Spiritual Common Sense

In October 2000, my wife and I were invited to attend a benefit for the international relief organization AmeriCares. Long the largest private relief agency in the world, AmeriCares had just passed a major milestone: the delivery of two billion dollars in life-saving medicines and medical supplies to 110 countries around the globe.

We were seated at the head table along with the guests of honor, George and Barbara Bush.  Through no merit of my own, I was given the honor of sitting next to the former First Lady.

Inevitably and almost immediately the conversation turned to politics.  Her son, Jeb, was running for Governor of Florida.  Her son, George, had just announced that he would run for Governor of Texas.

Jeb had long made his political aspirations known. George’s announcement came as something of a surprise.  I made the mistake of commenting on this, saying it appeared to me that Jeb was a better and more natural politician.

The lioness quickly emerged and I got a glimpse of the strength and fierce devotion that characterized so much of her life.  She gave me a steely look and said, “I wouldn’t underestimate George if I were you.”

Seeking solid ground, I changed the subject.  We started talking about our mutual friends, the Macauleys, and what they have done with AmeriCares.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Bush fixed her steely eyes on me again.  She said, “You know, someone really should tell Bob’s story.”

I knew it wasn’t an idle comment.  She was telling me what she thought I should do.   A year later I sent her the final draft of His Name is Today, seeking her approval.  She graciously agreed to write a forward.

Through the years that followed, we kept in touch. I sent her notes telling her what we had done or hoped to do with The Heart of America Foundation.  She was always quick to respond with kind and encouraging words.

In the coming days, I suspect you will hear similar stories from many others.  There was no reason she should take an interest in me or try to help me.  That was just her nature. That’s who she was.  I feel privileged to have known her.

When I was twelve, I came home from the movies and loaded the .30-30.  It was a Winchester lever action rifle – the gun that won the west. There was one like it in every other house in the community where I grew up.

My friends and I had gone to see The House of Wax with Vincent Price.  He scared the daylights out of me.  I placed the gun by my bed and went to sleep thinking that if Vincent Price stuck his nose through the door I would blow it off.

I got my first gun two years earlier.  It was a .22 rifle my father bought at Sears.  A .410 shotgun followed on my next birthday, then a .20 gauge shotgun.  Only then, after years shooting under my father’s supervision, was I allowed to fire the big gun.

My father grew up on a ranch in Colorado.  He handled guns daily and approached them seriously.  He made sure I knew what I was doing, lectured me on gun safely, taught me how to take care of them, and laid down conditions for their use.  You didn’t shoot a gun in the city, for example – even a BB gun – even if that city was so small it only had one traffic light and was home to less than 5,000 people.

One of my friends, a boy I used to hunt with frequently, was more reckless.  He managed to shoot himself three times in four years.

The first time he was practicing his quick-draw. He put a .22 round through his thigh when his gun fired before he could clear the holster. The second time, he took off part of a thumb while adjusting the choke on his shotgun. The last time he was trying to shoot a tin can balanced on the toe of his boot and managed to shoot himself in the foot.

When my father heard about this, he went ballistic. He asked me how I could be dumb enough to hunt with someone with so little respect for the guns he carried.  I told him I didn’t worry about it too much because he never seemed to shoot anyone other than himself.

My father was not impressed with my logic.  He took my guns away and told me I would only get them back when I demonstrated more maturity.  In our house, gun ownership was not a right; it was a privilege.

When I was drafted, I saw a lot of people who reminded me of my hunting buddy.  They were a nightmare for our drill sergeant and a threat to the unit.  They were more interested in blowing things up than defending themselves and even less interested in fighting for their country or defending their comrades in arms.

Most of these recruits wound up with desk jobs.  If they went to ‘Nam, they didn’t come back.

Nearly every member of my family – male or female – owns or has owned guns; but none of them would agree that anyone who wants a gun is entitled to have one.  Nor would they agree everyone has a right to buy any and every gun they desire.

This just seems like common sense to me and, if you can believe the polls, most people agree.  The only ones who seem to disagree are the gun manufactures and that small minority that always seems to want to be able to do whatever they want whenever they want.

Strange as it may seem, I have seen all this before. I was on Capitol Hill when the first shots were fired in the great tobacco war.  Senator Frank E. Moss, my boss, led the charge, introducing the legislation that required cigarette companies post the surgeon’s general’s warning on their packages.

The cigarette companies fired back. They called the surgeon general’s report fake news, drummed up scientists supporting their views, paid for studies designed to make their case, contributed like relatives, and hired an army of lobbyists.  They found powerful allies in Members of Congress representing the tobacco producing states – but they still lost.

It has taken several decades, but the tobacco culture has changed in ways that were unimaginable when the battle began.  Gone are the days when you could lite up whenever and wherever you want without concern for  the health or well being of others.

Something similar is happening now.  As is often the case, the children are leading the way.

Victor Hugo said, “There is nothing more powerful than an idea whose time has come.”  The kids are telling us that moment has arrived.  We need to listen to them, check our values, and find the courage to do what needs to be done.

If we don’t, they will.  It’s only a matter of time.

John Adams has been on my mind.

History remembers Adams as our first Vice President and America’s second president. He was on the drafting committee for the Declaration of Independence and argued eloquently for its passage.  After July 4, 1776, Adams traveled to France, where he proved instrumental in winning French support for our war of independence.

So it is something more than ironic that twenty-five years later, Adams expressed concern for the viability of the Republic he helped create.

“Remember, democracy never lasts long,” he said, “it soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide.”

As I consider Adam’s admonition, I find myself wondering if this process has begun. With every passing day, our country seems more divided and, as we all know, a house divided against itself cannot stand.

Newton’s Third Law of Motion applies: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. It’s true in politics as well as physics.

The election of President Trump was a reaction to the election of President Obama. Now the pendulum is swinging back the other way. Every action Trump takes to appease his base only extends that arc. The moneyed-classes, people who represent the most extreme elements in both parties, feed this process and add to the momentum for separation and division. As a result, the pendulum swings more violently with every cycle.

The middle – the place where most of us live – is largely ignored. Small wonder President Trump’s approval rating is the lowest of any President in history and Congress’ approval rating is even lower. To paraphrase Will Rodgers, they aren’t on speaking terms with themselves.

Bad as they may be, we have to ask ourselves – Are we are any better? We call Members of Congress our representatives. Could it be our low esteem for them is a reflection of the dissatisfaction we have for the image we see of ourselves?

If we are honest, most of us will admit we have friends or relatives whose political persuasions trouble us. Many of us, not unlike the Members of Congress, “shut down” conversations with these people because we are uncomfortable with where these conversations might lead. We find ourselves wondering how these good and decent people could be so lost and misguided without considering the possibility that they might be looking back through the looking glass and wondering the same thing about us.

Anyone bothering to check knows that those who watch Fox’s news, the largest cable outlet, get a totally different view of the world than those who watch MSNBC, the second largest network. These networks and others present alternative universes. They have alternative concerns, alternative facts, and alternative realities, while the algorithms that govern the social media we use are designed to tell us what we want hear, reinforce our pre-existing beliefs, and present nothing that challenges them. No wonder half the population thinks the other half is crazy.

At its core, this behavior reflects a loss of our sense of humility – the most misunderstood and least appreciated Biblical virtue. It symptom of a potentially lethal combination of ignorance and arrogance.

In 1944, Judge Learned Hand, the most distinguished jurist of his time, spoke to more than a million people gathered in Central park. The event was billed as “I Am an American Day” and focused on the 150,000 newly naturalized citizens included in the audience.

“We have gathered here to affirm a faith,” Hand told them, “a faith in a common purpose, a common conviction, a common devotion. Some of us have chosen America as the land of our adoption; the rest have come from those who did the same.

“What do we mean when we say that first of all we seek liberty? Liberty lies in the hearts of men and women; when it dies there, no constitution, no law, no court can even do much to help it. While it lies there, it needs no constitution, no law, no court to save it.

“And what is this liberty which must lie in the hearts of men and women? It is not the ruthless, the unbridled will; it is not freedom to do as one likes. That is the denial of liberty, and leads straight to its overthrow. A society in which men recognize no check upon their freedom soon becomes a society where freedom is the possession of only a savage few; as we have learned to our sorrow.

“What then is the spirit of liberty? I cannot define it; I can only tell you my own faith.

“The spirit of liberty is the spirit which is not too sure that it is right; the spirit of liberty is the spirit which seeks to understand the mind of other men and women; the spirit of liberty is the spirit which weighs their interests alongside its own without bias; the spirit of liberty remembers that not even a sparrow falls to earth unheeded; the spirit of liberty is the spirit of Him who, near two thousand years ago, taught mankind that lesson it has never learned but never quite forgotten; that there may be a kingdom where the least shall be heard and considered side by side with the greatest.”

That is our challenge. If our democracy is to survive, the spirit of liberty must be kept alive.   It’s not something anyone can do for us. It is something we must do for ourselves.

Sexual harassment is probably as old as the cave man.  It’s certainly nothing new in Washington.

I saw or heard about sexual harassment daily when I worked on Capitol Hill.  I also experienced it more than I care to remember.

My first job in Washington was running elevators in the Capitol.  It is the kind of job they give to students working their way through school.  I worked there – and in the elevators in the Senate Office Buildings – for more than five years.

An elevator is a tight, confined, and often crowded space.  I saw women manhandled there on a regular basis.  The women were almost always young.   Their harassers were almost always older, Members of Congress or men on their senior staff.  It was common knowledge Senator Strom Thurmond excelled at this practice – so much so that many women chose to avoid the elevator or wait for the next car when they saw him.

Women were not the only victims.  My bottom was pinched enough that I learned to operate the elevators with my back to wall.  The Legislative Counsel for the Senate was particularly persistent.  I couldn’t refuse him service but it got to the point where I wanted to deck him every time I saw him.

My sophomore year in college, I got a job as an auditor working with the Bureau of Budget and Finance.  The office was a typical Washington bullpen.  Auditors worked side by side with desks facing the wall.  The supervisors sat behind us so they could watch us work.

After I had been there about six months, I became aware of a commotion behind me.  I turned around and saw our supervisor giving a tour to a woman from the senior staff.  I thought nothing of it until the following week when I found myself reassigned to her office.  I was given a desk four feet in front of hers.  I was told to greet people who came to see her and answer her phone, but it soon became clear that wasn’t why I was there.

Though there were no overt actions, there were enough invitations to dinners and shows and personal questions to make me uncomfortable.  I dreaded coming to work, but I needed the money.  Finally, I decided I had enough and quit.  I got a job as a janitor in an office building near DuPont Circle and filled in when they were shorthanded at the Senate.

Because I was there so long and people knew me, my elevator became a safe space for women looking to get away from the office.  They would ride and talk until they felt they had to go back to work.  Senator Steven Young of Ohio was the subject of frequent complaint and conversation.  He was so offensive and so frequently offensive that he couldn’t keep a full staff.

When girls looking for work came through and asked if I knew anyone that might be hiring, I often told them there was certain to be a vacancy in Young’s office but always warned them that them the job came with a price.  Some felt they could handle it.  Others did not.

I remember one girl in particular.  She was about nineteen and desperate for a job so I sent her to Young’s office.  She came back in tears.  After being interviewed by the office manager, she was introduced to the Senator.  She said as soon as the office manager left the room, he came around the desk and grabbed her breasts.

A couple of friends who transitioned to the Supreme Court had similar experiences there. One of them said she stopped wearing heels to work because the Justice she worked work for – a senior member of the Court – habitually chased her around the desk.

So when I consider the moment, I find myself wondering what’s new? Is it all political, the context of our times, or have we reached a tipping point?

The closest thing to it in my experience is the Civil Rights movement of the ‘60s.  It reached critical mass at Selma on “Bloody Sunday.”   Everyone of age will remember that day – the sight of Alabama state troopers meeting 600 peaceful demonstrators on the Edmund Pettus Bridge, wading into them with Billy Clubs and tear gas, leaving Amelia Boynton, the leader of the demonstration bloody and unconscious at their feet.  Our collective consciousness was touched and the world changed.

It feels like the Harvey Weinstein case has created such a moment. The dam has burst.  Each woman who steps forward inspires another and they leapfrog like a forest fire, spreading from media to politics, business to business.  Finally, we are beginning to focus on how broad and systemic this problem is.

In October of 1991, I had dinner with Teresa Heinz.  It was a few months after her husband and my former boss, Senator John Heinz, had passed away leaving her with the burden of a company and foundation to run and three young children.

At one point, our conversation turned to the confirmation hearing for Clarence Thomas and the testimony of Anita Hill, a Yale Law School graduate who had been Thomas’ assistant until he was nominated for the Supreme Court.

Hill’s appearance before the Senate Judiciary was shocking and surreal.  She testified Thomas had made persistent advances, boasted of his sexual prowess, and talked with her about sex with animals, breast sizes, and someone named Long Dong Silver.

The Judiciary Committee didn’t know what to do with it, but the one thing they didn’t do was take it seriously. Hill passed a lie detector test, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t believe her, didn’t want to believe her, and just plain didn’t care.

A member of the Committee, Senator Arlen Specter, reflected the mood of the majority when he suggested that talk of breasts at work was, “you know, no big deal.”

Mrs. Heinz’ reaction to all this took me by surprise. “You Americans are so foolish about these things,” she said. “A European woman would have slapped him silly and that would have been the end of it.”

Maybe that is true in Portugal where she grew up or even here when there is a level playing field.  But what it misses is the common denominator of all these activities – Sexual harassment is more about power than sex.

Maybe sexual harassment wasn’t considered a big deal two decades ago.  Now it is.  Now it seems we are more disposed to believe women than not.  Now it seems we are more prepared to do something about it than not.  The speed with which so many powerful people have fallen from grace speaks to this fact.

It seems clear society will no longer tolerate this kind of conduct.  Pure and simple:  It’s wrong.  It’s wrong in Hollywood or Washington.  It’s wrong in business or politics.  It’s wrong in the Senate, the House, or the White House.  It doesn’t matter whether you are talking about the Democrats or Republicans, Clinton or Trump.  It’s wrong.

But toppling a few predators from power will not solve this problem.  Like most systemic problems, the answer has to come from the bottom up.  In other words, it’s not about what they do. The question is – What will we do?  How will we respond?  How will we address the parts of this iceberg that are beneath the surface, less visible, but nearer to our lives.

In the words of the great philosopher, Pogo, “We have met the enemy and he is us.”   We are all responsible.  We all can do something.  We all can say something.  We all can stop ignoring it and looking away.

It is the best time of the year – the seasons of thanks and giving. For me it’s particularly meaningful when I consider how quickly one follows the other and the relationship between the two holidays that mark the end of the year.

If the 4^th of July is Independence Day, Thanksgiving could just as easily be called Dependence Day. It is the time we set aside to formally recognize something we should acknowledge every day with every breath we breath.

All of life and everything in life is a gift.

The essence of life is a chain of love, which binds all things together.  Plants and animals trade atoms and air – oxygen for hydrogen, hydrogen for oxygen – in a mutual exchange of life.  The water that falls on the earth passes through and is collected in the rivers, lakes, and oceans until it rises to fall again. The earth too must give so that it can receive.

I know this better than most.  I often think there would be little left of me if I subtracted the contributions others have made to my life.

Our interdependence is what gives meaning and purpose to our lives.  Much has been said on this subject but no one has said it better than Henry Emerson Fosdick.

“The Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea are made of the same water,” Fosdick said. “It flows down clear and cool from the heights of Hermon and the roots of the cedars of Lebanon.  The Sea of Galilee makes beauty of it for the Sea of Galilee has an outlet; it gets to give…but the Dead Sea with the same water makes only horror, for the Dead Sea has no outlet; it must keep its bounty.”