May God Save Us From God's People

According to an article in the Washington Post on January 29, 18 states are now considering a total of 36 bills that are intended to "protect" healthcare workers who don't want to provide care that conflicts with their personal beliefs. Reportedly, many of these bills are broad enough to cover any medical-related worker who objects to essentially any form of care, treatment, therapy, or prescribed medication on the basis of religious values or individual conscience. Amazingly, at least five of the broad bills apparently allow insurance companies to opt out of covering services they find objectionable for religious reasons! It never crossed my mind that an insurance company might employ religious reasoning in shaping its business plan.

These "shields" are being erected to protect a healthcare worker's "right of refusal" in areas such as filling prescriptions for birth control and morning-after pills; sex education and family planning; abortion; in-vitro fertilization; right to die or physician-assisted suicide; sex selection or sex change; embryonic stem cells or genetic testing involving embryos. Opponents fear these bills could allow healthcare workers to refuse to care for gay and lesbian patients or to disregard a terminal patient's decisions regarding resuscitation, life support, feeding tubes, use of a ventilator, or other invasive measures.

Ramping up the rhetoric, the executive director of the Christian Medical and Dental Association proclaims, "This goes to the core of what it means to be an American. Conscience is the most sacred of all property ... and healthcare workers should not be forced to violate their consciences." A spokesperson for the American Center for Law & Politics solemnly adds, "The right to not be required to do something that violates core beliefs is fundamental to our society." And all God's people said, "Amen!"

Wait a minute - I'm one of God's people, and I'm not going to "amen" any of this nonsense. First, I find it amusing that supporters of these bills, undoubtedly strongly conservative in their day jobs, are now trumpeting never-before-heard-of "rights" with all the fervor of the so-called "activists judges" they so staunchly oppose on so many other fronts. Conscience is now a property right? A right of refusal? A fundamental right to not be required to do something that violates a personal belief? Where, pray tell, do these rights come from? From which bolt of ecclesiastical cloth have these scraps been torn? Okay; that's the end of the amusement.

I hardly know where to start in response to this supernova of rights. Perhaps the best place to start is to ask, where does this end? What is the logical extension of this newly ordained right to refuse to do one's job?

May the grocery clerk refuse to scan condoms or an issue of Cosmo? May the paperboy refuse to deliver an edition with an offensive story or picture on the front page? May a car salesperson refuse to sell a car to a criminal defense attorney? May a waiter refuse service to anyone who orders alcohol? May a taxi driver refuse to transport an activist judge or anyone else who creates rights that no one else has ever heard of? May the girl who sells the popcorn at the theatre refuse to do so for anyone going to an R-rated movie that says bad things about her religion? May a Little League coach refuse to coach a kid who doesn't believe in God? May a teacher refuse to teach a student who insists on referring to new age beliefs in the classroom? May a real estate agent refuse to list a home for a nurse who assists with any of the abominable medical procedures of concern - or to one who refuses to assist in those procedures? What if the rest of us want to refuse our various professional services to anyone who supports the bills being proposed in these 18 states because these bills violate our conscience and constitute an attack on our core beliefs?

More to come.

Sunday Reflection

We were visited on Sunday by two of our grandsons. Their parents came, too, but these visits are all about the grandchildren. Our youngest grandchild, a five-month old boy, sat up on his own for the first time at our home yesterday. He was immensely pleased with himself, as were his proud parents. Meanwhile, our 3 1/2-year old grandson was doing two things that excited him. First, he repeatedly walked on top of the five-inch wide, curved concrete border that surrounds the grassy area of our backyard, something he started doing right after he learned to walk. Even though the border is only about an inch high, he takes on this challenge like he's in the Flying Wallenda family. He would alternate this activity with trips out the front door where he would ride his three-wheeler along the neighborhood sidewalk as far as his observant mom would allow. In each activity he was happy, fully engaged, and clearly focused on the simple path in front of him - a little like the Super Chief riding on its rails through some scenic countryside.

In reflection, and again casting back to youthful days when life was simpler, I found myself envying the example being set for me. In my profile here, I've referred to myself as a serious student of Buddhism, which, unfortunately, is not the same thing as a serious practitioner. My meditative practice and my commitment to the Eightfold Path have been sporadic and undisciplined. I wish I could "just sit" and find the joy my youngest grandson found on our floor. And, I wish I could step out the "front" or "back" door and get on my path of choice and follow it, again and again, and find the joy my grandson found on the concrete paths around our home. I engage with my path, but I lack his focus. As a result, I never get all the way around the yard or the neighborhood. The "observant" parent in my head keeps sending me off in other directions, right or left, forward or back, past or future, leaving me to envy the other "kids" who live and play in the here and now.

All Aboard the Super Chief

Sometimes, all the turmoil and trouble in the world can't seem to fight its way to the surface of my mind and stay there long enough for a response to form. Sometimes, I can't, or won't, focus on the things that make the headlines. Sometimes, nothing presses the buttons. Sometimes, the buttons get pressed but the circuits don't fire. Sometimes, I refuse to invest the emotional or intellectual capital in the topics du jour. Sometimes, I just don't care. For these times, I say, "Thank, God."

I asked myself what I might address in an entry today. I could talk about Iraq and the relentless death toll; the Enron trials and the greed that they will disclose; the Hamas victory and the threat it raises; the NSA spying story or the Abramoff scandal and the disfigurement each brings to the free face of America; the senior NASA scientist who is being told he can't speak publicly about climate change and global warming; etc. I felt a few stirrings about these things today, but nothing that prompted writing.

Then a truly worthy subject appeared, one that is completely free of turmoil and trouble. It came via a PBS program about the Super Chief train operated by the Santa Fe Railroad from 1936 to 1971. Not too long ago I wouldn't have noticed this program on the schedule, much less watched it. Now, I find myself searching PBS and other cable channels that present me anything other than fictional reflections or nonfictional reverberations of the turmoil and trouble in the national and international headlines. Tonight, I got onboard the Super Chief and took a ride that soothed the soul.

I connected with this program because when I was a young boy I rode the Super Chief twice across northern Arizona. The first trip was magical because it was the whole package - staying overnight in a sleeper, eating several meals in the dining car, lounging in the dome car, and enjoying every minute of a trip that afforded its passengers the sublime privilege of sitting and watching beautiful landscape pass by accompanied by a gentle rocking motion and the almost hypnotically rhythmic sound of the wheels on the track. I don't even remember the destination, or the starting point. I remember the simple pleasures of the journey. I remember that I felt like I was starring in a movie. The second trip was a day trip out of Williams, Arizona, that celebrated the opening of a stretch of railroad that my dad built (he was project manager). This trip was on the top of a double-decker, Big Dome car. I felt like I was in low-level flight as I spent several hours gazing out the dome without a word to or from anyone else.

So, what's the point? A wave of longing for a return to simpler days washed over me and allowed me to connect to times and things that seem superior to the complicated and twisted mess that invites and then demands our attention today. Maybe I just wanted to be a kid again, to return to a more innocent view of things around me. Or, maybe I wanted to return to a time when I still could more readily pause and see and enjoy the innocent things in the view around me. I'm tired of the onslaught of war, poverty, crime, scandal, and dangerous political and religious arrogance that modern communication technology brings to the doorstep of my consciousness multiple times a day. I don't need to be told that the 1950s presented the same array of problems to the adult world that is served up in the 2000s. Those were fearful times. But, with a more childlike approach to life, I traveled on the Super Chief and found peacefulness in the constant motion and rhythmic sound. Perhaps we never cease to respond to the things that invoke the womb, the cradle, the rocking chair, or other places where peace and quiet preside.

The Empty Divide

As if on cue, researchers at Emory University have provided a plausible explanation for the Great Divide discussed earlier - how can all Rebs consistently see something one way and all Dims see the same thing exactly the opposite way? According to widely circulated news reports, the Emory research has determined that "staunch party members" from both sides simply do not activate the reasoning part of the brain when confronted with facts that are not in accord with their prefabricated partisan beliefs. The study appears to indicate a complete absence of reasoning in the decision-making process that resides in the minds of the party faithful. Said, another way, there's simply no thinking going on in Washington DC or in the capitol buildings in our 50 states.

For example, using a functional MRI scan, the study shows that Rebs and Dims consistently deny obvious contradictions from their candidates while quickly detecting contradictions in the opposing candidate. According to the director of clinical psychology at Emory, "The result is that partisan beliefs are calcified, and the person can learn very little from new data." Calcified minds trying to lead the world - no wonder the world is having so much trouble following.


But the story doesn't end with the conclusion that these people are not engaged in any thinking or learning. Never wanting to be denied a good buzz whenever party time rolls around, the brains in these folks actually register a reward for non-thinking and non-learning. With their minds made up in advance, the research showed that the partisan brain registers a response akin to a drug addict getting a fix whenever they seize upon their biased conclusions. These numbskulls (i.e., their heads are literally numb!) are getting high in the process of ignoring facts or any other form of data and information that doesn't align with their party-approved agenda!

Their skulls may be numb, but they're making my skull hurt. I think two days of golf are now required. See you Sunday.

The Great Divide

The robotic Senate Judiciary Committee voted today to support the nomination of Judge Samuel Alito to the United States Supreme Court. The vote was 10 - 8, strictly along party lines. Every Reb saw it the same way; every Dim saw it precisely the opposite way. The full Senate will now almost assuredly approve the nomination, also along strict party lines. In other words, the constitutionally-mandated advice and consent process has, once again, been a waste of time and resources.

Let me be clear about something - this commentary is not about Judge Alito and whether he should or shouldn't be confirmed. He is too conservative for me, and he will probably shift the Court too far to the right when he replaces Justice Sandra Day O'Connor, a centrist more to my liking. But, Judge Alito is qualified for the position; and, like it or not, the president earned the right in the 2004 election to nominate people who reflect his ideology. My problem is with the underlying process, which has now become nothing more than a totally predictable exercise in pure partisan BS.

In a debate on a matter of this consequence, something that will affect America directly for several decades and ripple through time for who knows how long, how is it that wisdom and discernment can fall out into two camps defined with laboratory precision by political party affiliation? How is it that not a single Reb is concerned enough to vote "nay", and not a single Dim is comfortable enough to vote "aye". Real life doesn't sort itself out this neatly. In the netherworld of Washington DC, however, decision-making can be programmed with nothing but binary switches. Today's "decision" is the kind of result that I have now come to expect from the 535 lobotomized automatons who walk the halls of Congress - halls that have occasionally given passage to men and women who thought for themselves and took positions that didn't always align with the crack of the party whip. Sadly, those long lost souls can now be seen only on the Gray Line Tour of the Haunted Hallways of the Nation's Capitol.

In the future, we can probably save enough money to care for thousands of people still destitute along the Gulf Coast by just sending the respective party chairperson to cast the Reb and Dim votes. Congressional sessions could be held in a Corvette or any other uniquely American two-seater that happens to be handy. Occasionally, these two will be aligned, which brings its own frightening prospects; but most of the time they will cast opposing votes with the absolute confidence and self-righteousness usually reserved for the caterwauling in a hormone-rich high school hallway.

Wedding Bells

No ranting, whining or complaining from me today. My "little girl", the youngest of my five children, got engaged this morning and nothing else matters today. She's thrilled, and we're very happy for her and her fiance. We look forward to a wonderful May wedding. And, I'm deeply honored to note that I have been asked to officiate the ceremony. That adds a pinch of tension for the old father of the bride, but it takes nothing away from the joy.

There's an obvious lesson here - a burst of family joy can easily override a host of other concerns. But, as surely as the paparazzi follow Brad and Angelina, more ranting, whining and complaining will surely follow this good news.

Independence

What if the Republicans and Democrats held a party - and no one came? What if millions of us who have worn the party label for longer than we can recall, for reasons that have lost their season, suddenly decided to declare our independence? After all, America's mission right now is to spread democracy to parts of the world where it has failed to take root or where its roots are in peril. Well, the roots of my democracy bush are in trouble. The way I see it, the well being of that bush is manifest in the leaves on the branches in Washington DC. Maybe because it's January; maybe because God only brought big rain to the Gulf coast last year; but those leaves are dead, dying, drying up, and dropping like ... well ... leaves. That bush is not doing well. I blame it on the parties that the Rebs and the Dims are holding along the Potomac - they suck; so it's time for millions of us to decide not to go to them any more. Let's go have a beer and a burger together at some place on the community corner where everyone knows our name.

In the last 10 days I've listened to a member of my family, a good friend, and a colleague at work, declare that they're on the verge of changing their voter registration to "Independent". Two of them are registered as Rebs and one as a Dim. They're fed up; frustrated; mad as hell; and seriously thinking about not taking it anymore. They're tired of being represented by men and women who don't, in fact, represent them in any meaningful way. They think the branches on the representative democracy bush need to be pruned, big time. They're in accord - the sound of a big-ass set of hedge trimmers has a certain melodic ring to it. I agree with them. Let's declare our independence once again, like we mean it. Forget about the hedge trimmers - we need to fire up the chain saws. More to come - I've got to go sharpen the chain.

In the beginning

Because hair on the soap tends to be problem for me, the entries in this blog will tend to address subjects that are a problem for me at the moment - in other words, politics and religion. Like most everyone, I was taught to avoid those two subjects in social settings. Well, this isn't a social setting. This is my space - a place where my droppings can fall and go 'splat!' without landing on any innocent bystanders. If something lands on someone here it's because they decided to take notice of the hair on the soap.

Where to start? So many subjects to cover; so many 'bad guys' to call out into the middle of the street? I think I'll sleep on it. After all, President Bush, Ted Kennedy, Pat Robertson and a long list of professional athletes will inspire me day by day without a doubt.