For some time now, I’ve very deliberately tried to refrain from talking about politics here on Simple Tricks. It hasn’t been easy, especially during the recent presidential campaign when the liquid bullshit was flowing so freely and deeply it often seemed like a retention pond at the local water-treatment plant had collapsed. And yet I’ve (mostly) kept my mouth shut, even when I’ve been practically busting at the seams with the desire to unleash a tirade or two. The reason is simple: I’ve been trying to be a better neighbor.
You see, growing up and living where I do — the most right-wing state in the union aside from maybe Alabama — it’s virtually guaranteed that you’re going to have a number of friends and relatives who are conservative. Very conservative, in many cases. And believe it or not, I like these people, at least when we’re not talking about politics. And I’m reasonably sure they like me, too… when we’re not talking about politics. But whenever that subject creeps into the conversation… well, basically, I got tired of walking away from arguments wondering if I’d just lost a friend I’ve had since middle school without really winning a damn thing, a feeling of sick-to-my-stomach futility that was becoming all too frequent. It’s not that I lost the courage of my convictions or anything like that. But I’ve learned that my words aren’t likely to change anybody’s minds about anything, and I’m not the sort of person who thrives on stirring the pot. I give too much of a damn about what others think. So some months back, I decided it just wasn’t worth antagonizing a good percentage of my Loyal Readers simply in the name of expressing my opinion.
The downside to this high-minded civility is that, over time, I’ve started to feel like I’m somehow not being true to myself. I don’t quite understand why this should be the case, as I’m pretty sure my conservative friends know me well enough to guess what I’m liable to think about any given issue, just as I can imagine where they probably stand on various things, too, without any of us needing to say a word. Staying silent simply avoids bad feelings. But the conversation goes on in the culture around us whether I speak or not, and there are times when my soul cries out to stop staring at my shoes like I’ve done something wrong. Times when I need to stick out my chest and let the world know who I am and what I believe in. It’s not about picking a fight or pissing people off. It’s about pride. And demonstrating the courage of my convictions.
So today, on the occasion of the second inauguration of President Barack Obama, I want to shout from the rooftops that I am a liberal Democrat, and I’m not going to apologize for it. Moreover, I’m proud to state, for the record, that I voted twice for this man:
Now, I’ll confess, Obama hasn’t exactly been the president I hoped he’d be. Not that I imagined he was any kind of “messiah,” as many folks on the right still like to sneeringly accuse we liberals of believing. (I’d like to know where the hell that ridiculous taunt came from; I don’t know anybody who ever thought that. The enthusiasm for Obama that made the right so uncomfortable was largely a reflection of the left’s absolute frustration and despair after eight years of George W. Bush and Darth — sorry, Dick — Cheney, and our relief that those dreadful years were at last over. Also, we were simply excited that we were electing America’s first black president, a historic landmark that most of us progressives hoped but never really believed we’d ever see.) Four years ago, my wish was that hoped Barack Obama would be as aggressively, unrepentantly liberal as Bush had been conservative. I wanted another FDR who would come in and kick some Wall Street ass before reaffirming all the rights the previous administration had so contemptuously trampled in the name of “security.” That’s not what happened, of course. At the end of Obama’s first term, the economy still stinks, the big banks are bigger than ever, and nobody went to jail for using the whole damn financial system as their personal casino; healthcare remains in the iron grip of the for-profit insurance industry (a single-payer system makes far more sense to me); the hateful American gulag at Guantanamo remains in operation; this nation has not formally repudiated torture; the NSA is still listening in on everybody’s phone calls without a warrant; and I still have to take off my shoes at the airport.
Even so, there was never any question that Barack Obama would get my vote for a second term. Not merely because he’s a member of my Democratic tribe (although honestly, at this point, after observing 20 years of Gingrinchian temper tantrums and generally assholish behavior, I can’t imagine ever voting for a Republican). But also because I genuinely like the man, and I know that many of his failures to date are not strictly his fault, but due instead to an intransigent, obstructionist Republican Congress that made up its mind not to work with him on anything before he took one step inside the Oval Office. And also because I believe he has the best interests of the average person at heart. Because I still hope this country can become something better than it’s been in recent years.
Barack Obama’s second inaugural speech today included much to reassure me that my hope is not misplaced. To my great pleasure, this speech was as full-throated a defense of liberal ideals — my ideals — as I’ve heard since I reached voting age. Over and over again during the length of the address, I found myself thinking, “Yes! It’s about damn time somebody said something like this!” Two passages in particular leapt out at me. First, this one, which echoes so much of what I myself have said in recent years in defense of so-called “entitlements”:
We, the people, still believe that every citizen deserves a basic measure of security and dignity. We must make the hard choices to reduce the cost of health care and the size of our deficit. But we reject the belief that America must choose between caring for the generation that built this country and investing in the generation that will build its future. For we remember the lessons of our past, when twilight years were spent in poverty, and parents of a child with a disability had nowhere to turn. We do not believe that in this country, freedom is reserved for the lucky, or happiness for the few. We recognize that no matter how responsibly we live our lives, any one of us, at any time, may face a job loss, or a sudden illness, or a home swept away in a terrible storm. The commitments we make to each other – through Medicare, and Medicaid, and Social Security – these things do not sap our initiative; they strengthen us. They do not make us a nation of takers; they free us to take the risks that make this country great.
Emphasis mine. A social safety net is not socialism or communism. It’s merely civilized. Every advanced nation in the world has one, as they should. And true freedom is not having to live in terror of losing everything you’ve worked for just because you have the misfortune to get sick, or laid off, or hit by bad weather.
And then there’s this:
We, the people, declare today that the most evident of truths – that all of us are created equal – is the star that guides us still; just as it guided our forebears through Seneca Falls, and Selma, and Stonewall; just as it guided all those men and women, sung and unsung, who left footprints along this great Mall, to hear a preacher say that we cannot walk alone; to hear a King proclaim that our individual freedom is inextricably bound to the freedom of every soul on Earth.
It is now our generation’s task to carry on what those pioneers began. For our journey is not complete until our wives, our mothers, and daughters can earn a living equal to their efforts. Our journey is not complete until our gay brothers and sisters are treated like anyone else under the law – for if we are truly created equal, then surely the love we commit to one another must be equal as well. Our journey is not complete until no citizen is forced to wait for hours to exercise the right to vote. Our journey is not complete until we find a better way to welcome the striving, hopeful immigrants who still see America as a land of opportunity; until bright young students and engineers are enlisted in our workforce rather than expelled from our country. Our journey is not complete until all our children, from the streets of Detroit to the hills of Appalachia to the quiet lanes of Newtown, know that they are cared for, and cherished, and always safe from harm.
That is our generation’s task – to make these words, these rights, these values – of Life, and Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness – real for every American. Being true to our founding documents does not require us to agree on every contour of life; it does not mean we will all define liberty in exactly the same way, or follow the same precise path to happiness. Progress does not compel us to settle centuries-long debates about the role of government for all time – but it does require us to act in our time.
How can I explain what I hear in this passage? Why I find it so moving, so correct, so… fulfilling? I guess it starts, as so many of my most cherished ideas do, with an old episode of Star Trek.
“The Omega Glory” is commonly derided as one of the worst segments of the original series — and admittedly, its central premise is pretty hard to swallow — but I have to confess I’ve always rather liked this one, even its notoriously far-fetched final scene. Briefly, the crew of the Starship Enterprise discovers a planet where pre-industrial villagers called the Kohms are under siege by nomadic barbarians known as Yangs. Our heroes eventually figure out that this planet was once a mirror-image of 20th century Earth, only these people fought the third world war that Earth managed to avoid, and their civilization was destroyed, “bombed back to the Stone Age,” to use an expression that was all the rage when this one was filmed. The asiatic-looking Kohms are descended from communists — commie, Kohm, get it? — while the white-skinned barbarians were once analogous to Americans, i.e., Yankees. (I know, I know, but bear with me here. The writers of the original series were far less concerned with plausibility than with parable.)
In the episode’s climax, the victorious Yangs bring out their most revered relic, the e plebista (a corruption of the Latin e pluribus unum, obviously). It’s a centuries-old document they hold so sacred that only the chief and high priest of their tribe are allowed to look upon it. It’s the U.S. Constitution, of course… and Captain Kirk reacts to this revelation with irritation, telling the Yangs that they have forgotten the meaning of their holy words, that they have in fact missed the entire point of them. These words, he passionately declares, are not meant only for chiefs or priests, but for all people. They must apply equally to everyone, Kirk says — even to the Kohms — or they mean nothing.
It’s a ridiculous scene, played in broad strokes with swelling music and William Shatner delivering one of his most bombastic performances, which is saying quite a lot considering his career is filled with them. And yet… while other Trekkies snicker and roll their eyes and even call out the episode as racist, I have always found it curiously effective. Powerful, even, in spite of all its earnest, simplistic, ham-fisted proselytizing. I’m not exaggerating when I say that this one scene of a TV show that was cancelled before my birth, seen god-only-knows how many times during my early childhood — along with certain of those old Schoolhouse Rock PSAs that used to run on Saturday mornings — formed the foundation of my ideas about America. What it is, and what it’s supposed to be…
The words must apply to everyone or they mean nothing.
President Obama’s speech moved me because I heard in it the echo of Captain Kirk’s voice. And it excited me to hear so plainly articulated something I so deeply believe: We’re all in this together. All of us… rich and poor, black and white, straight and gay, religious and atheist, Democrat and Republican. We, the people. We all deserve the same liberties — to marry, to vote, to express ourselves, to better ourselves, to live the best life we can achieve. But that’s only going to work if we also all share the responsibilities that come from living in the same community. We have to work together, and help each other out when one of our neighbors is struggling. We can’t “go galt” because we’re not feeling properly appreciated. We can’t live by a philosophy of “every man for himself” and still call ourselves a community, much less a civilization. We can’t insist others live by our religious code if they have a different faith, or none at all. And we have to do our best to make the system as fair as possible for as many of our fellow citizens as possible, or all our high-minded declarations about being created equal are just so much hot wind.
Before the Red-baiters and Bible-thumpers enshrined “In God we trust” as the national motto, we had another, far more appropriate one (which sadly was never made official): e pluribus unum. Out of many, one. Originally referring to the thirteen separate colonies making up a new country, it’s meaning can also be applied to the rich diversity of our citizenry. It’s an idea I revere… my “Yang holy words,” as it were. My e plebnista. My vision of America, or at least of what America can be. And should be.
It’s a vision President Obama — my president — seems to share.
One final thought, assuming anybody has managed to read this far without clicking away in disgust… or boredom: I know this was just another speech, mere words. I have several liberal friends who have grown jaded about President Obama’s speeches, who won’t be satisfied until they see some actions that back up the words. I understand your feelings… and I agree. Mostly. As I said above, I don’t think Obama’s ineffectiveness on some issues is entirely his fault; there’s only so much he can accomplish in the current political environment. But something feels different to me this time out. And in any event, we, as liberals, need to keep giving voice to these ideals. The right figured out long ago that if you repeat a talking point often enough, people start to believe it. So let’s keep repeating our ideas until they sink in…
The words must apply to everyone or they mean nothing…
