Let's shut down the Electoral College
Newsday, November 14, 2016
Once again, the founding generation of this nation—the people we revere, carve into mountainsides, and write hit musicals about—have left us in a totally unacceptable position: For the second time in 16 years, the person who reaped the most popular votes did not win the presidency.
In 2000, Vice President Al Gore had more than 540,000 more votes than Texas Gov. George W. Bush. This time, Hillary Clinton has just south of 400,000 more votes than Donald Trump and some think the number could go far higher. Notice a pattern? Both times, it has been Republican candidates who have reaped the rewards of this deeply undemocratic system. So, with Republicans controlling both houses of Congress, the possibility of a constitutional amendment to scrap the Electoral College is virtually zilch.
That's not to say that Democrats are much more likely to launch the difficult process of adopting the amendment and sending it to the states for ratification. After Bush's "election," reform-the-college enthusiasm flared, then faded, understandably: Our Constitution is the most difficult in the world to amend. Thomas Jefferson argued for a significant overhaul every 19 years. But James Madison and others held that, once adopted, the Constitution should be treated with the same reverence as Scripture—and amended infrequently.
Of course, as with so much else that's wrong with our country, its origins have a lot to do with slavery—what to do about slaves, who could work, but could not vote. Slave-owning James Madison was a major force both in inventing the Electoral College and in making the Constitution surpassingly difficult to amend. (Therapy suggestion: If you're hating the Electoral College, growl the words James Madison over and over.)
The creation of this undemocratic contraption also had to do with the fears of the framers that the common folk really needed help in deciding on their leaders. So they would vote not for presidents but for electors, who would presumably be wise men—only men, back then—who would know better than the mob how to pick good leaders.
But as the Electoral College evolved, the electors turned out not to be the wisest. They were simply anonymous folks who agreed to cast their electoral votes for the candidate who got the most popular votes within their state.
Whatever fevered process was going on in the minds of the framers, what they gave us was a system that far too regularly produces election results that don't reflect the will of the people. There's little chance that it's going away anytime soon—at least not by constitutional amendment.
The only possible fix for now is the National Popular Vote Compact. Each state that joins the compact agrees to cast its electoral votes for the person who got the most national popular votes. New York has joined. As soon as states representing 270 electoral votes have passed this legislation, it will take effect. Follow nationalpopularvote.com to watch its progress.
For now, the only thing we can do is utter a primal scream of outrage that this crazy injustice has happened again.
Once again, the founding generation of this nation—the people we revere, carve into mountainsides, and write hit musicals about—have left us in a totally unacceptable position: For the second time in 16 years, the person who reaped the most popular votes did not win the presidency.
In 2000, Vice President Al Gore had more than 540,000 more votes than Texas Gov. George W. Bush. This time, Hillary Clinton has just south of 400,000 more votes than Donald Trump and some think the number could go far higher. Notice a pattern? Both times, it has been Republican candidates who have reaped the rewards of this deeply undemocratic system. So, with Republicans controlling both houses of Congress, the possibility of a constitutional amendment to scrap the Electoral College is virtually zilch.
That's not to say that Democrats are much more likely to launch the difficult process of adopting the amendment and sending it to the states for ratification. After Bush's "election," reform-the-college enthusiasm flared, then faded, understandably: Our Constitution is the most difficult in the world to amend. Thomas Jefferson argued for a significant overhaul every 19 years. But James Madison and others held that, once adopted, the Constitution should be treated with the same reverence as Scripture—and amended infrequently.
Of course, as with so much else that's wrong with our country, its origins have a lot to do with slavery—what to do about slaves, who could work, but could not vote. Slave-owning James Madison was a major force both in inventing the Electoral College and in making the Constitution surpassingly difficult to amend. (Therapy suggestion: If you're hating the Electoral College, growl the words James Madison over and over.)
The creation of this undemocratic contraption also had to do with the fears of the framers that the common folk really needed help in deciding on their leaders. So they would vote not for presidents but for electors, who would presumably be wise men—only men, back then—who would know better than the mob how to pick good leaders.
But as the Electoral College evolved, the electors turned out not to be the wisest. They were simply anonymous folks who agreed to cast their electoral votes for the candidate who got the most popular votes within their state.
Whatever fevered process was going on in the minds of the framers, what they gave us was a system that far too regularly produces election results that don't reflect the will of the people. There's little chance that it's going away anytime soon—at least not by constitutional amendment.
The only possible fix for now is the National Popular Vote Compact. Each state that joins the compact agrees to cast its electoral votes for the person who got the most national popular votes. New York has joined. As soon as states representing 270 electoral votes have passed this legislation, it will take effect. Follow nationalpopularvote.com to watch its progress.
For now, the only thing we can do is utter a primal scream of outrage that this crazy injustice has happened again.
Hillary or Trump: Ooh, do we worry!
Newsday, May 13, 2016
Now the only wall standing between us and a Donald Trump presidency is Hillary Clinton.
Ooh, do we worry!
The purveyors of presidential wisdom keep showing us the red-and-blue map of the 2012 presidential election results, insisting the electoral math does not add up to a Trump victory. But fight the urge to take comfort in optimism about a Trump defeat.
Keep these factors in mind:
The Trump blindness. Pundits and politicians admit they were consistently wrong about the GOP primaries. So, don't buy into their predictions for the general election.
The electorate. So many times, in reaction to a hateful statement from Trump, a politician or pundit felt compelled to say: "That's not who we are." Sadly, it often is who we are. History shows that too many of us are capable of the traits we profess to loathe in Trump—like nativism and sexism.
The paid-by-Mexico wall. It's a truly bad idea, but it's rooted in our shameful history of nativism: the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882; barriers against immigration from Eastern Europe during World War II, which kept out many Jews desperate to escape the Nazi killing machine; and the teens who attacked and killed Marcelo Lucero in Patchogue simply because his immigrant origins made him vulnerable.
The sexism. If you think Trump is alone in his willingness to say contemptible things about women, just read the death threats in online comments directed at women who make a living reporting on male-dominated sports.
So, if we rely on the innate goodness of the American people to ward off a Trump presidency, we probably hope for too much.
Still, it's long past time for the president of the United States to be a woman. Despite Trump's "woman card" comment, Clinton is extra smart and deeply experienced. Except for the tragic vote that helped enable the invasion of Iraq, she was a good senator for New York. In debate, she can be formidable.
But she also has shown a troubling managerial weakness. Before she became secretary of state, her only two efforts to run something big ended badly: her attempt to craft health care reform in the 1990s and her chaotic 2008 presidential campaign, torn apart by leaks and infighting. It remains to be seen whether she'll do better running a campaign to keep Trump a private citizen.
Clinton also has shown an ability to make unforced errors on the campaign trail, like commenting on Nancy Reagan's death by praising the Reagans for starting a national conversation on AIDS—a bit of historical revisionism that angered those touched by that disease.
She also faces the task of defeating an opponent who seems ready to run against her from both the right and the left on defense. In contrast to Clinton's advocacy for interventionism in places like Libya and Syria, Trump has signaled that he understands voters' war weariness. But he has also taunted her for not being "strong with the military." That could set off a round of can-you-top-this pledges to increase our already profligate levels of military spending.
Unfortunately, Clinton is strong with the military, in the sense that she defers too readily to generals. If she wins, we'll need to worry that her deference and her faith in military solutions will lead us into wars that we'll regret, as we regret the invasion of Iraq. The nation's founders feared a standing army. So they built civilian control of the military into the Constitution. They were so right, as President John F. Kennedy proved during the Cuban missile crisis by rejecting the apocalyptic advice the military offered.
But the alternative to Clinton is Trump and his key military adviser, Donald Trump. She might lead us deliberately into protracted ground war. He might stumble mistakenly into a planet-ending nuclear exchange.
Ooh, do we worry.
Now the only wall standing between us and a Donald Trump presidency is Hillary Clinton.
Ooh, do we worry!
The purveyors of presidential wisdom keep showing us the red-and-blue map of the 2012 presidential election results, insisting the electoral math does not add up to a Trump victory. But fight the urge to take comfort in optimism about a Trump defeat.
Keep these factors in mind:
The Trump blindness. Pundits and politicians admit they were consistently wrong about the GOP primaries. So, don't buy into their predictions for the general election.
The electorate. So many times, in reaction to a hateful statement from Trump, a politician or pundit felt compelled to say: "That's not who we are." Sadly, it often is who we are. History shows that too many of us are capable of the traits we profess to loathe in Trump—like nativism and sexism.
The paid-by-Mexico wall. It's a truly bad idea, but it's rooted in our shameful history of nativism: the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882; barriers against immigration from Eastern Europe during World War II, which kept out many Jews desperate to escape the Nazi killing machine; and the teens who attacked and killed Marcelo Lucero in Patchogue simply because his immigrant origins made him vulnerable.
The sexism. If you think Trump is alone in his willingness to say contemptible things about women, just read the death threats in online comments directed at women who make a living reporting on male-dominated sports.
So, if we rely on the innate goodness of the American people to ward off a Trump presidency, we probably hope for too much.
Still, it's long past time for the president of the United States to be a woman. Despite Trump's "woman card" comment, Clinton is extra smart and deeply experienced. Except for the tragic vote that helped enable the invasion of Iraq, she was a good senator for New York. In debate, she can be formidable.
But she also has shown a troubling managerial weakness. Before she became secretary of state, her only two efforts to run something big ended badly: her attempt to craft health care reform in the 1990s and her chaotic 2008 presidential campaign, torn apart by leaks and infighting. It remains to be seen whether she'll do better running a campaign to keep Trump a private citizen.
Clinton also has shown an ability to make unforced errors on the campaign trail, like commenting on Nancy Reagan's death by praising the Reagans for starting a national conversation on AIDS—a bit of historical revisionism that angered those touched by that disease.
She also faces the task of defeating an opponent who seems ready to run against her from both the right and the left on defense. In contrast to Clinton's advocacy for interventionism in places like Libya and Syria, Trump has signaled that he understands voters' war weariness. But he has also taunted her for not being "strong with the military." That could set off a round of can-you-top-this pledges to increase our already profligate levels of military spending.
Unfortunately, Clinton is strong with the military, in the sense that she defers too readily to generals. If she wins, we'll need to worry that her deference and her faith in military solutions will lead us into wars that we'll regret, as we regret the invasion of Iraq. The nation's founders feared a standing army. So they built civilian control of the military into the Constitution. They were so right, as President John F. Kennedy proved during the Cuban missile crisis by rejecting the apocalyptic advice the military offered.
But the alternative to Clinton is Trump and his key military adviser, Donald Trump. She might lead us deliberately into protracted ground war. He might stumble mistakenly into a planet-ending nuclear exchange.
Ooh, do we worry.
Undecided
Newsday, October 8, 2012
In presidential election years, as polls report on the percentage of undecided voters even a week or so before Election Day, I always wonder: Who ARE these people? Can't you make up your mind after all these months of charge and countercharge, then debates? What kind of knuckleheads are you, oh indecisive ones?
Now I'm stuck in the same situation.
A month away from Election Day, and I can't quite make up my mind: Joan or Jill, I keep asking myself, Joan or Jill?
More about them in a minute. First, the cause of my dilemma: I don't feel I can vote for Barack Obama because, as I've written before, I find his use of killer drones deeply troubling and unworthy of a nation founded on the rule of law. The president is a lawyer, but he shouldn't be the judge and the jury, deciding personally who lives and who dies on the other side of the world. Aside from that moral concern, there's the practical consideration that these drones are creating more new enemies than killing old ones. One fine day, this is going to come back to haunt us.
So I need to withhold my vote, in protest. Some would argue that if you don't pick one of the two major-party candidates, you are throwing away your vote. Others would say that the two major-party candidates are just two different faces painted on the corrupt, bought-and-paid-for duopoly that runs our country.
But there really is a difference between these two men. As bad as Obama has been on the drones, Mitt Romney is scarier to me, because his foreign policy advisers are a boatload of hawkish neocons. (I was going to say "battalion of hawkish neocons," but that would have been an inappropriate word for them: They never actually fight in wars, just cheer loudly for other people's kids to do the dying.)
Luckily, the Electoral College—that rickety contraption that the founding generation chose to elect our presidents—rides to my rescue. Along with its many failings, it has one benefit: It lets me cast my vote as I wish. Whatever happens in the remaining debates, Barack Obama will carry New York and win its 29 electoral votes. So my vote doesn't matter inside New York, and it doesn't matter outside New York, either. Why? The national total popular vote, in our system, is currently irrelevant.
In 2000, George W. Bush won the electoral vote and lost the popular vote, and Republicans said: "Get over it." If the GOP is the victim of that same scenario this year, both major parties will have been burned in a dozen years. Maybe then we'll get some movement to amend the Constitution and scrap the Electoral College.
So, all of that frees up my vote. But what to do?
My first instinct is to do what I've done before: Vote for Sister Joan Chittister, perhaps the best known and loved Benedictine nun in America. She's smart, funny and steadfast in her criticism of militarism, patriarchy and other evils besetting the nation and the church. In 1992, I wrote her in, instead of Bill Clinton, because of his ghastly death penalty stance, or George H.W. Bush, who gave us the first Gulf War.
Then there's Jill Stein, the Green Party candidate. She's a doctor and an environmentalist, and she wants to stop the drone killings and cut Pentagon spending in half. Her platform is terrific. But I still resent the 2000 Green Party candidate, Ralph Nader, who was one factor in helping to get George W. Bush elected. I could vote for the Libertarian, Gary Johnson. But I'd prefer a woman this time.
So it's Joan or Jill for me.
Maybe in a future election, I'll have a choice between two major-party candidates who equally reject our national embrace of endless war.
In presidential election years, as polls report on the percentage of undecided voters even a week or so before Election Day, I always wonder: Who ARE these people? Can't you make up your mind after all these months of charge and countercharge, then debates? What kind of knuckleheads are you, oh indecisive ones?
Now I'm stuck in the same situation.
A month away from Election Day, and I can't quite make up my mind: Joan or Jill, I keep asking myself, Joan or Jill?
More about them in a minute. First, the cause of my dilemma: I don't feel I can vote for Barack Obama because, as I've written before, I find his use of killer drones deeply troubling and unworthy of a nation founded on the rule of law. The president is a lawyer, but he shouldn't be the judge and the jury, deciding personally who lives and who dies on the other side of the world. Aside from that moral concern, there's the practical consideration that these drones are creating more new enemies than killing old ones. One fine day, this is going to come back to haunt us.
So I need to withhold my vote, in protest. Some would argue that if you don't pick one of the two major-party candidates, you are throwing away your vote. Others would say that the two major-party candidates are just two different faces painted on the corrupt, bought-and-paid-for duopoly that runs our country.
But there really is a difference between these two men. As bad as Obama has been on the drones, Mitt Romney is scarier to me, because his foreign policy advisers are a boatload of hawkish neocons. (I was going to say "battalion of hawkish neocons," but that would have been an inappropriate word for them: They never actually fight in wars, just cheer loudly for other people's kids to do the dying.)
Luckily, the Electoral College—that rickety contraption that the founding generation chose to elect our presidents—rides to my rescue. Along with its many failings, it has one benefit: It lets me cast my vote as I wish. Whatever happens in the remaining debates, Barack Obama will carry New York and win its 29 electoral votes. So my vote doesn't matter inside New York, and it doesn't matter outside New York, either. Why? The national total popular vote, in our system, is currently irrelevant.
In 2000, George W. Bush won the electoral vote and lost the popular vote, and Republicans said: "Get over it." If the GOP is the victim of that same scenario this year, both major parties will have been burned in a dozen years. Maybe then we'll get some movement to amend the Constitution and scrap the Electoral College.
So, all of that frees up my vote. But what to do?
My first instinct is to do what I've done before: Vote for Sister Joan Chittister, perhaps the best known and loved Benedictine nun in America. She's smart, funny and steadfast in her criticism of militarism, patriarchy and other evils besetting the nation and the church. In 1992, I wrote her in, instead of Bill Clinton, because of his ghastly death penalty stance, or George H.W. Bush, who gave us the first Gulf War.
Then there's Jill Stein, the Green Party candidate. She's a doctor and an environmentalist, and she wants to stop the drone killings and cut Pentagon spending in half. Her platform is terrific. But I still resent the 2000 Green Party candidate, Ralph Nader, who was one factor in helping to get George W. Bush elected. I could vote for the Libertarian, Gary Johnson. But I'd prefer a woman this time.
So it's Joan or Jill for me.
Maybe in a future election, I'll have a choice between two major-party candidates who equally reject our national embrace of endless war.
The art of apologizing
Newsday, October 1, 2012
Let me apologize to you in advance for writing about the manly art of never apologizing.
Some politicians are saying that other politicians are apologizing for America. Just Google "'apologizing for America,'" and you'll get 354,000 hits.
If this imaginary apology tour were really going on, what would the fantasy apologizer be apologizing for, actually? The national parks? The Constitution? Jazz? Baseball? (OK, maybe for the designated hitter.)
No, any apologizing that might be going on—but really is not—would involve contrition for the transgressions of, you know, the government.
There's so much illogical thinking to this. No, I didn't take logic in college. But, to paraphrase what the Supreme Court once opined about pornography, you know illogic when you see it. And here's the illogic that's perplexing me: Those who distrust government go on and on about big government taking over our lives, stealing our liberties, turning us into dependent victims. But if they don't like government, why are they so fearful that someone somewhere is apologizing for the wrongdoings of America's government?
If government is bad at home, as its detractors believe, what would be so horrible about apologizing for the nasty stuff it does overseas?
So the government is plotting to steal liberties at home. Its doings are so nefarious that we have to pass voter ID laws to keep its agents from reaping tainted votes from unworthy people. But if some imaginary public official were to apologize, for example, to the people of Iran, because our government stole their election in 1953, government-haters would hate that apology. Why? We Must Never Apologize for America.
You can look it up: A CIA-hatched coup toppled the legally elected prime minister of Iran, Mohammad Mossadegh. His crime: The cheeky notion that Iran should get a fairer share of the profits from Iran's oil than the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (the predecessor of BP) was willing to give.
The Mossadegh government sought redress by nationalizing the oil industry. What followed was the coup, courtesy of the CIA and the British Secret Intelligence Service. In place of the elected leader, the U.S. government maneuvered into power Mohammad Reza Shah. He was a great ally of our government, but the Iranian people detested his hideously oppressive secret police.
Then, in 1979, came the revolution. The mullahs reacted harshly to a quarter-century of our pal, the shah. Not surprisingly, they detested the U.S. government—the same one that later sided with Iraq against Iran in a ruinous war. The same one that later turned on Iraq and invaded it, starting an unnecessary war that toppled our former friend, Saddam Hussein, but also left a devastated country, more than 5,000 dead Americans and uncountable thousands of dead Iraqis.
The list of nasty interventions by our government is so long that full apologies to all the people we have hurt around the globe would require the creation of a cabinet-level Department of Oops, We Beg Your Pardon. But to pick just two nations close to home, CIA-encouraged coups toppled elected leaders in Guatemala and Chile, leaving those nations in the hands of thugs who murdered their people but were true lackeys of our—that word again—government.
The only possible answer to the logical lapse of government-haters hating apologies for government wrongdoing is this: They detest the part of the government that tries to regulate greed and help the poor. But the part that crushes the aspirations of people all over the planet? Hey, it's just fine.
Let me apologize to you in advance for writing about the manly art of never apologizing.
Some politicians are saying that other politicians are apologizing for America. Just Google "'apologizing for America,'" and you'll get 354,000 hits.
If this imaginary apology tour were really going on, what would the fantasy apologizer be apologizing for, actually? The national parks? The Constitution? Jazz? Baseball? (OK, maybe for the designated hitter.)
No, any apologizing that might be going on—but really is not—would involve contrition for the transgressions of, you know, the government.
There's so much illogical thinking to this. No, I didn't take logic in college. But, to paraphrase what the Supreme Court once opined about pornography, you know illogic when you see it. And here's the illogic that's perplexing me: Those who distrust government go on and on about big government taking over our lives, stealing our liberties, turning us into dependent victims. But if they don't like government, why are they so fearful that someone somewhere is apologizing for the wrongdoings of America's government?
If government is bad at home, as its detractors believe, what would be so horrible about apologizing for the nasty stuff it does overseas?
So the government is plotting to steal liberties at home. Its doings are so nefarious that we have to pass voter ID laws to keep its agents from reaping tainted votes from unworthy people. But if some imaginary public official were to apologize, for example, to the people of Iran, because our government stole their election in 1953, government-haters would hate that apology. Why? We Must Never Apologize for America.
You can look it up: A CIA-hatched coup toppled the legally elected prime minister of Iran, Mohammad Mossadegh. His crime: The cheeky notion that Iran should get a fairer share of the profits from Iran's oil than the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (the predecessor of BP) was willing to give.
The Mossadegh government sought redress by nationalizing the oil industry. What followed was the coup, courtesy of the CIA and the British Secret Intelligence Service. In place of the elected leader, the U.S. government maneuvered into power Mohammad Reza Shah. He was a great ally of our government, but the Iranian people detested his hideously oppressive secret police.
Then, in 1979, came the revolution. The mullahs reacted harshly to a quarter-century of our pal, the shah. Not surprisingly, they detested the U.S. government—the same one that later sided with Iraq against Iran in a ruinous war. The same one that later turned on Iraq and invaded it, starting an unnecessary war that toppled our former friend, Saddam Hussein, but also left a devastated country, more than 5,000 dead Americans and uncountable thousands of dead Iraqis.
The list of nasty interventions by our government is so long that full apologies to all the people we have hurt around the globe would require the creation of a cabinet-level Department of Oops, We Beg Your Pardon. But to pick just two nations close to home, CIA-encouraged coups toppled elected leaders in Guatemala and Chile, leaving those nations in the hands of thugs who murdered their people but were true lackeys of our—that word again—government.
The only possible answer to the logical lapse of government-haters hating apologies for government wrongdoing is this: They detest the part of the government that tries to regulate greed and help the poor. But the part that crushes the aspirations of people all over the planet? Hey, it's just fine.
Obama disappoints
Newsday, August 1, 2012
What happened to the Barack Obama who made me cry?
Like millions of others, I got a little weepy, watching on TV as Election Day ended in Chicago's Grant Park four years ago. It was easy to fall in love with Obama's biography, his eloquence, his intelligence, his beautiful family, his opposition to the invasion of Iraq. And it was easy to rejoice that a nation still steeped in racism had somehow elected its first-ever African-American president.
Well, his biography is still powerful, his family still beautiful, and his oratory still soaring, when he needs it. But he has changed in a troubling way: The constitutional law professor who runs never-ending White House seminars to make decisions has also become the Lord High Executioner.
His thumbs-down, he-must-die decisions bring death and destruction raining down from the sky over such nations as Afghanistan and Pakistan, bolts of lightning from high-tech drones. It's a lethal rain that falls on the good as well as the evil, a destruction that makes as many new enemies as it kills old ones.
And it's not what I was hoping for when I pulled the lever for Barack Obama, who overcame an absentee father and a nomadic childhood to reach the highest office in the land. What he couldn't overcome—at least so far—is the powerful force that makes every president want to defend and expand the scope of the job.
It's an office that the founding generation designed to be tied down by smaller power sources, as the Lilliputians did temporarily to Gulliver. But the fictional Gulliver was too huge for residents of Lilliput to control, just as the presidency has become an office too powerful for lesser powers to rein in.
Yes, Congress can thwart the will of any president on domestic legislation. But in foreign policy and the exercise of military power, the presidency has expanded to uncontrollable dimensions. The drones are a perfect example.
The president himself, the elected representative of all Americans, makes the decision on which "high-value targets" to execute. As far as we know, none of these "targets," who were all actually people—and at least one was a U.S. citizen—had the benefit of due process before the Made in U.S.A. lightning bolt struck from the sky.
Though several recent news stories have begun to probe the inner workings of this kill list, there's still a dance-of-seven-veils secrecy around it. And the administration is contesting Freedom of Information Act requests for documents on the drone program.
The Obama Justice Department rejects those requests, citing the magic words that serve to blunt any inquiry: "classified" and "national security." In the process, it doesn't really acknowledge that the targeted extrajudicial killings are taking place. But you can bet that they are—far more often than before Obama took office. And you can bet that innocent civilians are getting killed in much higher numbers than the administration is willing to let on.
Some of those victims were guilty of nothing more ominous than being part of a wedding party, in the wrong place at the wrong time. The families of those killed won't forget; many of the survivors will be implacable foes of our nation for as long as they breathe. So this whole cynical exercise is not really making us safer.
But the use of these drones is building up the power of the presidency, even as it degrades the moral authority of the office. That can't have been what Obama studied—or taught—in constitutional law.
And for many, it's the most deeply disappointing and demoralizing aspect of a presidency that held out so much promise.
What happened to the Barack Obama who made me cry?
Like millions of others, I got a little weepy, watching on TV as Election Day ended in Chicago's Grant Park four years ago. It was easy to fall in love with Obama's biography, his eloquence, his intelligence, his beautiful family, his opposition to the invasion of Iraq. And it was easy to rejoice that a nation still steeped in racism had somehow elected its first-ever African-American president.
Well, his biography is still powerful, his family still beautiful, and his oratory still soaring, when he needs it. But he has changed in a troubling way: The constitutional law professor who runs never-ending White House seminars to make decisions has also become the Lord High Executioner.
His thumbs-down, he-must-die decisions bring death and destruction raining down from the sky over such nations as Afghanistan and Pakistan, bolts of lightning from high-tech drones. It's a lethal rain that falls on the good as well as the evil, a destruction that makes as many new enemies as it kills old ones.
And it's not what I was hoping for when I pulled the lever for Barack Obama, who overcame an absentee father and a nomadic childhood to reach the highest office in the land. What he couldn't overcome—at least so far—is the powerful force that makes every president want to defend and expand the scope of the job.
It's an office that the founding generation designed to be tied down by smaller power sources, as the Lilliputians did temporarily to Gulliver. But the fictional Gulliver was too huge for residents of Lilliput to control, just as the presidency has become an office too powerful for lesser powers to rein in.
Yes, Congress can thwart the will of any president on domestic legislation. But in foreign policy and the exercise of military power, the presidency has expanded to uncontrollable dimensions. The drones are a perfect example.
The president himself, the elected representative of all Americans, makes the decision on which "high-value targets" to execute. As far as we know, none of these "targets," who were all actually people—and at least one was a U.S. citizen—had the benefit of due process before the Made in U.S.A. lightning bolt struck from the sky.
Though several recent news stories have begun to probe the inner workings of this kill list, there's still a dance-of-seven-veils secrecy around it. And the administration is contesting Freedom of Information Act requests for documents on the drone program.
The Obama Justice Department rejects those requests, citing the magic words that serve to blunt any inquiry: "classified" and "national security." In the process, it doesn't really acknowledge that the targeted extrajudicial killings are taking place. But you can bet that they are—far more often than before Obama took office. And you can bet that innocent civilians are getting killed in much higher numbers than the administration is willing to let on.
Some of those victims were guilty of nothing more ominous than being part of a wedding party, in the wrong place at the wrong time. The families of those killed won't forget; many of the survivors will be implacable foes of our nation for as long as they breathe. So this whole cynical exercise is not really making us safer.
But the use of these drones is building up the power of the presidency, even as it degrades the moral authority of the office. That can't have been what Obama studied—or taught—in constitutional law.
And for many, it's the most deeply disappointing and demoralizing aspect of a presidency that held out so much promise.
A reading list for Andrew
Newsday, February 28, 2012
That repetitive clicking you hear from Albany is the sound of our governor ticking off boxes on the list of absolute requirements for a presidential candidacy in 2016.
Not that there's anything wrong with that. Any governor who does a creditable job of governing our often ungovernable state deserves to be considered a legitimate candidate for president. And, if ambition for future office can help motivate performance in the current job, who can complain?
So far, in sharp contrast to his recent predecessors, Gov. Andrew M. Cuomo has miraculously managed to get everyone in the cacophonous Albany choir singing from the same song book. Along the way, he has reaped a thesaurus-busting string of accolades, as he compiled a list of accomplishments that will appeal to both fiscally conservative and socially liberal national constituencies.
Got tough on public sector unions? Check.
Delivered an on-time budget? Check.
Cut spending? Check.
Pushed through a 2 percent property tax cap? Check.
Got a marriage-equality law enacted? Check.
Created a statewide economic development plan? Check.
Unveiled a vision for Middle East peace? Well, actually, no.
But, as this week's bloody events in Afghanistan illustrate—not to mention the ominous war talk about Iran and the debt crisis in Europe—a president's job spans the globe, not just New York's 62 counties.
Our governor can prove his executive ability right here in New York, and so far, he's shown a lot. He can demonstrate an aptitude for working with both parties right here in New York, and he has. True, the jury is still out on key Cuomo initiatives, such as pension reform and a constitutional amendment to legalize casino gambling in New York. Still, he has already checked off a lot of domestic boxes for 2016.
But how does he check off the international boxes? How does he get ready to go toe-to-toe with a crazed foreign leader? In a week like this, how does Cuomo resist wondering what he'd do if he were in President Barack Obama's shoes, coping with a crisis in Afghanistan and tamping down bomb-Iran talk, here and in Israel?
Of course, there's no way he will admit to presidential aspirations yet. Nor should he. So he can't start flitting around the planet, visiting China on a trade mission one week, for example, and Tehran the next. That would be a dead giveaway.
But he can take on a former State Department heavy, like Jamie Rubin, as an "international competitiveness" adviser. Oh, right, he's done that. Check. And he can read. So, some ideas:
Read everything by Andrew Bacevich, a West Point graduate, Vietnam vet and professor at Boston University. He writes with magisterial authority on the perils—and the costs—of our American empire. So did the late Chalmers Johnson, another veteran with a jaundiced view of the hundreds of American bases around the world.
Also: "Open Veins of Latin America," by Eduardo Galeano, on the 500-year history of our neighbors to the south, and our role in that drama. And: "What Every Person Should Know About War," by Chris Hedges.
If that brief list seems a tad anti-war and skeptical of our nation's foreign adventures, not to worry: Candidate Cuomo would get plenty of reading advice from military adventurists.
The point is this: He can be sure that others—like Maryland Gov. Martin O'Malley, who already appears on 2016 presidential lists—will be working hard to acquire foreign policy chops. So, as he labors to tame the nonlethal warfare of Albany, Cuomo would be wise to think seriously about how he'd deal with the state of our empire in the more dangerous, far bloodier world beyond the Empire State.
That repetitive clicking you hear from Albany is the sound of our governor ticking off boxes on the list of absolute requirements for a presidential candidacy in 2016.
Not that there's anything wrong with that. Any governor who does a creditable job of governing our often ungovernable state deserves to be considered a legitimate candidate for president. And, if ambition for future office can help motivate performance in the current job, who can complain?
So far, in sharp contrast to his recent predecessors, Gov. Andrew M. Cuomo has miraculously managed to get everyone in the cacophonous Albany choir singing from the same song book. Along the way, he has reaped a thesaurus-busting string of accolades, as he compiled a list of accomplishments that will appeal to both fiscally conservative and socially liberal national constituencies.
Got tough on public sector unions? Check.
Delivered an on-time budget? Check.
Cut spending? Check.
Pushed through a 2 percent property tax cap? Check.
Got a marriage-equality law enacted? Check.
Created a statewide economic development plan? Check.
Unveiled a vision for Middle East peace? Well, actually, no.
But, as this week's bloody events in Afghanistan illustrate—not to mention the ominous war talk about Iran and the debt crisis in Europe—a president's job spans the globe, not just New York's 62 counties.
Our governor can prove his executive ability right here in New York, and so far, he's shown a lot. He can demonstrate an aptitude for working with both parties right here in New York, and he has. True, the jury is still out on key Cuomo initiatives, such as pension reform and a constitutional amendment to legalize casino gambling in New York. Still, he has already checked off a lot of domestic boxes for 2016.
But how does he check off the international boxes? How does he get ready to go toe-to-toe with a crazed foreign leader? In a week like this, how does Cuomo resist wondering what he'd do if he were in President Barack Obama's shoes, coping with a crisis in Afghanistan and tamping down bomb-Iran talk, here and in Israel?
Of course, there's no way he will admit to presidential aspirations yet. Nor should he. So he can't start flitting around the planet, visiting China on a trade mission one week, for example, and Tehran the next. That would be a dead giveaway.
But he can take on a former State Department heavy, like Jamie Rubin, as an "international competitiveness" adviser. Oh, right, he's done that. Check. And he can read. So, some ideas:
Read everything by Andrew Bacevich, a West Point graduate, Vietnam vet and professor at Boston University. He writes with magisterial authority on the perils—and the costs—of our American empire. So did the late Chalmers Johnson, another veteran with a jaundiced view of the hundreds of American bases around the world.
Also: "Open Veins of Latin America," by Eduardo Galeano, on the 500-year history of our neighbors to the south, and our role in that drama. And: "What Every Person Should Know About War," by Chris Hedges.
If that brief list seems a tad anti-war and skeptical of our nation's foreign adventures, not to worry: Candidate Cuomo would get plenty of reading advice from military adventurists.
The point is this: He can be sure that others—like Maryland Gov. Martin O'Malley, who already appears on 2016 presidential lists—will be working hard to acquire foreign policy chops. So, as he labors to tame the nonlethal warfare of Albany, Cuomo would be wise to think seriously about how he'd deal with the state of our empire in the more dangerous, far bloodier world beyond the Empire State.
Why do we need a national anthem?
Newsday, February 10, 2011
Christina Aguilera was not the first celebrity to mess up the words of "The Star-Spangled Banner" at a sporting event. And take this to the bank: She won't be the last.
Her painfully public memory lapse at the start of the Super Bowl on Sunday raised a lot of questions: Why can't big-name anthem singers put in the time to learn the words? Shouldn't they know them already anyway? Why do they feel compelled to jazz up the original music? Why can't the singing of the anthem be less a performance by one person and more a fervent sing-along by everyone present?
Then there's my question, widely unasked: Why do we sing the anthem at sporting events at all?
We sing it before the first pitch is thrown, before the first puck is dropped, before the opening tipoff. But we don't sing it before a Broadway play, an opera, a ballet or an evening of improv comedy. So, what is it about sports that makes us need to express our patriotism at the start?
These are not questions I'd have asked in 1968, when I was an intelligence officer at a tactical missile base in Korea, or in 1980, when the U.S. Olympic hockey team scored an improbable victory over what was then the Soviet Union. Though I'm not much of a hockey fan, I found it thrilling to watch the gritty underdog triumph. And I remember getting a little misty-eyed during the playing of the national anthem at the medal ceremony.
In fact, I didn't begin to focus on issues of flags and anthems until I walked into a funeral parlor viewing room for the wake of my younger brother, Richie.
He died, alone in his apartment in Queens, at age 36, in 1983. Gradually, in the weeks that followed, I became convinced that his exposure to the herbicide Agent Orange in Vietnam in 1966 and 1967 led to his death. But at the time of the wake, I was just feeling anger at the government for sending him off to that misbegotten war.
So, when I saw the flag neatly folded on his coffin, I didn't experience it as a token of honor for a deceased veteran or as a consolation for our family's loss, but as a vivid reminder of the madness of the Vietnam War. So I took the flag off the coffin and put it in a nearby closet—not exactly pleasing my family.
Since then, I've evolved a little protest about my brother's death: At ballgames, I stand for the national anthem, out of respect to those around me. But I don't sing. And, if I can, I arrange to be out of my seat and on line at the concession stand, along with others not singing.
In time, as I evolved from gung-ho lieutenant to pacifist, I paid more attention to the warlike words of the anthem, and the slave-owning background of its author, Francis Scott Key. As a lawyer, he defended both slave owners and freed slaves, but he also prosecuted an abolitionist. It's a mixed biography on race, but it makes his ringing phrase, "land of the free," sound less than authentic.
So, if we must sing a national anthem at sporting events, why not one that extols our nation's unchangeable natural beauty, and not its wars? "America the Beautiful" would be better. Whatever mischief the government may be up to, we all love Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon and the Adirondack Park, to name a few. I'd prefer "This Is My Song," to the tune of Jean Sibelius' "Finlandia." It's about peace, and it acknowledges the beauties of other nations, as well as our own.
OK, I'm not placing any bets on a change of national anthem. But you won't lose money if you bet that some future celebrity will get the words wrong. There's one way to make sure that the inevitable error won't upset you when it comes blaring through your TV: Do what I do, and just don't listen.
Christina Aguilera was not the first celebrity to mess up the words of "The Star-Spangled Banner" at a sporting event. And take this to the bank: She won't be the last.
Her painfully public memory lapse at the start of the Super Bowl on Sunday raised a lot of questions: Why can't big-name anthem singers put in the time to learn the words? Shouldn't they know them already anyway? Why do they feel compelled to jazz up the original music? Why can't the singing of the anthem be less a performance by one person and more a fervent sing-along by everyone present?
Then there's my question, widely unasked: Why do we sing the anthem at sporting events at all?
We sing it before the first pitch is thrown, before the first puck is dropped, before the opening tipoff. But we don't sing it before a Broadway play, an opera, a ballet or an evening of improv comedy. So, what is it about sports that makes us need to express our patriotism at the start?
These are not questions I'd have asked in 1968, when I was an intelligence officer at a tactical missile base in Korea, or in 1980, when the U.S. Olympic hockey team scored an improbable victory over what was then the Soviet Union. Though I'm not much of a hockey fan, I found it thrilling to watch the gritty underdog triumph. And I remember getting a little misty-eyed during the playing of the national anthem at the medal ceremony.
In fact, I didn't begin to focus on issues of flags and anthems until I walked into a funeral parlor viewing room for the wake of my younger brother, Richie.
He died, alone in his apartment in Queens, at age 36, in 1983. Gradually, in the weeks that followed, I became convinced that his exposure to the herbicide Agent Orange in Vietnam in 1966 and 1967 led to his death. But at the time of the wake, I was just feeling anger at the government for sending him off to that misbegotten war.
So, when I saw the flag neatly folded on his coffin, I didn't experience it as a token of honor for a deceased veteran or as a consolation for our family's loss, but as a vivid reminder of the madness of the Vietnam War. So I took the flag off the coffin and put it in a nearby closet—not exactly pleasing my family.
Since then, I've evolved a little protest about my brother's death: At ballgames, I stand for the national anthem, out of respect to those around me. But I don't sing. And, if I can, I arrange to be out of my seat and on line at the concession stand, along with others not singing.
In time, as I evolved from gung-ho lieutenant to pacifist, I paid more attention to the warlike words of the anthem, and the slave-owning background of its author, Francis Scott Key. As a lawyer, he defended both slave owners and freed slaves, but he also prosecuted an abolitionist. It's a mixed biography on race, but it makes his ringing phrase, "land of the free," sound less than authentic.
So, if we must sing a national anthem at sporting events, why not one that extols our nation's unchangeable natural beauty, and not its wars? "America the Beautiful" would be better. Whatever mischief the government may be up to, we all love Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon and the Adirondack Park, to name a few. I'd prefer "This Is My Song," to the tune of Jean Sibelius' "Finlandia." It's about peace, and it acknowledges the beauties of other nations, as well as our own.
OK, I'm not placing any bets on a change of national anthem. But you won't lose money if you bet that some future celebrity will get the words wrong. There's one way to make sure that the inevitable error won't upset you when it comes blaring through your TV: Do what I do, and just don't listen.
Steve Levy: dead man walking
Newsday, July 2, 2008
How can a public official who won re-election by acclamation also be described as Dead Man Walking? Ask Steve Levy.
Last November, running without GOP opposition, Levy garnered 96 percent of the vote. If he chooses to run again in 2011 for a third term, it's hard to imagine that anyone could beat him—though perhaps this time the moribund Republican Party will at least try.
But there's a growing political consensus that Levy's tactics have made any run for statewide office impossible, at least in the Democratic Party.
And why is that?
It begins with Levy's fixation on immigration. No one denies that the issue of illegal immigration needs to be addressed. But when you tally up the actual accomplishments of Levy's immigration legislation, there's no there there. Only comprehensive federal immigration reform can bring about meaningful change on the streets of Suffolk County—or in any other county in America.
Still, though it may not have curbed the influx or changed the behavior of undocumented immigrants, Levy'srhetoric on the subject has produced one very real result: a lasting state of hostility between him and Asian, African-American and Hispanic lawmakers in Albany.
Last year, angered by his anti-immigrant posturing, they held up approval of a routine bill extending the county's permission to collect an extra 1 percent in local sales tax. Ultimately, it got passed, but the fight won Levy no friends among those legislators, who would be almost certain to oppose any effort by Levy to run statewide.
This year, Levy has continued the spat by supporting the primary opponent of Assemb. Phil Ramos (D-Central Islip), having decided for some reason that Ramos was the ringleader of last year's effort.
His opposition to Ramos will make it that much harder for Levy to get help from Assembly Speaker Sheldon Silver (D-Manhattan), who views any attack on a Democratic member as a personal threat. Nor will it help Levy'srelationship with African-American, Asian and Hispanic legislators.
And now Levy has made himself less than a loved figure in the office of Gov. David Paterson. After Levy'sthreat to remove county cops from patrolling the LIE and Sunrise Highway (unless the state compensates the county better for those services), the governor's aides worked to find ways of getting more money to the county. But they say Levy was too adamant in his demands.
So, add it up. Huge popularity numbers in Suffolk won't be enough to get Levy past a bloc of political enemies who represent big constituencies in the city, a newly annoyed governor's office, and an Assembly speaker with the memory of many elephants. Put it all together, and it's hard not to conclude that Levy is going nowhere statewide.
But does he want to? Levy doesn't publicly admit that ambition, but he has taken at least preliminary steps toward increasing his war chest, just in case an opportunity should arise. And if he did run, he says, he'd do it as an outsider: "I would always run as the guy who's going to shake it up and not play business as usual."
His chances as a Democrat are so bleak that politicians have begun to talk about an alternate scenario: Levyannounces that the Democratic Party has abandoned him in so many ways that he's changing his registration to Republican to run statewide on a GOP ticket.
The problem with that, of course, is that the strength of the state GOP is badly eroded. Even if he could win a GOP state primary, his chances as a Republican in a general election for governor, or even attorney general or comptroller, would not be great.
When challenged on his anti-immigrant rhetoric in the past, Levy boasted that it boosted his approval ratings. That's true, but once he tries to sell a statewide candidacy, those numbers won't get him past the animosities he has created. For now, he's a fixture in Suffolk. As for any future in Albany, he's stuck in a box that looks sadly like a political coffin.
How can a public official who won re-election by acclamation also be described as Dead Man Walking? Ask Steve Levy.
Last November, running without GOP opposition, Levy garnered 96 percent of the vote. If he chooses to run again in 2011 for a third term, it's hard to imagine that anyone could beat him—though perhaps this time the moribund Republican Party will at least try.
But there's a growing political consensus that Levy's tactics have made any run for statewide office impossible, at least in the Democratic Party.
And why is that?
It begins with Levy's fixation on immigration. No one denies that the issue of illegal immigration needs to be addressed. But when you tally up the actual accomplishments of Levy's immigration legislation, there's no there there. Only comprehensive federal immigration reform can bring about meaningful change on the streets of Suffolk County—or in any other county in America.
Still, though it may not have curbed the influx or changed the behavior of undocumented immigrants, Levy'srhetoric on the subject has produced one very real result: a lasting state of hostility between him and Asian, African-American and Hispanic lawmakers in Albany.
Last year, angered by his anti-immigrant posturing, they held up approval of a routine bill extending the county's permission to collect an extra 1 percent in local sales tax. Ultimately, it got passed, but the fight won Levy no friends among those legislators, who would be almost certain to oppose any effort by Levy to run statewide.
This year, Levy has continued the spat by supporting the primary opponent of Assemb. Phil Ramos (D-Central Islip), having decided for some reason that Ramos was the ringleader of last year's effort.
His opposition to Ramos will make it that much harder for Levy to get help from Assembly Speaker Sheldon Silver (D-Manhattan), who views any attack on a Democratic member as a personal threat. Nor will it help Levy'srelationship with African-American, Asian and Hispanic legislators.
And now Levy has made himself less than a loved figure in the office of Gov. David Paterson. After Levy'sthreat to remove county cops from patrolling the LIE and Sunrise Highway (unless the state compensates the county better for those services), the governor's aides worked to find ways of getting more money to the county. But they say Levy was too adamant in his demands.
So, add it up. Huge popularity numbers in Suffolk won't be enough to get Levy past a bloc of political enemies who represent big constituencies in the city, a newly annoyed governor's office, and an Assembly speaker with the memory of many elephants. Put it all together, and it's hard not to conclude that Levy is going nowhere statewide.
But does he want to? Levy doesn't publicly admit that ambition, but he has taken at least preliminary steps toward increasing his war chest, just in case an opportunity should arise. And if he did run, he says, he'd do it as an outsider: "I would always run as the guy who's going to shake it up and not play business as usual."
His chances as a Democrat are so bleak that politicians have begun to talk about an alternate scenario: Levyannounces that the Democratic Party has abandoned him in so many ways that he's changing his registration to Republican to run statewide on a GOP ticket.
The problem with that, of course, is that the strength of the state GOP is badly eroded. Even if he could win a GOP state primary, his chances as a Republican in a general election for governor, or even attorney general or comptroller, would not be great.
When challenged on his anti-immigrant rhetoric in the past, Levy boasted that it boosted his approval ratings. That's true, but once he tries to sell a statewide candidacy, those numbers won't get him past the animosities he has created. For now, he's a fixture in Suffolk. As for any future in Albany, he's stuck in a box that looks sadly like a political coffin.