The First Amendment: In Concrete
A former coworker, whom I truly admire and deeply respect, wrote this article. Though I only worked with her for a few short months, she taught me a great deal about treating others with dignity. Please read and consider her thoughts on the relationship between the President and the press. (Shared with permission.)
The First Amendment: In Concrete
Debbie Roos
November 8, 2018
Recently, the San Antonio Street Art Initiative beautified our city by turning concrete support beams into incredible works of art. Like a museum, there are styles for many tastes: abstract, cultural, pop, realist, etc. As all good art does, I found myself liking some more than others. I fell in love with the grayscale “growing up” piece whose artist used all four sides of the beam to depict a scribbling toddler turned tutued girl turned backpacked college co-ed turned star-bound female astronaut. The message was clear: reach for the stars, little one, reach for the stars.
Some more wandering took me to a back corner with a beam that required more time to process. The theme was bricks – some like an old brownstone; some red, white and blue in an American flag shape framing a phrase: WAKE UP. I paused and took a breath. Politics. In this moment of beauty, I really did not want to confront that – not after weeks of negative ad campaigns, endless Facebook posts, robocalls, etc. WAKE UP. I turned slightly, ready to walk away, and noticed this beam was not solid like the rest. Rather, it held a space like a 3D wishbone, and in its inner sanctum, the artist continued his or her thought. Inside was a tiny plastic child’s chair and above it a simple framed inscription: Hope was here. This message was clear, too. Both of them.
I am usually the last to speak about politics and politicians. I’m not a fan of general statements about parties or people. I don’t relish confrontation, and I certainly do not have answers to the troubles our country and our world face. But I was struck so profoundly by the debacle during the White House press conference this week that I find myself wide awake.
All politics aside, the exchange between President Trump and Mr. Acosta (CNN) and Mr. Alexander (NBC), as well as the continued fall out, was intense. President Trump’s name-calling and ad hominem attacks on Mr. Acosta were painful to watch but were salved somewhat by the humanity of Mr. Alexander, who rose to the defense of his colleague and competitor when, at his own peril, he didn’t have to.
I was struck by Mr. Alexander and was reminded of a garden I walked through about a year ago in Jerusalem called The Garden of the Righteous Among Nations. This garden is planted at Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Memorial Museum. The trees and flowers reflect the life that is and can be as the monuments and engraved markers honor the countless people who risked their lives to save others when, at their own peril, they didn’t have to. Germans, Poles, Czechs, and more had woken up to what was happening in Nazi Germany and made a choice.
We subsequently learned that Mrs. Sanders has, on the order of the President, revoked Mr. Acosta’s press pass. Rumors are circulating now about doctored footage regarding Mr. Acosta “handling” the female intern who tried to take the microphone and his revocation being attributed to this supposed behavior. Such reinvention of the truth – the original video - is simply not acceptable. Wake up. Revoke his press pass but do so honestly. CNN will replace him. And her. And him, and her, and her, and him, and her, ad nauseum. Because that is what freedom of the press and freedom of speech is all about.
Until or unless it isn’t. Until or unless there are so many Executive Orders and executive temper tantrums that we somehow, like the Animals in Wicked, lose our ability to speak.
Wake up.
Why am I now just waking up? Who knows. Maybe I’m naïve. Maybe I’m an optimist. Maybe I just don’t have all the facts. Maybe what I’m seeing just isn’t real. But here’s what my now awake brain says:
First, he came for the women. And it was okay to grope and fondle them.
Then, he came for the Mexicans. And it was okay because they were rapists, criminals and dangers to society.
Then, he came for the Muslims. And it was okay because they were terrorists.
Then he came for the Press. And it was okay because they were liars.
Then he came for....
The First Amendment: In Concrete
Debbie Roos
November 8, 2018
Recently, the San Antonio Street Art Initiative beautified our city by turning concrete support beams into incredible works of art. Like a museum, there are styles for many tastes: abstract, cultural, pop, realist, etc. As all good art does, I found myself liking some more than others. I fell in love with the grayscale “growing up” piece whose artist used all four sides of the beam to depict a scribbling toddler turned tutued girl turned backpacked college co-ed turned star-bound female astronaut. The message was clear: reach for the stars, little one, reach for the stars.
Some more wandering took me to a back corner with a beam that required more time to process. The theme was bricks – some like an old brownstone; some red, white and blue in an American flag shape framing a phrase: WAKE UP. I paused and took a breath. Politics. In this moment of beauty, I really did not want to confront that – not after weeks of negative ad campaigns, endless Facebook posts, robocalls, etc. WAKE UP. I turned slightly, ready to walk away, and noticed this beam was not solid like the rest. Rather, it held a space like a 3D wishbone, and in its inner sanctum, the artist continued his or her thought. Inside was a tiny plastic child’s chair and above it a simple framed inscription: Hope was here. This message was clear, too. Both of them.
I am usually the last to speak about politics and politicians. I’m not a fan of general statements about parties or people. I don’t relish confrontation, and I certainly do not have answers to the troubles our country and our world face. But I was struck so profoundly by the debacle during the White House press conference this week that I find myself wide awake.
All politics aside, the exchange between President Trump and Mr. Acosta (CNN) and Mr. Alexander (NBC), as well as the continued fall out, was intense. President Trump’s name-calling and ad hominem attacks on Mr. Acosta were painful to watch but were salved somewhat by the humanity of Mr. Alexander, who rose to the defense of his colleague and competitor when, at his own peril, he didn’t have to.
I was struck by Mr. Alexander and was reminded of a garden I walked through about a year ago in Jerusalem called The Garden of the Righteous Among Nations. This garden is planted at Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Memorial Museum. The trees and flowers reflect the life that is and can be as the monuments and engraved markers honor the countless people who risked their lives to save others when, at their own peril, they didn’t have to. Germans, Poles, Czechs, and more had woken up to what was happening in Nazi Germany and made a choice.
We subsequently learned that Mrs. Sanders has, on the order of the President, revoked Mr. Acosta’s press pass. Rumors are circulating now about doctored footage regarding Mr. Acosta “handling” the female intern who tried to take the microphone and his revocation being attributed to this supposed behavior. Such reinvention of the truth – the original video - is simply not acceptable. Wake up. Revoke his press pass but do so honestly. CNN will replace him. And her. And him, and her, and her, and him, and her, ad nauseum. Because that is what freedom of the press and freedom of speech is all about.
Until or unless it isn’t. Until or unless there are so many Executive Orders and executive temper tantrums that we somehow, like the Animals in Wicked, lose our ability to speak.
Wake up.
Why am I now just waking up? Who knows. Maybe I’m naïve. Maybe I’m an optimist. Maybe I just don’t have all the facts. Maybe what I’m seeing just isn’t real. But here’s what my now awake brain says:
First, he came for the women. And it was okay to grope and fondle them.
Then, he came for the Mexicans. And it was okay because they were rapists, criminals and dangers to society.
Then, he came for the Muslims. And it was okay because they were terrorists.
Then he came for the Press. And it was okay because they were liars.
Then he came for....
And then it dawned on me. I’ve heard this repetitive cadence before:
“First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out –
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out –
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out –
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for me.”
- Martin Neimoller’s quotation (US Holocaust Memorial Museum)
Maybe I’m just now waking up because I haven’t wanted to see what is really bothering me: I’m afraid. I’m afraid, as a Jew, that anti-Semitism is on the rise around the world and even in the place I should feel safest. I’m afraid, as an American, that our president’s erratic behavior negatively impacts how the rest of the world views and treat us. I’m afraid, as a human, that our country’s leadership is so destructively postured that it threatens the world’s safety. But mostly, I’m afraid of what this beautiful country of ours is becoming right in front of our faces, and there are seemingly no reigns to grab onto. I’m afraid because we scream at each other instead of talk. I’m afraid because compromise seems to mean defeat.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid because “hope was here.” And today – the day after yesterday – the verb is in the past tense.
Lest critics think I am a bleeding-heart liberal, think again. My voter’s registration card may surprise many. But I am far from a straight ticket voter. Rather I may be a “Rependicrat” – one who considers the issues, the implications, and the people. One who is Red, White, and Blue.
Admittedly, our president-as-candidate intrigued me due to his disruptive nature, his outsider perspective. As a “disruptor,” someone who likes change, who demands improvement, who expects greatness, I appreciated his refusal to accept status quo and inertia. I valued his fearlessness in tackling issues head-on. I began to listen carefully. And undeniably we have seen a powerful leader emerge as #45.
But. That word, it just keeps coming to mind as I consider President Trump’s leadership. Even as a “shake it up” kind of person, I cannot condone his brand of leadership for one simple reason: in the words of Rosalind Wiseman (of Queen Bees and Wanna Bees and Masterminds and Wingman authorship) dignity is not negotiable.
And if we are honest – truly honest – we have seen a powerful leader in the past who failed to value human dignity. We have seen a leader who:
“when he joined the party, he found it ineffective, committed to a program of nationalist
I’m afraid because I feel like I’m the only one who sees the frightening parallelisms with the 45th President of the United States of America and one of the most terrifying humans in history, Adolph Hitler.
“First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out –
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out –
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out –
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for me.”
- Martin Neimoller’s quotation (US Holocaust Memorial Museum)
Maybe I’m just now waking up because I haven’t wanted to see what is really bothering me: I’m afraid. I’m afraid, as a Jew, that anti-Semitism is on the rise around the world and even in the place I should feel safest. I’m afraid, as an American, that our president’s erratic behavior negatively impacts how the rest of the world views and treat us. I’m afraid, as a human, that our country’s leadership is so destructively postured that it threatens the world’s safety. But mostly, I’m afraid of what this beautiful country of ours is becoming right in front of our faces, and there are seemingly no reigns to grab onto. I’m afraid because we scream at each other instead of talk. I’m afraid because compromise seems to mean defeat.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid because “hope was here.” And today – the day after yesterday – the verb is in the past tense.
Lest critics think I am a bleeding-heart liberal, think again. My voter’s registration card may surprise many. But I am far from a straight ticket voter. Rather I may be a “Rependicrat” – one who considers the issues, the implications, and the people. One who is Red, White, and Blue.
Admittedly, our president-as-candidate intrigued me due to his disruptive nature, his outsider perspective. As a “disruptor,” someone who likes change, who demands improvement, who expects greatness, I appreciated his refusal to accept status quo and inertia. I valued his fearlessness in tackling issues head-on. I began to listen carefully. And undeniably we have seen a powerful leader emerge as #45.
But. That word, it just keeps coming to mind as I consider President Trump’s leadership. Even as a “shake it up” kind of person, I cannot condone his brand of leadership for one simple reason: in the words of Rosalind Wiseman (of Queen Bees and Wanna Bees and Masterminds and Wingman authorship) dignity is not negotiable.
And if we are honest – truly honest – we have seen a powerful leader in the past who failed to value human dignity. We have seen a leader who:
“when he joined the party, he found it ineffective, committed to a program of nationalist
and socialist ideas but uncertain of its aims and divided in its leadership. He accepted its
program but regarded it as a means to an end. His propaganda and his personal
ambition caused friction with the other leaders of the party. (He) countered their attempts
to curb him by threatening resignation, and because the future of the party depended on
his power to organize publicity and to acquire funds, his opponents relented.”
(https://www.britannica.com/biography/Adolf-Hitler/Rise-to-power)
I’m afraid because I feel like I’m the only one who sees the frightening parallelisms with the 45th President of the United States of America and one of the most terrifying humans in history, Adolph Hitler.
Anger.
Hatred.
Division.
Blame.
While no mass murder has occurred, no 21st century concentration camps constructed, no take-over of the press, I offer one caveat: yet, at least. The moral decay of our Democracy happens bit by bit, press pass by press pass, executive order by executive order, cheek turning by cheek turning until the banality of evil is upon us.
That tiny plastic child’s chair keeps coming to mind as I sit with my thoughts on what to do now that I am, in my 18-year old’s vernacular, “woke.” Hope was here. That makes me sad. Happy but sad. Can she come back? Can we go look for her? There’s clearly a place for her, so I am sure she will find her way home.
Never have I been more grateful for street art – art that, by the way, I didn’t WANT to like when I first saw it.
WAKE UP.
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