Supreme Court justice.
You just don't.
Why not? Well, because there are layers and layers of lawyers and judges working on the lower levels of justice who do know all that stuff and make really good decisions. The Supreme Court was never meant to be the ultimate arbiter of minute legal matters - the Supreme Court was designed to save the nation from the lawyers, to step in when the law clearly violates fairness or justice or the common good. We've got plenty of lawyers making and defending and parsing our laws. We don't need another layer of them in fancy robes with no expiration date.
What we do need are wise people who can find the few cases where the law failed us and make heartfelt changes for the common good. Sure, we're never actually going to agree on what the common good might be and these grandstanding confirmation hearings will continue ad nauseum, but at least, perhaps, they might be talking about things that really matter in a candidate for the highest office in the land: wisdom.
You might be surprised to know I'm generally progressive, especially on social issues. When it comes to individual freedom over corporate or government control, I tend to be willing to risk a little chaos to side with the little guy. It puts me more in the RBG camp than the other one.
Still, I think perhaps the most wise decision any Supreme Court justice has made in my lifetime was Chief Justice John Roberts letting the ACA stand. We all know his legal arguments were bunk - virtually indecipherable when it comes to logic, but clear as day when it comes to social awareness. He said "this law is a mess, but I don't want to be the guy whose Court invalidated the notion that people should have healthcare.
Congress and the voters will have to fix this mess, but it's a mess that we deserve (for any number of different reasons).
The guy did precisely what the Supreme Court is supposed to do. He knew that because, at least according to everything I've read, he was one of the greatest Supreme Court fanboys of all time. He knows what the institution is supposed to be and he knows his role as the head of it. We might not have the same inclinations when it comes to decisions, but I trust the guy understands his role. I wouldn't say that for some of the other justices (both conservative and otherwise) and I certainly wouldn't say that for most of the US Senate.
I don't want this to be a dig at lawyers. Not to be cliche, but literally, some of my best friends are lawyers. I get the importance of what they do and would never want to minimize it. I do think the Supreme Court is something different, though - it's a part of that "government by the people" thing. It's not about who can tie themselves up in the best legal knots - the kind of logic and wordplay I truly admire from lawyers - it's about how the decisions of that legal system effect the country as a whole. It's different.
I don't want judges to be elected or any old person in those positions. I'd just like for us to change our perspective on the Supreme Court a little bit. Just because it's the highest court in the land, doesn't mean it has to look like all the others - in fact, it really shouldn't.
In the end, we're not a nation of laws, as the lawyers so often like to claim, we're a nation of people. People and laws are different. I don't mind having lawyers on the Supreme Court - a great legal mind is a good thing almost anywhere - I just hope they (and the people who choose them) will be mindful that a great legal mind is not the most important thing for that particular position.
