And Then There Were None: A Conversation about Politics and Presidents

Below is an edited response to a question my daughter asked (via email) on April 28th. The conversation took place before Ted Cruz and John Kasich dropped out of the race, leaving Donald Trump as the presumptive nominee for the Republican Party as of May 4th. 

Q: I’m curious about your thoughts on this whole election debacle? I honestly don't even know what to think right now. Bernie Sanders appeals to me for obvious reasons but I doubt he'll get the Democratic nomination and I don't really know how I feel about Hillary and I am so horrified at the thought that TRUMP could be the Republican nominee but, even if he wasn't, I wouldn't pick Cruz. So, where do you go?

A. This morning I wrote a Letter to the Editor to the Los Angeles Times in response to an above-the-fold front page article called "GOP Gender Problem Just Got Worse." The article focused on Trump's anti-woman derisive comments about Hillary. Here's what I wrote: 

Donald Trump may have a gender problem, but the GOP does not. Donald Trump is not a Republican. He is an impostor who has hijacked the party and is taking it and the country on a nauseating joyride for his own amusement. The legitimate Republican candidate just announced as his running mate Carly Fiorina (female gender). That should have been the front page story. 

That's what I think about Trump. If he becomes the nominee, I don't vote for him. But I don't vote for Clinton either. Cruz was not my favorite (Marco Rubio was), but he's who I'll vote for. If Trump beats him to 1237, either before or during the Cleveland Convention, and becomes the GOP nominee, I hope Cruz/Fiorina run as a third party Independent ticket. Even if there are some things about him that I don't like, he is still, at his core, a principled conservative. 

Donald Trump is not a conservative. He's as big government as Clinton. Worse, he's a "strong man," a bully. Deep down, he's a liberal Democrat, no different from Clinton. So people who want a left-leaning, big government, 2016 is their year, it doesn't matter if it's Trump or Clinton. I don't think I could bear 4 or 8 years of either. My skin crawls every time I hear one of them speak. 

Sanders' appeal to you and to the younger generation and some in my generation, I find puzzling. Socialism has proven to be a failed system at best, and, at worst, a cruel and dehumanizing system. The fact that the Millennials are excited by him is not surprising since schools don't teach history anymore. But the Boomers and older should know better. A free market economy, with limited government regulation (limited, not eliminated), where innovation and entrepreneurial spirit is fostered, is what leads to a stronger economy, and yes, more opportunities for people to be employed and enter the middle class, to achieve the American dream. Government is there to protect, to provide a bona fide safety net but not cradle-to-grave security. 

I’m particularly puzzled about why young women are attracted to "big government." Women who pride themselves on independence, even to the point where they declare they don’t need a man. This new generation of feminists are so proud of their independence, but they embrace the idea of big government. What's "big government" if not, ultimately, a "daddy" or "husband" to take care of you, a la The Life of Julia? The beauty of conservatism is in its sense of self-dependence. Socialism takes all that away ("the government will take care of me and of him, no need for charity, etc.). 

The other day, I watched a fascinating interview from an old William F. Buckley, Jr. Firing Line segment. He was interviewing Margaret Thatcher before she had become Prime Minister. Most leftists despise her, but her comments and insights about socialism were very astute. She makes the case quite strongly about the harm a socialist government inflicts on individual freedoms, how people lose a sense of purpose, despite the fact that all their needs are supposedly being met by the government.

These are my core beliefs as a conservative. My thinking these days is this: conservatism is the "wine" that's stored in the "bottle" of the Republican party, which is why I'm no longer a Democrat. Once the Democratic party embraced abortion with no restrictions I changed my affiliation. But I'm not a party loyalist. If the Republican party skews left, which it will with Donald Trump at the helm, conservatism will have to find another wine bottle. You've heard the saying, "I didn't leave the Democratic party, the party left me." That will be true of me, as well as many conservatives, even if it means losing the election. 

Below are two short videos from Prager U that are relevant to the discussion about socialism. The first talks about something called The Laffer Curve, which maybe you studied in college economics (I didn't--I'm still catching up). The Laffer Curve has to do with the point at which the government actually loses money when tax rates reach a certain point. The other explains why conservatives believe government should not get too big, and addresses the problems in the European Union. 

Government: Isit Ever Big Enough? (William Voegeli, Senior Editor, Claremont Review of Books) 

Lower Taxes,Higher Revenue (Tim Groseclose, Professor of Economics, George Mason University)

A Few Thoughts on Elie Wiesel's "A Jew Today"

I must have picked this book up used somewhere, or maybe ordered online from my favorite used book supplier, Abe Books. It's been in my queue for awhile. I recently finished. 

In no particular order, here are some thoughts. 

1. There is so much I do not know. Not just about Jews and Judaism, but about history, about the world. More on this below. 

2. Elie Wiesel is a man of great sorrow. He admits as much in one of his essays ("An Interview Unlike Any Other"),  in which he describes how he vowed not to speak or write about what he saw for ten years: "Long enough to see clearly. Long enough to learn to listen to the voices crying inside my own. Long enough to regain possession of my memory. Long enough to unite the language of man with the silence of the dead." 

The interview was with French novelist François Charles Mauriac, the man credited as the one who encouraged Wiesel to finally tell his story. "I think that you are wrong," Mauriac said. "You are wrong not to speak . . . Listen to the old man that I am: one must speak out--one must also speak out." 

Wiesel did, and the resulting manuscript would eventually become Night. But that sounds too tidy, and it's not that simple, how it came about, nor was finally writing about it enough to alleviate his pain. Each essay in this collection is etched with anguish. Reading it, you feel like placing a hand over your mouth, the way you might feel sitting beside Job, or beside one in mourning. You don't belong here. There's nothing to say. Nothing can be said.  

3. There is so much I do not know. Section II is called "Excerpts from a Diary." Each chapter is commentary on a current event, or controversy, or personality, of the era. My ignorance is deep and wide. After each chapter, I slunk my way to Google for a little primer on moments in history like the Biafran (Nigerian) Civil War between 1967-1970, where mass starvation was used as a legitimate weapon of war;  the genocide of the Aché  people of Paraguay during the second half of the century; United Nations General Assembly Resolution 3379 on November 10, 1975, which determined that Zionism is a form of racism and racial discrimination. The Resolution was later revoked in 1991 at the initiation of President George H.W. Bush. Wiesel writes of diaries left behind in the camps, somehow written and concealed by the Sonder Kommando; of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn: was he an anti-Semite? He writes of apartheid in South Africa, of Holocaust denial. He writes, and the intellect is strong, the words eloquent, but the emotion is raw. Time has not healed, nor likely ever will. He is deeply scarred.

4. Not, "where was God?" but, "where was man?" This was something I picked up on, not anything he wrote in those exact words, so I hope I'm not inferring in error. It was the chapter called "A Plea for the Survivors," which originally appeared in New York Times Magazine in August, 1978. He explains how the victims in the concentration camps believed the civilized world knew nothing about what was happening in the camps, otherwise they would come to their rescue. They consoled themselves with this one thought: "If the killers could kill freely, it was only because the Allies were not informed." But after the liberation, it became clear: in fact, the Allies did know. Everyone knew. While Jews were being decimated, thousands and thousands per day, newspapers around the world dutifully reported everything that was happening. Full coverage. Yet, no outrage. No demonstrations. Not even among American Jews. In the margins, I kept writing, "Why?" At one point, I wrote, "J'accuse!" The evil was there to see, but people in other parts of the world carried on, as if it were already too late for the European Jews. Today, it's easy to blame God. "Where was God in the Holocaust?" atheist Jews ask, and one has no answer, one can only nod in sorrow and shame, still believing in God. But reading this essay, I'm not so quick to blame God. If he's real, if he was aware of the atrocities that occurred then, if he's aware now, do we expect him to intervene supernaturally? Or does his intervention take place when people of courage and conscience stand up, speak out, act, intervene, take up arms. The courage of those who hid Jews in their homes, who lied to protect their Jewish neighbors, who smuggled infants and children out of the country. Stories of the Righteous Among the Nations, men and women, inspire. The courage it took to defy such evil, I can't even imagine.

But reading this, I am angered not at God but at man, at myself. Every day I read of Christians being annihilated, and organizations trying to rescue and intervene send me emails (I'm on half a dozen lists), asking for money. I glance at the messages and feel sad and guilty before deleting. Meanwhile, men and women who share my faith are being tortured, crucified, beheaded, burned alive. Not where is God, but where are we? Where am I? What can I do? Will sending $25 make a difference? I don't know. All I know is nothing I do can change things. Until and unless "they come for me," as the poem goes, we'll continue living life, making dinner, reading the news, shaking our heads...

J'accuse! 

I am guilty, not God. 

This is a book full of "must read" essays.  "A Plea for the Survivors" is one of them. 

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out— 
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out— 
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

(Martin Niemöller, 1892-1984)

No Safe Spaces at Princeton

Excellent conversation between Bill Kristol and Professor Robert P. George of Princeton. I was particularly interested, near the middle of the conversation, about George's gradual transition from Democrat to Republican (in retrospect, he thinks he was more of a conservative Democrat), and also his collaboration with Cornel West, his Princeton colleague, but himself a liberal, in graduate seminars. Both academics reject the recent trend on college campuses to create "safe spaces" or "trigger warnings." I like how West describes the collaboration: "There are no safe spaces in our seminars." 

I fear for this next generation (my brother's kids), and the current batch, the so-called millennials (my kids, my older nieces and nephews). The pressure to conform, to put up and shut up or be bullied into silence, keeps them in a bubble or cocoon, safe within their tribes. The challenge presented here, to allow cherished ideals to be challenged, scrutinized, is crucial to the health and future of a free society.

Conversations with Bill Kristol

Robert P. George on Our Universities, Natural Law, and Social Conservatism

Description: The McCormick Professor of Jurisprudence and founding director of the James Madison Program in American Ideals and Institutions at Princeton University, Robert George is one of the nation’s most distinguished students of legal and moral thought. In this conversation with William Kristol, George discusses the state of American conservatism as well as the condition of freedom of speech and thought on university campuses. He also details the development of his own political and moral views, including his interest in the natural law tradition in moral philosophy. Finally, Kristol and George discuss the importance of social conservatism in our public policy debates today.

Segments

Chapter 1 Conservatism and the University
Chapter 2 Growing Up in Appalachia
Chapter 3What is Natural Law?
Chapter 4 Why We Need Social Conservatism

For the Sender (A Few Thoughts)

This is a book that can be read (and re-read) in one or two sittings. 

I did have to do a bit of re-reading since I wasn't picking up on what Alex Woodard was doing until I got to the chapter at the end of the book called "The Box" and read the line from Steinbeck, "Maybe all men got one big soul ever'body's a part of." 

That's when Woodard, reflecting on his life as revealed gradually through snippets of song lyrics, letters, and disjointed narrative, makes the point. Excerpts of letters from four very different people, unrelated events in the author's life, 12 songs, plus 1. Is there a thread, a connection? There is, but he had to discover it, and the undiscerning reader had to wait for it. That's when I had to go back and re-read, though in fact the structure of the book is revealed in the table of contents (if one had eyes to see). 

It's been a long time since a book made me cry like this. 

Last month, I saw a performance of Woodard's newest For the Sender project called, "Love Letters from Vietnam" at North Coast Repertory Theater in Solana Beach. Performing with him was the beautiful Molly Jenson, the daughter of a dear friend, who has collaborated with him on many of these songs. Molly can be seen here in this short promotional video. 

For more information about Woodard's For the Sender project, go here. 

Always save ticket stubs!

Of course I'll wait for the author to sign his book!

The beautiful Molly with her dear sweet mom, Mary.

. . . And Church Happened (A Personal Response)

A few comments about a book I just finished, called  . . . And Church Happened, by Walt Hoffman [ellipses are part of the title].  This is less a review and more a personal reaction to the events described in this book. In fact, I wouldn’t even recommend this book to anyone who wasn’t directly or indirectly involved in a period of recent Christian history known colloquially as "The Jesus Movement,” which took place during the late 60's and 70's, and tapered off in the 80's.   

I became a Christian during that period, in January 1979, to be precise, and almost immediately got swept into that movement, though at the time I had no conception of a grander scheme or movement or whatever. I didn’t grow up going to church, had no interest in or appreciation of church history, had no point of reference, nothing to compare to or rebel from, no context, no pretext, no subtext, nothing. Just me and Jesus Christ, a midnight encounter (I was slightly stoned) in a studio apartment on the corner of 14^th and Electric in Seal Beach, California. Christians call it being “born again.” So do I.

I said this is less a review and more a personal response for several reasons. My conversion and subsequent church experience took place not only around the time the events of this book were coming to a close but also in the same geographical vicinity (Orange County). More significantly, the events of this book parallel almost to the letter my own involvement with a church remarkably similar to the church described in this book, with several key differences. It’s those differences that I need to focus on.

The events of this book span a period of time between 1969 and 1989, so I read this book from the standpoint of trying to place myself (peripherally) in all that was taking place in the early 70's. I was still in high school when their Bible study began, and I became a Christian and started back to school (CSULB) as a transfer level junior in January of 1979 right around the time the people in this book were becoming a church. The ministry I eventually got involved in was founded by a man named George Geftakys (headquartered in Fullerton). I was deeply entrenched in that ministry around the time the church Hoffman describes (located in Garden Grove) was coming to an end. So there’s probably a bit of overlap in terms of what was happening a few miles up the freeway between these churches, but a totally different trajectory.

The thing is, in the early years of my involvement with the Geftakys ministry, we, very much like the people in Walt’s church, believed "and church happened," as well. Nearly everything I read in this book was familiar to me, with a few exceptions. Yet, as I said, it was those exceptions that made the difference, chiefly, the Geftakys church was ultimately injurious while the Monday Night Bible Study church was apparently healthy.  While the Geftakys ministry could rightly be labeled, if not a cult, then cult-like, the Monday Night Bible Study was a vibrant expression of Christ’s church. Nothing more, nothing else.

Back to the book (for interested readers). Key events include--

·      the conversion of a troubled young man named Floyd in 1969;

·      Floyd’s role as a camp counselor a few years later and the nine boys he mentored;

·      the decision by those boys to continue the bond that began in camp by meeting weekly at what became known as Monday Night Bible Study, which would be taught by the author (Walt Hoffman);

·      the growth (in numbers) of Monday Night Bible Study and the subsequent decisions the group made to adapt;

·      the growing awareness that God was doing something, but what?;

·      the process of acknowledging what the group had for years resisted: the possibility that Monday Night Bible Study might, in fact, be an actual church;

·      the collective decision to become an actual church;

·   the steps the group took to be sure everything they did was grounded in Scripture;

·      the gradual diminishing (in numbers) of the church;

·   the eventual dissolution of the church.

That last bullet point was a new concept to me. On page 193, Hoffman wrote, “As we were never called to permanence, we recognized this could be a sign that God was finishing his work called Monday Night.”

Never called to permanence? I circled that sentence and wrote in the margin, “a new thought?” Yes, a new thought, because my parallel experience with something analogous to And Church Happened could better be described as,  “And Church Went Wrong,” or “And Church Missed the Mark,” or “And Church Miscarried,” and so on. Though the Geftakys vision for a New Testament gathering and all its Biblical expressions and practices were uncannily similar to the vision the Monday Night Bible Study believers understood, George’s ministry ossified while Monday Night Bible Study assembly seemed more organic. Rather than allow what appeared to be an organic, living thing (an assembly) to be born, develop, grow, age, and die like all organic things, George’s ministry continued well beyond its life expectancy, ultimately becoming a decaying corpse: austere, rule-bound, harsh.

In the margins of the book, I noted the difference between the two “founders” (I realize Walt Hoffman would reject this label, but it’s for lack of a better word that I use it). And I think the key difference has to do with humility. Where Walt seemed to go out of his way to be sure he wasn’t imposing rules, George (and his wife Betty) apparently could not fathom how a ministry could be maintained apart from rules. And where Walt sought advice from people outside the group and encouraged members of the assembly to interact with other ministries, George increasingly built walls and hedges around his church.

Many of us, after awhile, uncomfortable with the restrictions and growing isolation, finally left (my husband and I included), but others stayed until the inevitable implosion and even beyond (there are still a few loyalists). Walt Hoffman’s book closes with an appendix that lists the names and ministries of over 50 “alumni” of Monday Night Bible Study; a book written about the Geftakys ministry would have to include an appendix of countless alumni whose lives, psyches or faith were damaged, some irreparably.

Questions that plague me: If what happened to me that night in Seal Beach was an authentic salvation experience (which I believe it was), why was I not "led" to the healthy church and instead gave my loyalty and allegiance to what would ultimately turn out to be, if not a cult, then quite nearly one? It's all in the past, of course, and the fruit of those years is three beautiful children, a stable marriage, and, yes, an intact faith. But I always wonder why God didn't steer me differently. 

Ah, so there it is.