Telos

Remember the old song, “What’s it all about, Alfie?”

The past few weeks have brought more than a few reminders that aging is inexorable and death inevitable. There have been two family funerals, and–on the brighter side–last night there was a surprise party for an old friend who was turning 70 (a milestone I passed several months ago).  These reminders of mortality have reminded me of life’s essential questions, which–when you think about it–boil down to “what do I want to have accomplished during my life?” “What do I want people to remember about me?” and “What’s it all about?”

I’m not sure I can answer those questions affirmatively, but I can list the things that won’t matter when I’m dead: how much money I made, whether I was briefly famous (and all fame is brief!), whether I held a position others thought made me important, whether I triumphed over people I disliked.  At the end of the day–at the end of all our days–I think most of us want to leave a world that is at least marginally better because we lived in it. We want to leave people who will miss us because our existence added something positive to their lives.

I’ve long since accepted the fact that my life goals are not necessarily shared by others, but I still wonder what sorts of legacies some of our captains of industry and political figures think they will leave. Do the bankers whose recklessness cost so many people their homes and jobs, the political operatives who approach campaigns like games to be won by propaganda and spin, the public officials who are more concerned with the next election than the with the common good, the ruthless corporate titans lobbying for special treatment…do they ever consider whether that is how they want to be remembered when the inevitable end comes?

The word telos–if I remember correctly–is from the Greek. It translates, roughly, to “end” “purpose” or “life goal.” It’s hard not to wonder what telos motivates some of today’s more disreputable “movers and shakers”–and whether any of them ever wonder “what it’s all about.”

Wanting Indiana’s Cake After Eating It

I have a great idea. I’m going to sell my house, but demand that the State continue to give me my homeowner’s tax credit.  Think “our man Mitch” would approve?

I don’t either.

But how is that any different from his complaint about the distribution of federal highway funds?

Highway funds are allocated to the states on the basis of a formula that includes the miles of road the state must maintain. As I understand it, the feds are taking the eminently reasonable position that since Indiana contracted away its responsibility to maintain the Toll Road, the Toll Road mileage should be subtracted from the mileage used in the formula. That will cost the state some $40 million this year, and our governor is incensed at the unfairness of it all.

I think we can guess what his position would be if he were still budget director; he’d not only support the new calculation, he’d probably be demanding a refund for the years since the Toll Road was leased. (Apparently, the feds aren’t trying to penalize Indiana for their delay in adjusting the formula. He should be grateful for small favors!)

Indiana got a big windfall when we “leased” (essentially, sold) a state asset, just as I would get a big cash payout for my equity if I sold my house. When the Toll Road lease was negotiated, the state made a big deal of the fact that the vendor would be responsible for maintaining that asset. If I sold my house, I would also be relieved of the need to fix the roof, keep the plumbing in repair, cut the grass…all those expenses attendant to homeownership.

The only difference is, I would be ashamed to whine about losing a tax credit to which I would no longer be entitled.

Demanding federal highway funds to maintain a road someone else is legally obligated to maintain takes real chutzpah.

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Law, Order and Injustice

The criminal justice system is charged with protecting society from those who pose a threat to the public order. Too often, unfortunately, those in charge forget that basic purpose, and the result is anything but just.

The local case of Bei Bei Shai is a horrifying example.

The facts are simple: Bei Bei, a Chinese immigrant, was a pregnant woman with no criminal history. She found herself abandoned and shamed by the father of their expected child. Desperate, she attempted to commit suicide; she left a letter for the man who had deserted her, ate rat poison, and waited to die.  Friends found her, and got her to a hospital where she received medical treatment; doctors believed that the baby would survive if she had caesarean surgery, but the newborn died in her arms, sending her into yet another prolonged depressive episode.

If this wasn’t tragic enough, the Marion County prosecutor charged Bei Bei with murder and attempted feticide. She spent 435 days in the Marion County Jail until her lawyers were able to get her released to home detention pending her murder trial.

The case has received world-wide publicity; most of the details can be found in this recent article from the Guardian.

Bei Bei’s legal team, headed up by well-known criminal lawyer Linda Pence, has been unable to persuade Terry Curry, the Marion County Prosecutor, to drop the murder charge. He insists that the suicide note–which said something to the effect that “I am killing myself and our baby”–shows Bei Bei’s criminal intent to murder her unborn child, and he is insistent that she be prosecuted for that murder.

The policy consequences of criminalizing women’s behavior during pregnancy are obvious. Can the State charge a woman with reckless endangerment if she smokes while expecting? If she drinks? Where do we draw the line?

Those issues have been raised by the 80+ women’s rights groups that have filed amicus briefs in this case. They are important issues, and deserve attention, but I have an even more basic question: How does prosecuting a distraught young woman who tried to kill herself advance public safety? How can the prosecutor defend the use of tax dollars–and capital cases are very expensive–to try a young woman who poses no threat to society?

How does this prosecution serve the purposes of justice?

Bei Bei’s lawyers have done a great deal of unpaid work, but they will need funds to adequately defend her against these charges. They are scrambling to raise those funds, and people wishing to contribute to Bei Bei’s defense should send checks, payable to Shuai Defense Fund,   to 135 N. Penn. St., #1600, Indpls in. 46204.

Meanwhile, if you see Terry Curry, you might ask him what in the world he’s thinking.

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Candidates and Their Beliefs

A friend asked me yesterday whether I thought a candidate’s religion was politically relevant–whether that religion should be included in the mix of qualifying or disqualifying characteristics we all consider when casting our votes.

My answer: it depends.

I think a candidate’s beliefs are always relevant. That is not the same thing as saying his/her religion is necessarily relevant. The issue is what a person wishing to hold a secular office really believes, what worldview really motivates him. The religion of a candidate only becomes relevant when the individual believes so firmly in the doctrines and culture of his religion that he can be expected to take public action based upon those doctrines.

This, of course, presents us with a bit of a paradox–not to mention an incentive to hypocrisy.

It’s a truism of political life that candidates must be seen to be religious, and religious in conventional ways. So candidates for political office–at least, Christian ones–routinely highlight their churchgoing ways.  It’s a bit dicier for members of minority religions, and admitted atheists are just out of luck. Unlike Europeans, Americans are demonstrably leery of candidates who do not claim a religious affiliation.

But we are also leery of those who seem too invested in their theologies, especially–but not exclusively–minority theologies.

When John F. Kennedy made his famous speech reaffirming the American doctrine of separation of church and state, he was really reassuring voters that his Catholicism was tempered and attenuated, and that any conflict between the Constitution and his religion would be resolved in favor of the Constitution.

Religious affiliation is only fair game in politics when we have reason to suspect that a candidate’s religious beliefs will be a primary motivator should that candidate win office–that, unlike JFK, he will resolve conflicts between the constitution and his theology in favor of the latter, or that his policy decisions will be dictated by that theology rather than by appropriate secular considerations.

In other words, if a candidate is likely to make public decisions on the basis of his religious beliefs, the content of those beliefs becomes relevant.

Which brings us, I suppose, to Mike Pence and Mitt Romney, both of whom appear to be deeply invested in their respective religions, and both of whom can be expected to govern in accordance with the tenets of those religions as they understand them. Indeed, Romney’s own “JFK speech” actually rejected Kennedy’s strong endorsement of separation of church and state, leaving little doubt that his Mormonism would influence his conduct in office. Pence, of course, is a “Christian Nation” religious extremist who has shown virtually no interest in the nitty-gritty of secular government. For both of these candidates, religious belief appears integral to their identities and highly likely to influence their behaviors in office. If that’s true, then voters are justified in examining those beliefs.

Bottom line: If a political candidate’s theology is likely to trump other motivations–or the Constitution–the contents of that theology are relevant.

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Institutionalizing the ‘Macaca moment’

You’d have to be hiding under a rock not to notice the multiple ways in which the Internet has changed politics. Back when I first became politically active, I used to write direct mail pieces for candidates; that was a time when you could tailor one message for moms, one for firefighters, etc. Candidates who weren’t too scrupulous could and did use direct mail to take positions that were–shall we say– inconsistent with each other. Candidates could also make speeches to certain audiences that they wouldn’t necessarily want broadcast more widely.

The Internet has made that sort of micro-targeting virtually impossible.

The most-cited example: When George Allen was running for Senate from Virginia (yes, he’s doing that again), he stopped mid-speech to point out a young man filming the talk for his opponent. The volunteer was an American of Indian ancestry, and Allen referred to him as ‘macaca’–a term later determined to be a racist epithet in the country Allen’s mother had come from. The young volunteer uploaded the film to You Tube, and the rest, as they say, is history: the clip went viral, prompting reporters to take a closer look at Allen’s other racially-charged behaviors, Allen lost an election in which he had been heavily favored, and “macaca moment” became part of our political vocabulary.

Just as television brought the Viet Nam war into American living rooms, and arguably sparked the anti-war movement, You Tube and similar technologies give an immediacy and impact to events we might otherwise shrug off or ignore.

Now, You Tube has decided to play a more intentional role in world affairs. It has just announced a Human Rights channel. As the announcement put it:

In the case of human rights, video plays a particularly important role in illuminating what occurs when governments and individuals in power abuse their positions. We’ve seen this play out on a global stage during the Arab Spring, for example: during the height of the activity, 100,000 videos were uploaded from Egypt, a 70% increase on the preceding three months. And we’ve seen it play out in specific, local cases with issues like police brutality, discrimination, elder abuse, gender-based violence, socio-economic justice, access to basic resources, and bullying.

This is going to get interesting.