Tag Archives: politics

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, teaching, Writing

Monday Musings: Some Recent Epiphanies

The title speaks for itself. These are recent epiphanies I’ve had. Some are profound others less so. Enjoy.

Polaris Award, David B. Coe 2025Last weekend, at ConCarolinas, I was honored with the Polaris Award, which is given each year by the folks at Falstaff Books to a professional who has served the community and industry by mentoring young writers (young career-wise, not necessarily age-wise). I was humbled and deeply grateful. And later, it occurred to me that early in my career, I would probably have preferred a “more prestigious” award that somehow, subjectively, declared my latest novel or story “the best.” Not now. Not with this. I was, essentially, being recognized for being a good person, someone who takes time to help others. What could possibly be better than that?

Nancy and I recently went back to our old home in Tennessee for the wedding of the son of dear, dear friends. Ahead of the weekend, I was feeling a bit uneasy about returning there. By the time we left last fall, we had come to feel a bit alienated from the place, and we were constantly confronting memories of Alex — everywhere we turned, we found reminders of her. But upon arriving there this spring, I recognized that I had control over who and what I saw and did and even recalled. I avoided places that were too steeped in hard memories. I never went near our old house — I didn’t want to see it if it looked exactly the same, and I really didn’t want to see it if the new owners made a ton of changes! But most of all, I took care of myself and thus prevented the anxieties I’d harbored ahead of time from ruining what turned out to be a fun visit. I may suffer from anxiety, but I am not necessarily subject to it. I am, finally, at an advanced age, learning to take care of myself.

Even if I do not make it to “genius” on the Spelling Bee AND solve the Mini AND the Crossword AND Wordle AND Connections AND Strands each day, the world will still continue to turn. Yep. It’s true.

I do not know when or if I will ever write another word of fiction. But when and if I do, it will be because I want to, because I have a story I need to tell, something that I am certain I will love. Which is as it should be.

The lyric is, “She’s got electric boots/A mohair suit/You know I read it in a magazine.” Honest to God.

I am never going to play center field for the Yankees. I am never going to appear on a concert stage with any of my rock ‘n roll heroes. I am never going to be six feet tall. Or anywhere near it. All of this may seem laughably obvious. Honestly, it IS laughably obvious. But the dreams of our childhood and adolescence die hard. And the truth is, even as we age, we never stop feeling like the “ourself” we met when we were young.

Grief is an alloy forged of loss and memory and love. The stronger the love, and the greater the loss, and the more poignant the memories, the more powerful the grief. Loss sucks, but grief is as precious as the rarest metals — as precious as love and memory.

As a student of U.S. History — a holder of a doctorate in the field — I always assumed that our system of government, for all its obvious flaws and blind spots, was durable and strong. I believed that if it could survive the War of 1812 and the natural growing pains of an early republic, if it could emerge alive, despite its wounds, from Civil War and Reconstruction, if it could weather the stains of McCarthyism and Vietnam and Watergate, it could survive anything. I was terribly wrong. As it turns out, our Constitutional Republic is only as secure as the good intentions of its principle actors. Checks and balances, separation of powers, the norms of civil governance — they are completely dependent on the willingness of those engaged in governing to follow historical norms. Elect people who are driven not by patriotism but by greed and vengeance, bigotry and arrogance, unbridled ego and an insatiable hunger for power, and our republic turns out to be as brittle as centuries-old paper, as ephemeral as false promises, as fragile as life itself.

I think the legalization of weed is a good thing. Legal penalties for use and possession were (and, in some states, still are) grossly disproportionate to the crime, and they usually fell/fall most heavily on people of color and those without the financial resources necessary to defend themselves. So, it’s really a very, very good thing. But let’s be honest: Part of the fun of getting high used to be the knowledge that we were doing something forbidden, something that put us on the wrong side of the law. It allowed otherwise well-behaved kids to feel like they (we) were edgy and daring. There’s a small part of me that misses that. Though it’s not enough to make me move back to Tennessee….

I’ll stop there for today. Perhaps I’ll revisit this idea in future posts.

In the meantime, have a great week.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe

Monday Musings: American Truth-Tellers

Last weekend, we went into Albany, with my brother and sister-in-law, to have dinner with friends of theirs, and to attend an exhibit at the lovely Albany Institute of History and Art. The exhibit is called “Americans Who Tell The Truth,” and it features portraits by Robert Shetterly, along with quotes from his truth-telling subjects.

Shetterly’s art is unusual. His portraits are simple, even primitive in some respects. The bodies of his subjects, and the backgrounds of his paintings, are flat, lacking in detail, unremarkable. But the faces are nuanced, instantly recognizable, filled with life and spirit and personality. And the names of the subjects, as well as their quotations, are scratched into the paintings themselves (while the paint is still wet, as my brother, the painter, pointed out). Shetterly has painted more than two-hundred truth-tellers, including forty-two that have been selected for the Institute’s exhibit. Some of those included are obvious selections. Others are less well-known, and still others have somewhat checkered histories, which makes for an interesting blend of portraits.

On the one hand, featured subjects include Rosa Parks and Bayard Rustin, Pete Seeger and Ella Baker, Cecile Richards, the late president of Planned Parenthood, and Sister Helen Prejean, the anti-death-penalty crusader portrayed in the movie Dead Man Walking. But among the other truth-tellers whose portraits are on display, are John Brown, the anti-slavery activist whose violent raid on Harper’s Ferry in 1859 resulted in several deaths and helped to spark the Civil War; Mother Jones, the late-Nineteenth/early-Twentieth century labor organizer and activist; Frank Serpico, the New York city cop who resisted and later exposed corruption within the police department, at risk of his own life, and whose harrowing story was brought to life in Serpico, a 1973 movie starring Al Pacino and directed by Sidney Lumet.

"Leah Penniman" by Robert ShetterlyYet, the figures who fascinated me most during our afternoon at the museum were those of whom I’d known nothing — not even their names — before seeing the exhibit. One of them was Leah Penniman, a food justice advocate and activist whose portrait exudes warmth and joy. Her quote is wonderful and worth repeating in full:

Our ancestral grandmothers braided seeds and promise into their hair before being forced into the bowels of transatlantic ships. As they plaited their okra, cowpea, millet and black rice into tight cornrows, they affirmed their hope in a future on soil. They whispered to us, their descendants:
“The road may be rough, but we will never give up on you.”

"Grace Lee Boggs" by Robert ShetterlyAnother was Grace Lee Boggs, an author and community organizer, who gazes out from her portrait appearing tough, frank, unwilling to put up with any BS. Her quote:

People are aware that they cannot continue in the same old way but are immobilized because they cannot imagine an alternative… We need a vision that recognizes that we are at one of the great turning points in human history when the survival of our planet and the restoration of our humanity requires a great sea change in our ecological, economic, political, and spiritual values.

Few moments in our nation’s history have demanded more of American truth-tellers than the one we find ourselves in right now. We are governed by liars, bombarded by falsehoods every time we go online or turn on certain news channels, confronted by people — some of them friends, some of them family, most of them well-meaning — who have armed themselves with misinformation in order to parrot talking points they have heard on TV or from someone else who might be equally well-meaning and equally misinformed. Just the other day, I encountered online a post from someone I like and respect, who was repeating the jumble of untruths and recklessly manipulated data used by this Administration to justify their disastrous tariffs. I didn’t bother to comment. I didn’t wish to alienate a friend, nor did I have the energy or inclination to engage in a flame war. Instead, I allowed the disinformation to go unchallenged. I’m not proud of this.

Fallacy, disingenuousness, quackery, distortion. They pummel us. They insinuate themselves into every discourse. They are disheartening, infuriating, exhausting.

Which makes Robert Shetterly’s bold honoring of those who have stood up for truth again and again, all the more admirable, all the more important. We as a people have been challenged before by those who traffic in lies, and ultimately honesty has prevailed. Truth broke Joseph McCarthy’s fear-driven hold on the U.S. Congress, just as it ended the corrupt presidency of Richard Nixon. I choose to believe that it will wash away the bullshit that currently coats our most sacred institutions. But I have to be willing to stand up for honestly when next I am presented the opportunity. All of us do. We need to be inspired by those who inspired this exhibition.

"Bill Moyers" by Robert ShetterlyOne of my favorite portraits was of a media hero of mine, PBS’s Bill Moyers. I will leave it to him to have the last word:

The framers of our nation never imagined what could happen if big government, big publishing, and big broadcasters ever saw eye to eye in putting the public’s need for news second to their own interests – and to the ideology of market economics.

The greatest moments in the history of the press came not when journalists made common cause with the state but when they stood fearlessly independent of it.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe

Monday Musings: Thoughts After Visiting My Kid

Last week, I flew out to Colorado to visit, Erin. Now, it goes without saying that I will leap at any chance to have time with my Peanut. I don’t need excuses to visit. But in this case, we had a bit of an agenda. Erin was in need of a car, and I went out to help her with the purchase.

Yes, she is 25 years old and could have done all of it on her own. But here’s the thing. Statistics show that women, on average, pay more for cars — new and used — than do men. In fact, White men pay the least of all. Women and all people of color will, on average, pay more for the same car, in the same regions, and even at the same dealerships. This is not an imagined form of discrimination. This is real and documented and supported by data.

So, out to Denver I went. We found her a car at a decent price. She’s happy, and I had time with my darling girl.

Erin in her new car!
Erin in her new car!

But . . .

The other night, I finally saw On The Basis of Sex, the Ruth Bader Ginsberg biopic that came out in 2018. The movie is, of course, a Hollywood take on an extraordinary historical figure, and so is bound to suffer from some flaws. But it offers an unstinting look at the barriers placed before RBG, who was always the smartest person in whatever room she entered, and always the best lawyer in any courtroom she graced. In this way, it reminded me of 42, the Jackie Robinson biopic starring the late Chadwick Boseman, and Hidden Figures, which told the stories of Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughn, and Mary Jackson, Black NASA mathematicians whose revolutionary work helped make possible the American space program.

In all of these movies (and countless other similar films that I have failed to mention) we are reminded of the irrefutable truth that sexism and racism (as well as homophobia, religious bigotry, and discrimination against people with disabilities) create nearly insurmountable barriers to success for too many.

And this is the insidiousness of the current Administration’s hysterical and irrational assault on DEI programs across the country. The assumption underlying this “policy” is that white, cis, straight males are the standard that define what it means to be qualified and competent. This is, of course, utterly ridiculous, and to see how foolish it is, take a moment to read any online biography of General Charles Q. Brown, the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff fired by the present occupant of the White House for no other reason than because he happens to be Black. For that matter, take a moment to read a biography of Admiral Linda Fagan, the first female commandant of the Coast Guard, or Admiral Lisa Franchetti, the first woman to serve as Chief of Naval Operations and thus the first female member of the Joint Chiefs. Both were fired, apparently, because they’re woman and, like Brown, were seen by the Administration as “DEI hires.”

As if the Administration itself isn’t filled with (and led by) hires that are based entirely on race and gender! Does anyone honestly think that Pete Hegseth would be Secretary of ANYTHING if he weren’t a straight White guy? Does anyone think that Donald Trump would be anything more than a two-bit grifter if he hadn’t been born White, male, and rich-as-fuck?

When I was in graduate school, my (white male) advisor told me the story of how he came to be hired as a history professor at Stanford. He happened to be in the office of his (white male) advisor when the (white male) chair of the history department at Stanford phoned the aforementioned advisor, who was an old pal from Yale. The history department chairman said, “We have an opening here for an American history professor. Do you have any grad students who are on the verge of finishing their dissertations?”

“Actually, I have one sitting right here, and he’d be perfect.” At that point, my advisor’s advisor turned the conversation over to my future advisor who was “interviewed” and hired on the spot.

They call it an Old Boys Network for a reason, and such advancement has long been available to White men across academia, as well as throughout the business world, the legal and medical professions, politics, and in pretty much every other professional realm imaginable. Was my advisor qualified for the job? Absolutely. Was he more qualified than anyone else — of any race, gender, or group — who might have sought the job at Stanford had it been advertised and thrown open to all properly credentialed applicants? Who knows?

DEI is not intended to give an unfair advantage to underrepresented groups. Rather it is intended as a corrective for a culture, society, and economic system that have been tilted in favor of White men literally for centuries.

And yes, I count myself among those who have benefited from that uneven playing field. Absolutely I do! I was born White, male, upper-middle class. I’m straight. I was given every opportunity to succeed — I grew up in a nice house, in a good school system, raised by parents who fed me well, kept me safe, and took an active role in my education. I was taught from an early age that being smart, and being perceived as smart, are good things. I never faced any social pressure to hide my intelligence in order to be deemed “more attractive,” as so many girls my age were. I never feared the police. I never was called by the “N” word, as my best friend was, in my presence, when we were twelve. When the time came, I was in an economic position that allowed me to attend an Ivy League university. What an advantage all of that was! My privilege set me up for success. I know this. And I deal with it the only way I know how: by being an ally to those who didn’t have my privilege, and by fighting (and voting) for social justice and economic equality at every opportunity. Yes, I’m Woke. You’re damn right I am.

The current Administration is attempting to reverse more than half a century of progress on women’s rights, Civil Rights, LGBTQ+ rights, and antipoverty efforts. Why? Because they see anything that further levels the playing field as being to their personal disadvantage. Many of their supporters feel the same way. They would rather perpetuate a system filled with bias, one that rewards mediocrity by limiting competition from qualified women, qualified people of color, qualified people with disabilities, qualified people who identify as queer. They are terrified by the surety that if forced to compete with a wider group of skilled, talented people, they are likely to lose out. And they’re probably right. But that doesn’t change the fact that they are pursuing an ideological agenda that is immoral, cruel, and bad for our country.

Wishing you a good week.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Not at all Writing Related

Monday Musings: Cataclysm In Los Angeles

There are lots of things I would like to write about today. Our lives are busy right now, in a variety of ways, all of them pretty positive. I have professional stuff going on, personal stuff going on. I could write about all of it.

But Los Angeles is on fire. I’m writing this as the weekend approaches. Maybe — MAYBE — by the time you read this, the fires will be under control. But I doubt it. The photographs of damage on the ground are horrendous. The satellite imagery — before and after shots of neighborhoods and towns — is terrifying. The pictures posted overnight of the fires as seen from airplanes on approach to LAX look like something out of a disaster movie.

I don’t live in California (not anymore, but I once did; I love the state), but I have family and friends who do, people I love who have been impacted directly by this mind-boggling tragedy. Chances are, you do, too. Or if not you, then someone close to you does.

That’s the thing about climate change. It touches all of us. We don’t have to be in the path of the latest Category 5 hurricane, or impacted by yet another drought, or threatened by apocalyptic fires, for its impacts to reach us. It’s not all cataclysm and news headlines. It’s higher grocery prices resulting from crop damage (storms, heat, frost, drought, flood — take your pick). It’s stronger winds resulting from greater temperature gradients, which lead in turn to harder headwinds when we fly, or more turbulence, and yes, greater, more frequent delays at the airport.

It’s hotter summers and milder winters. It’s also more storms year-round, except, of course, during droughts. It’s more mosquitoes and ticks. It’s less snow for ski resorts. It’s vanishing glaciers in our beautiful national parks. It’s more mass extinctions, falling bird populations (30% of North American birds have been lost in the last fifty years, not all because of climate change, but it’s a significant factor), and frightening losses in the populations of our natural pollinators.

It’s greater strains on our electrical grid, more blackouts, a greater need for frequent rolling power outages, all of which contribute to higher utility costs. It’s increased insurance premiums, as insurance companies race to recoup the losses caused by the aforementioned floods and fires and storms.

Climate change is a thousand different things. Some cause inconveniences and cost us a few bucks. Some cause deaths, disease, injuries, and cost our society billions.

“We don’t get as much snow as we used to.”

“There are more storms than there used to be.”

“Glacier National Park won’t have glaciers for much longer.”

“Los Angeles is on fire.”

It’s not a hoax. It’s not a left-wing plot to grow government and control our lives. It’s not a figment of some scientists’ imaginations. It’s real. It’s borne out in evidence gathered by meteorologists, physicists, biologists, ecologists, and historians. It is a threat to our economy, our way of life, and the health and welfare of every person on the planet, as well as our children and grandchildren.

If you don’t believe me, that’s your problem. The proof is in all that our planet has experienced over the past half century and more. Refusing to acknowledge the truth of climate change does nothing to slow it down or mitigate its myriad costs. All it does is ensure that future generations will pay an ever greater price for our failures.

But if you still don’t believe me, take five minutes — five full minutes — to look at the images coming out of Southern California. I guarantee, you’ve never seen anything like it. None of us has. We will see it again, though. Sooner rather than later, with ever-increasing frequency.

As to the suggestion made by some Republicans, including the Felon-elect, that California should be denied disaster aid because Democratic Governor Gavin Newsom has mismanaged the state’s water resources, I will simply refer you to this article from the BBC: https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/czj3yk90kpyo

Not only are GOP claims baseless, they are deeply cruel. Denying aid to the state won’t hurt Newsom. It will hurt innocent people who have lost their homes and businesses. And if blame for this travesty falls on anyone, it ought to be those who have spent the last three decades denying that climate change is real, the political Neros who pander to the fossil fuel industry while the planet burns.

Climate change is here. It’s merciless and indiscriminate. You can see its impact on your televisions and computer screens and smart phones right now. And it’s only getting worse.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Writing

Wednesday Musings: Big, Big News!

Yes, I’ve been quiet for a while. Things are okay. Really. More than okay, actually. But Nancy and I have been hella busy. With travel, with family stuff. But most of all with the big news that is the subject of this post.

Our new home in NY!!This [see the photo above] will soon be our new home. It is in New York’s Hudson Valley, near Albany, on six-plus acres of beautiful land, complete with gardens, fruit trees, and a small pond. More important, it is maybe twenty minutes from my brother and sister-in-law, is equally close to one of my dearest friends and his partner, and is within easy drives of many other friends and family.

We have lived in our current house for nearly twenty-six years, and in our small college town here in on the Cumberland Plateau for more than thirty-two. We raised our girls here, built a home, nurtured successful careers here, made friendships that will last for the rest of our days. Even as we have chafed at the backward, hateful politics of Tennessee, we have reveled in the state’s natural beauty and the friendliness of so many of its people. It is strange and a bit sad to contemplate our imminent departure from this home which we love. (Yeah, we still have to sell the place, but we’re hoping that won’t be too difficult.)

But the rightward tilt of the state, the Tennessee GOP’s fetishistic obsession with gun culture, and the legislature’s unrelenting assault on the rights of women, people of color, and members of the LGBTQ+ community have worsened significantly over the past few years. And, of course, since losing our older daughter, living in the house in which she grew up has become difficult to say the least. It is time for us to leave.

Nancy is deeply grateful to Sewanee: The University of the South for all the opportunities offered to her over the course of her academic career here. She has served in a variety of roles — assistant professor, associate professor, full professor, department chair, associate dean, associate provost, provost, and finally interim Vice-Chancellor of the University. She is the first biology professor to hold the William Henderson Chair in Biology and the first woman in the history of the university to serve as VC. She has loved working for the school.

And I have been so pleased to be part of the Southeast’s speculative fiction community for the past twenty-seven years. I have established wonderful relationships and have been welcomed at literally hundreds of conventions across the region, including many for which I have been designated as a special guest or guest of honor. In 2022, I received the Phoenix Award for Lifetime Achievement from the Southern Fandom Confederation. As I said, I have built a career here, and I will forever be grateful to the fans and colleagues who have become valued friends.

What’s next? What will life be like for us in New York? Well, it’ll be colder. There’ll be more snow. Nancy will be retired, but has plenty of interests and projects to keep herself busy and very, very happy. I intend to keep writing and editing, although I imagine my output will be somewhat lower than it has been in recent years. Then again, who knows. I have no shortage of projects I look forward to taking on. And given how much travel we want to fit in, I’ll need to make some money . . .

We will have more time with family, which will be wonderful. My college friend and I love playing music together, so I am hopeful that music, and even the occasional performance, will become a larger part of my life.

And we will continue to heal, to rely upon each other, and upon Erin, for love, support, hope, and laughter. It won’t be perfect, of course. Nothing ever is. But it is our next adventure, and we’re looking forward to it. I promise that we’ll keep you informed. In a social media sense, I’m not going anywhere.

Enjoy the rest of your week.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe

Monday Musings: Beauty and Hope at the Olympics

There is an image from an Olympic event I watched that has been captured in a photo. It is beautiful and it gives me hope on so many levels. The men’s Moroccan soccer team had just pounded team U.S.A. 4-0. It was a humiliating and comprehensive loss for the American team, which had surprised many by making it out of group play and into the second stage of the Olympic soccer tournament. For a moment, it seemed that U.S. men’s soccer had finally exceeded expectations and come together in exciting and promising ways. Then reality hit.

Olympic soccer moment
(Photo by Marc Atkins/Getty Images)

But in the wake of the match, as American forward Kevin Paredes sat on the grass, despondent and exhausted, a Moroccan player, Achraf Hakimi, came over, squatted in front of him, and put his forehead on Paredes’s forehead to speak quietly to him and offer a few words. Consolation, praise, understanding? It really doesn’t matter what he said. What matters is that he said it, in the manner captured in that remarkable photo.

I am not naïve. Athletics can’t bridge all of the world’s geopolitical chasms. A singular act of sportsmanship, no matter how moving, can’t overcome stubbornly persistent cultural divisions. I don’t look this photo, or recall the moment when I saw this on the broadcast, and think, “That player is so kind; world peace is here!”

But we live in a world that is mired in dark times. War, prejudice, government sanctioned acts of wanton cruelty, authoritarian threats to democracy and republican government all across the globe, including here at home. Everywhere we look, we see what appears to be a breakdown in basic human kindness and compassion. And I’m simply saying that this image offers a counterpoint to the steady drumbeat of bad news and mind-numbing inhumanity. Here are two men, opponents on the pitch, products of vastly different cultures, who, in the captured moment, are nothing more or less than comrades and human beings bound by empathy and love of the game they play. It’s simple and understated. It’s miraculous and worthy of celebration.

I noticed other similar moments during this year’s games. Swimmers from different countries crossing lane markers after a tight race to congratulate one another. Simone Biles and Jordan Chiles (when she still had her bronze) honoring floor exercise gold medalist Rebeca Andrade of Brazil during the medals ceremony. Competitors in the X sports events marveling at the accomplishments of their rivals. One of the original purposes of the modern Olympics, which began in 1896, was to foster understanding among nations through friendly competition. And while it’s easy to laugh off such idealistic intentions, this is one of the reasons I love watching the games every two years (now that the Winter and Summer Olympics are staggered).

I should take a moment to acknowledge that the Olympics can also bring out the worst in humanity — Adolphe Hitler’s failed attempt to use the 1936 games as a display of Aryan superiority; the massacre of Israeli athletes at the 1972 Olympics in Munich; the 1996 Atlanta Olympics bombing by a right-wing domestic terrorist; the shameful, transphobic, and unsubstantiated attacks during this year’s games on Algerian boxer Imane Khelif. More often than not, when geopolitics intrudes upon the games, they do so with terrible results.

But moments of that sort are the exceptions, not the rule. Acts like those of Morocco’s soccer star truly are the norm.

The games are over now. Other sporting events will take center stage, with varying amounts of sportsmanship on display. The world’s problems will continue. Perhaps more countries, including ours, will reject authoritarianism as France did earlier this summer. But war and violence and oppression will continue.

And I will remember that image. I’ll cling to the memory as a talisman. Because there is kindness and understanding in the world, even in places where we might not think to look for it.

Have a great week.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Not at all Writing Related

Monday Musings: The Cost of Political Violence

We are officially through the looking glass.

In the wake of the apparent attempt to assassinate Donald Trump over the weekend, the RIGHT is now accusing the LEFT of instigating stochastic terrorism against the MAGA movement. For those of you not familiar with the term, stochastic terrorism is essentially political violence that has been sparked by inflamed rhetoric directed at a movement, a segment of the population, or even an individual.

And you know what? In a sense, the right is correct. Yes, Donald Trump and the far right represent an existential threat to the founding principles of our republic. There can really be no denying this. Read about “Project 2025,” the right’s blueprint for what the next Republican Administration ought to look like, and one is driven to that single conclusion. The right’s plans for the country would destroy our nation’s unique experiment in representative democracy.

That may seem like just the sort of dangerous rhetoric Republicans are currently complaining about. I get that. But it is also true.

The problem is, political rhetoric in the United States has been so extreme for so long that we seem incapable of dialing it back. I want to say that it doesn’t matter who started it or which side has committed more atrocities in their pursuit of political dominance, but I find it hard to type the words. Even as I try to craft a plea for moderation, for tolerance, for sanity, I also want to scream from the rooftops that the other side is responsible, is more guilty, has more blood on their proverbial hands. The wounds to our society run deep, and every election cycle we pick at the scabs, drawing fresh blood and renewed pain.

We hear about new acts of violence, and our reactions are tribal. One side claims, without foundation, that the perpetrator was a member of a political group on the other side. The other side claims something similar, or tries to argue that the whole event was “a false flag.” (Yes, both sides have done these things.) We await confirmation of our biases, eager for another opportunity to score points off of someone else’s misfortune. I am as guilty of this as anyone. I hate what I see in myself in those moments.

When it comes down to it, there is blame aplenty to go around. Is it really necessary to weigh the violence of January 6, 2021 against that of July 13, 2024? Isn’t it enough to say that both were unacceptable, that both were assaults on all the values we hold dear? Every new violation breeds more hatred, more recrimination, more hostility. And the circle of violence spirals further and further beyond our control.

I wish I believed that Donald Trump was man enough to say, in the wake of the apparent attempt on his life, “Enough! From this day forward, for the good of the nation, I will abandon my extreme rhetoric. I disagree with Joe Biden and the Democrats on a host of issues, but we are all Americans, and we owe it to our country and children to discuss those differences rationally, peaceably, without threats of violence, whether implicit or explicit.”

I’m sad to say that I don’t believe he is capable of saying such a thing. Rather, I fully expect him to turn the screw again, to ratchet up tensions even more.

We are playing a perilous game of rhetorical chicken. People died as a result of January 6th. People died on Saturday. How many more need to be killed before we come to our senses? Do we really have to take our country to the brink of (another) civil conflict before we come to our senses? That would be a tragedy. Another in a long line.

Enough.

Stay safe. Have a good week.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Not at all Writing Related

Monday Musings: Forlorn On The Fourth Of July

We have a fun July 4th celebration in our little town. It’s a university town, and a somewhat affluent one at that, especially when compared with the surrounding communities. And so we attract a lot of visitors. There are games for kids, a fun, somewhat tongue-in-cheek dog show, a parade, lots of food stands, a crafts fair, and, in the evening, a surprisingly good fireworks display over one of the local lakes.

Erin face paintAlex face paintOur girls LOVED Sewanee Fourth of July when they were young. We would give them a bit of cash, help them meet up with friends, and then pretty much say goodbye to them for the day. It’s a small, safe, friendly town, and we never worried about them. They always found us eventually, sunburned and sweaty, their faces covered in face-paint, their pockets stuffed with candy that was thrown to kids by the parade participants. We’d go home, have a nap and some dinner, not that any of us was very hungry, and then, after covering ourselves with bug spray, would make our way to the fireworks venue.

Fond memories.

Nancy and I have been doing July 4th on our own for many years now, since we became empty-nesters. It’s easier in a way, though a bit less fun. The magic of the day has dissipated with the years. We still enjoy seeing people, and we can usually find something good to eat. These days, we tend to stop by a couple of the parties that take place along the parade route, and, once the parade is done, we head home. Some years we go to see the fireworks, some years we don’t.

I will admit that this year my heart isn’t in it. Not the way it used to be. Part of that is personal — those fond memories have thorns these days.

But more than that, I feel less inclined to celebrate America than I used to. I have long found the equating of conservatism with patriotism offensive. I was brought up by liberals, and I raised my kids as a committed progressive. The terminology changed, but the love of country has never wavered. I have a Ph.D. in U.S. history, and while it is impossible to dive into the depths of our nation’s past without seeing its many flaws, it is also impossible to do so without gaining a healthy appreciation for qualities in our national story that are worthy of admiration. Resolve and resilience, boundless ambition and a commitment to human dignity that is often myopic and even hypocritical but also naïvely sincere. Ours is an imperfect but charmingly idealistic vision of government, an experiment in democratic republicanism that has yet to fulfill the dreams of its Founders, but which continues to strive for realization.

All of which makes our current state of political affairs so terrifying. The aforementioned experiment is at risk. If the Presidential election were held today, we would likely elect a man who has shown no compunction at all about placing his personal hunger for power above the national good, a man who has shown utter disregard for the centuries-old norms of our governing system, a man who has been convicted of 34 felonies and accused of dozens more, a man who literally lies about everything, who has made grievance and greed and graft synonymous with his personal brand, and who has declared without shame that he intends to begin his next term in the White House — a sequel to his disastrous, chaotic, hate-filled first term — with a one-day dictatorship. As if this paragon of gluttony will be able to stop after a single day.

Is our incumbent old? Yes. Do his communications skills leave much to be desired? Absolutely. This is why your Democratic friends and neighbors haven’t slept or eaten in days and have the look of caffeine addicts whose coffee machine is on the fritz. But Joseph Biden has been a remarkably effective President when it comes to passing bipartisan legislation. He has overseen an economic recovery that includes the creation of fifteen million new jobs. To be sure, inflation went up on his watch, spurred by supply-chain disruptions that began during the Covid recession of 2020 and worldwide economic dislocations caused by the ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine. But it has come down steadily since its 2022 peak and is now below 3% annually.

Most of all, though, the President is a decent, honest man, who honors and upholds our nation’s political ideals. He poses no threat to our republic. On the contrary, he is committed to saving our heating planet, improving the lives of those who face discrimination and economic injustice, and restoring a national right to women’s health care access. He has spent his life fighting for social equality. Is he a step slower now? A bit more muddled in his speech? A bit more frail and forgetful? Yes, yes, and yes. But on his worst day, he is better than the lying felon running against him.

I hope desperately that the American people will realize this before it’s too late. I fear they won’t.

I hope your July Fourth is fun and fulfilling.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe

Monday Musings: Jon Stewart’s Return and Progressive Politics — Time For Our Side To Grow Up

You know what, fellow progressives, Joe Biden is a terrific source of humor. Did he point out that Biden is old? Of course he did! Know why? Because Joe Biden IS old!! Really old!

Nine years after leaving The Daily Show to pursue other projects in both show biz and politics (including Congressional passage of the 9/11 first responders’ health bill), Boomer superstar Jon Stewart returned to the Comedy Central news desk this past week to begin a run of Monday night appearances that will continue through the election season. Stewart’s progressive fans, including me, had long looked forward to such a reprise of his most famous entertainment gig. Many of us lamented his departure from the show in 2015, believing the country needed him — desperately — to turn his particular brand of rapier-sharp snark against Donald Trump and the MAGA political movement. His return in 2024, with Trump likely to be on the November ballot again, has seemed to come in the very nick of time.

Therefore, I was surprised, to say the least, when I read accounts of Monday’s re-debut that accused Stewart of unfairly and unnecessarily attacking Joe Biden and engaging in damaging “bothsidesism” that threatened to do more harm than good. Yes, I forgot to watch, and I forgot to record the episode; as I’m sure Jon would be the first to say, getting older sucks sometimes. But I watched the entire show a bit later in the week. And I would like to share my thoughts.

Let me begin by saying this: As a huge fan of The Daily Show during Stewart’s tenure, I was, on more than a few occasions, pissed off by his willingness to turn his wit against politicians and causes I supported. No one watching Stewart could ever doubt that his politics were firmly to the (far) left of center. I loved that about him. But he has never been a strict partisan. He was and is a satirist first. No one is immune from his barbs. And, reluctantly sometimes, I loved that about him as well. Wherever he sees something funny, something worth lampooning, he is willing to go there, as any world-class entertainer should be.

His opening monologue last Monday continued this laudable tendency. It was, in a word, hilarious. Did he make fun of Joe Biden? Yes! You know what, fellow progressives, Joe Biden is a terrific source of humor. Did he point out that Biden is old? Of course he did! Know why? Because Joe Biden IS old!! Really old! He was older the day he took office than any President has ever been at the END of his Presidency! Biden has always been a gaffe-machine, and this has gotten worse in recent years. He is a comedic gold mine. Asking Stewart to avoid Biden jokes is like asking Gordon Ramsay to eschew salt. Ain’t gonna happen.

But here’s the thing, while Stewart spent less time (this first week) skewering Donald Trump and his MAGAts, he made it very clear from the outset that a) Trump is just about as old as Biden, and is every bit as addled if not more so, and b) while it’s okay to laugh at Biden, come November, our nation’s choice is about much, much more than which candidate is the more dotty. The monologue worked because it was classic Stewart: biting, sardonic, no-holds-barred, and completely on target.

Which brings me to the larger point. As I say, Biden is old. Everyone knows it. Voters are concerned about it. Running away from the issue, making a big deal whenever someone brings it up, attacking long-time progressive allies when they dare to acknowledge it — these things don’t help us at all. We are not going to win the 2024 Presidential election by pretending that Joe Biden is something he’s not, nor are we going to win it by whining whenever anyone makes fun of our guy.

Instead, we win by acknowledging the obvious — Biden may be an elderly man — and then pivoting to the equally obvious and more positive — but he is wise, compassionate, honest, and capable. He has presided over a historical run of job growth; he has tamed the inflation and high gas prices caused by the global pandemic and Russia’s invasion of Ukraine; he has kept the U.S. economy humming while the rest of the Western world struggles through recession; he has stood up to Vladimir Putin AND Xi Jinping AND Ali Khamenei (Iran) AND Kim Jong-il. And he has stood up as well to White Nationalist terrorism here at home. He is a vocal advocate for racial justice, women’s reproductive autonomy, and the reduction of America’s carbon emissions.

Meanwhile, his expected opponent has been indicted 91 times, has been found liable for over $80 million in a civil slander trial brought by a woman he sexually assaulted, and over $350 million in a financial fraud trial in which he was found to have broken multiple state laws. He has promised to allow Russia to attack NATO allies. He has promised to rule as a dictator, jailing opponents, curtailing freedom of the press, and denying political opposition the right to wage protests. He has claimed again and again, without foundation or evidence, that he won the 2020 election, perpetuating a lie that threatens the very fabric of our republic.

I could go on, but by now you get the point. We on the left can make our case for election victory without being hypersensitive snowflakes about Biden’s age. We don’t have to pretend our candidate is more than he actually is. We don’t have to deny reality. That’s the other side’s playbook, and it hasn’t worked in the last three national election cycles. If we stick to the truth, if we present the facts confidently and consistently, we’ll be fine.

So, enjoy Jon Stewart on Monday nights. I have no doubt that he’ll turn his laser wit Trump’s way soon enough. And in the meantime, he’s just really funny.

Have a great week.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe

Wednesday Musings: (No, That’s Not a Typo) Let’s Spend a Flight Delay Together

I have little to say professionally this week, but I have been thinking a good deal about a great many things. So, I’m double-dipping on musings . . . .

On Monday of this week, after a busy weekend in Brooklyn visiting Alex, our older daughter, Nancy and I accompanied Alex back to Tennessee for some midweek events here honoring Nancy. Alex is still in pretty rough shape and could not have traveled alone.

We were flying out of Newark and were scheduled to leave at 2:30 for a nonstop flight back to Nashville. But even as we were driving to the airport, I could see thunderheads forming to the west, piling on top of one another, like hulking gray boulders in the sky. I figured we would be fortunate to get out on time. Hah! Little did I know . . . .

We boarded, taxied, stopped, waited, waited some more, waited a whole lot more. Eventually, we taxied back to the gate, and eventually after that, we were allowed to deplane into the terminal so that we could get food, use the restrooms, stretch our legs, etc. By now, it was 5:00. Again, Nancy and I were traveling with our daughter who has cancer, who is weakened by treatments and generally exhausted. This was already going to be a long, trying day for her. Now it was getting worse.

An hour passed. And then another. The storms finally moved through, leaving the sky fiery and gorgeous. We were allowed to board again, told we would finally be leaving. We taxied, stopped, waited. Again.

We took off at 8:30, six hours late, and by the time we arrived, got our luggage, got the car, situated Alex, and drove the 90 miles from Nashville Airport to our house, didn’t get home until close to midnight. Too long a day. Too tiring. Too stressful. And yet . . . .

We are fine. Alex was tired the next day and had some relatively minor, unexpected issues crop up. But we got through the day in good spirits and in good shape. This musings post, though, isn’t about us. Not really, at least.

You see, the storms that stopped our flight from leaving, grounded every flight out of Newark, indeed out of all three New York airports (and also out of Boston’s Logan and others across the Northeast). When we returned to the gate after our initial attempt to leave, we found the terminal packed with people, all of them in the same situation we were in. I went searching for food and wandered far and wide, trying to find the exact thing our poor girl wanted to eat.

Not once did I see anyone complaining. Nor did I see anyone being nasty or berating gate agents or losing their patience with the crowds of fellow passengers. People were smiling, laughing, striking up conversations with strangers, playing with their kids, talking to their travel companions. You never would have known that every one of them had been inconvenienced for hours.

As I said, this was Monday. September 11. And I was reminded of that terrible day twenty-two years ago, and of the days after, when New Yorkers and New Jerseyans and Washingtonians and Pennsylvanians drew together in the wake of tragedy, treating one another with kindness and courtesy, with compassion and humanity. This year’s September 11th was a far easier, gentler day. We were delayed; we weren’t confronted by evil. But the same spirit of cooperation and good humor suffused our experience.

I’ve lived in the Southeast for more than thirty years now. And still, when I tell people that I’m originally from New York, I am often told how unfriendly people are up there, or how fortunate I am to live among the welcoming communities of the South.

And in some ways I am fortunate. Nancy and I have had a wonderful life in our little blue corner of Tennessee.

But let’s be very clear: In my experience, New Yorkers are no less friendly than Tennesseans, they are no more prone to rudeness, they are no less considerate, they are no less community-minded. In many respects, they are MORE considerate of others, more accepting of people on their own terms, more inclined to go out of their way in service to the well-being of those around them. I have lived in New York and New England, California and the South. No region has a monopoly on courtesy. No region has a monopoly on ill-mannered boors.

And for those who believe the New York metro area is populated by unfriendly, unrefined jerks, think again. Need proof? Spend a flight delay among the region’s people.

Enjoy the rest of your week.