The Coming of Spring

     

I know, of course, that spring ball games in Florida and Arizona are meant to be forgotten. March standings and averages are written in the sand; winning is incidental. Many ballplayers hate spring training—rookies because of the anxieties of trying to win a job, the regulars because of the immense labor and boredom of physical conditioning, the fear of injury, and the threat, heavier each year, of losing a starting position. Only the fan—and perhaps only the big-city fan, at that—is free to savor the special taste of this time and place. – Roger Angell, March 1968

When I first sat down to write this, snowflakes gently fell in eastern Pennsylvania as the sub-freezing temperatures of the past two weeks stubbornly refused to yield. Meanwhile, in the sun-filled ballparks of Florida and Arizona, baseball has begun. Pitchers and catchers reported to spring camp less than two weeks ago, followed by position players. For the next thirty days, mornings are devoted to fielding drills and batting practice, to outfielders chasing down flyballs hit by coaches with fungoes, to wind sprints and physical conditioning. The afternoons surrender to exhibition games and a chance to examine fresh talent and new arrivals. For the returning players, spring training is all business, a necessary part of honing their craft and ensuring they fulfill their end of multi-million-dollar contracts. For the rest of us, it is about the hope and anticipation of a new season.

For true baseball fans, the calendar year takes on a different dimension than it does for other less passionate souls. The year begins in mid-February, when pitchers and catchers report south and begin tossing white baseballs through the Florida air. Within a few days, the position players arrive and surround batting cages, chat with each other about their craft and off-season endeavors, while teammates gracefully swing wooden bats that crisply strike pitched balls with eye-catching splendor. On the backfields, rows of pitchers throw dart-like fastballs into the pockets of catcher’s mitts with blinding speed and precision.

It is at this time of year when the game comes alive. A new season is born. It matters not whether these images leave lasting memories, because it is the anticipation of opening day and the fresh start of a newborn season that brings us feelings of joy and renewed hope. It is a sentiment experienced by baseball fans everywhere, and it arrives just in time, when the depression of a cold harsh winter has not yet conceded defeat to the warmth of spring. For it is only then that the season begins in earnest. 

On Saturday, I streamed the audio of the first Cardinals pre-season game and, for the next two hours, imagined myself in the stands of Roger Dean Stadium in Jupiter, Florida, where visions of a blue sky and sunshine transported me to another place and time. I imagined a younger, more innocent time, when the open expanse of a sun-drenched ballfield conjured dreams of glory. For fans who live in cold, northern cities and towns, visions of green grass, palm trees, and sunshine allow us to breathe a sigh of relief and entertain memories of a more virtuous time, when the smell of peanuts and cigar smoke on a warm summer twilight at the ballpark was the most beautiful thing in all the world. 

As a lifelong Cardinals fan, who lives and dies with the outcome of every game, follows their day-to-day progress, examines the box scores, and analyzes the daily statistics, I have a distinct perspective than more passive sports fans. For a few weeks in early March, when the pre-season games are well under way and the annual baseball previews fill the eternally optimistic fan with hope, the world seems like a brighter place. It is before the games count, when we convince ourselves of how good our beloved team will be if only that new star emerges from the minor league system, the young Japanese standout takes root, and if the health of the starting pitchers does not betray them. 

The Cardinals have been uninspiring for the past two seasons, finishing in last place in 2023 only to improve to a lackluster 83-79 finish in 2024. This year, they are in a “re-set” as their maddeningly emotionless and soft-spoken general manager calls it, not exactly giving up on a competitive season but lowering expectations as they re-establish their minor league player development. But I refuse to give up entirely, for that would defy all elements of my baseball-loving character. 

In these upbeat and reassuring days of spring, I see signs of optimism, as the Cardinals young manager Ollie Marmol and up-and-coming stars to be—Masyn Winn, Jordan Walker, Nolan Gorman, Ivan Herrara, Lars Nootbaar, and Brendan Donovan—talk about a team that may surprise people. The baseball pundits are not buying it. They question the quality of the bullpen and see few bright spots in a starting rotation that includes a washed-up Miles Mikolas and injury-prone Steven Matz. Cynical sportswriters notwithstanding, I have no choice but to believe in these young men who believe in themselves. The alternative is too depressing with such a long season ahead.

For fans of good teams with winning histories and talent-filled rosters, spring baseball inevitably brings visions of a glorious finish, or at least thoughts of what once was and what could be again. I have had the pleasure of that feeling for most of the past two decades. But even now, when the Cardinals are struggling to find out who they are and looking to shed payroll (ahh, the dreaded business side of things), I cannot help but envision the possibility of everything coming together. Oh, how splendid it would be if the Redbirds silenced their critics and competed with the overpriced teams in New York, Los Angeles, and a handful of other cities. Indeed, I would not be a devoted fan if I could not dream a little.

Of course, in February and March, when our baseball senses awaken from the slumber of winter, it is easy to be filled with thoughts of a splendid and magnificent summer. But in less than thirty days, opening day arrives and the bright and cheerful predictions of a new season fade into the abyss of an anxiety-filled 162 game schedule. Sadly, for me, the next six months will define the calendar year as one of celebration or disappointment. Little else will matter as each day brings forth a fresh battle of good versus evil. All else in life becomes secondary.

In following the Cardinals during Grapefruit League play, I am relaxed and carefree. The outcome of each game means nothing, and I can vicariously experience the sights and sounds of baseball in the same manner as my Uncle Joe, a gentle soul who took me to the ballpark when I was a young child and who watched spring training games in the Florida sunshine many years ago. He never seemed upset or overly excited about anything that happened on the ballfield, and his relaxed demeanor was contagious. As I grow older, if truth be told, I cannot fully emulate the moderate temperament of my Uncle Joe. I much prefer it when the Cardinals do well in these meaningless games, but even when they do not, my day continues without feelings of solicitude.

All of that will change when opening day arrives. For now, I am content to watch or listen to two hours of old-style baseball played in the sun on a Winter afternoon. The games will become competitive and serious soon enough. And while my insane passion for the Cardinals may be inexplicable to some people (yes, I know the look) and cause me a great deal of agony in the coming months, whatever happens, my love of baseball will remain a deeply embedded part of my soul. The smell of grass on a summer afternoon and the feel of a leather glove, the seams of a baseball, and the smooth handle of a wooden bat, will remain timeless remnants of my childhood. 

The professional game is so much more advanced and sophisticated than when I was young, a more complex blend of analytics, video, physics, and strength training. It has become a highly specialized sport, and success requires committing at an early age to developing advanced baseball skills at the expense of all else. Professional baseball is about money, endorsements, press relations, high-priced tickets in stadiums filled with loud music and noise. And yet somehow, through it all, the history and romance of the game has not left me. I still love the game and how it makes me feel. For two or three hours on a summer night, time slows down, and we get to experience and watch young and graceful athletes doing something that only a small segment of humanity can do at such an elevated level. 

There remains an awareness that the game itself is timeless. From Ty Cobb and Babe Ruth to the Negro Leagues, from Mel Ott and Bobby Thompson and the players my dad watched at the Polo Grounds in his youth, to Lou Brock and Orlando Cepeda and the heroes of my childhood, to Shohei Ohtani and Aaron Judge and the great players of today’s game, the players move with the same easy flow of cadence and pace. “That is how the game was played in our youth and in our fathers’ youth,” writes Roger Angell, “and even back then—back in the country days—there must have been the feeling that time could be stopped.”

In Defense of Campus Speech and the Need to Build Bridges

One of the most enjoyable aspects of my job at a global investigations firm over the past eighteen years has been working with colleges and universities on a variety of concerns. In many of these matters, I observed first-hand how university presidents must delicately balance the conflicting pressures and demands they face from major donors and powerful alumni, upset parents, headline-grabbing politicians, and government oversight bodies. Nothing compares, however, to the difficulty university presidents have faced since the start of the Israel-Hamas war in trying to balance concerns over academic freedom and free speech with the university’s duty to protect students from intimidation and harassment.

On October 7, 2023, thousands of Hamas terrorists from the Gaza Strip launched a murderous onslaught against the people of Israel. The scope and brutality of the attack shocked Israel and the world. Hamas killed over 1,200 Israelis, injured thousands more, and took hostage over 240 people, including dozens of children and elderly citizens. The attack was the deadliest single attack on the Jewish people since the Holocaust. 

Colleges and universities across the United States deeply felt the impact of October 7, especially universities with substantial Jewish and Arab student populations. Many Jewish students have strong family ties and deep attachments to Israel. The Arab and Muslim communities likewise have family and history directly tied to the traditional land of Palestine. Accordingly, when news reports of the massacre and brutality of the killings and kidnappings filtered in on October 7 and the days and months that followed, and as the Israeli military response resulted in the deaths of over 45,000 Palestinian civilians and the near complete destruction of Gaza, substantial segments of these university communities were emotionally devastated and traumatized.

During the past sixteen months, as the nation’s colleges and universities have experienced increased levels of student activism and protests, we have seen increased levels of antisemitism and Islamophobia worldwide. Accompanying this has been a disturbing increase in antisemitic and Islamophobic comments on social media; violent online threats against the Jewish and Palestinian Arab communities; and widespread concerns over doxing and the suppression of free speech. 

Although most student protest activity has been peaceful and nonviolent, university presidents and their administrations have faced intense pressures to discipline and remove students who engaged in protest activity or participated in Palestine Solidarity encampments. Congressional oversight panels and media outlets have frequently accused universities of tolerating antisemitism and rendering their campuses unsafe for Jewish students, while in most cases ignoring similar concerns expressed by Muslim and Arab students.

Within the past three weeks, the Trump administration has threatened universities with the loss of federal funding if they fail to hold pro-Palestinian protesters accountable for allegedly antisemitic behavior. A recent executive order requires universities to monitor and report international students who participated in anti-Israel protests, and Trump has repeated his campaign promises to deport international students who participated in the protests. According to a White House fact sheet, the administration intends to target “pro-Hamas aliens and left-wing radicals” in “leftist, anti-American colleges and universities” and “demands the removal of resident aliens who violate our laws.” A Justice Department press release announcing the formation of Task Force to Combat Antisemitism said the group’s priority would be “to root out antisemitic harassment in schools and on college campuses.”

The past year has also seen an unprecedented flurry of civil rights lawsuits and Education Department investigations alleging that anti-Zionist and anti-Israel speech displayed or chanted during campus protests is inherently antisemitic and creates a hostile environment for Jewish students. These Title VI lawsuits and investigations rely on a legal theory that equates anti-Zionism and intense criticism of Israel with antisemitism, a theory premised on the belief that many Jews strongly identify with Israel as part of their shared ancestry.

If the above legal actions applied only to students who engaged in physical assaults or intimidation tactics, vandalized Jewish-owned stores, stole mezuzahs from a student’s doorways, discriminated against individual Jews by prohibiting “Zionists” from public spaces on campus, and similar violative behavior, there would be little cause for concern. Students that engage in these sorts of actions should be disciplined and punished. But when the intended targets are students who merely exercised their rights of free speech and lawful protest, these official actions and legal remedies threaten democracy.

By using terms like “pro-Hamas,” “left-wing radicals,” and “leftist” universities, Trump’s rhetoric raises two concerns. First, painting all pro-Palestinian protestors as “pro-Hamas” has been a standard talking point on the right to tarnish the student protestors falsely and unfairly, the vast majority of whom have no sympathy for Hamas. At two separate universities at which I assessed campus protest activity, none of the protestors expressed support for Hamas and the student organizations involved implemented strict rules prohibiting any expressions of antisemitism. The protests at both campuses included a significant number of Jewish participants, and it was common to see a Shabbat service held in the middle of an encampment and similar acts of solidarity. These are not the actions of “pro-Hamas” students or “left-wing radicals.”

Second, Trump’s pronouncements do nothing to combat antisemitism. For instance, the administration has offered no additional resources to enhance security for synagogues and Jewish institutions that have long been targets of anti-Jewish violence from homegrown right-wing extremists, whom Trump has often enabled. And the administration has said nothing to counter the mostly right-wing antisemitic tropes and propaganda trending on social media. Instead, his efforts will only serve to increase anti-Muslim bias and Islamophobia which, along with increased levels of antisemitism, reached record levels in the United States last year.

Trump’s ill-advised approach to combat antisemitism, and legal efforts to conflate anti-Israel speech with antisemitism, threaten free speech and academic freedom. In a free society, the university is a place for wide-ranging expression and debate, where students can explore and analyze provocative theories and express views that others may find misguided or objectionable. It is a place to be challenged and exposed to differing perspectives, even at the risk of discomfort. The appropriate response to disagreeable speech is not to censor or punish, but to challenge, criticize, educate, and persuade. 

Of course, universities may and do impose content-neutral restraints on the time, place, and manner of student protests. Students have no right to interfere with other students’ ability to attend class or study, to defame or threaten, to intimidate or harass, or to incite violence.

For many students and others navigating the Israel-Palestinian conflict, it can be difficult to identify where the line between legitimate political speech and antisemitic hate speech is drawn because many people, including the head of the Anti-Defamation League, which tracks incidents of antisemitism around the world, equate broad criticisms of Israel and anti-Zionist rhetoric with antisemitism. The use by some pro-Palestinian protestors of certain words and phrases like “From the river to the sea, Palestine must be free,” comparisons of Zionism to genocide, references to Israel as a colonial settler movement, and calls for “intifada” are frequently targeted. Such slogans often trigger broad accusations of antisemitism and concern for Jewish safety. 

Like most politically-controversial speech, however, these phrases mean different things to different people. A helpful resource on this issue is The Nexus Leadership Project's A Campus Guide to Identifying Antisemitism in a Time of Perplexity, which was authored by several prominent Jewish leaders, rabbis, and scholars of Jewish and Israel studies. According to these authorities on the topic, the intent of the speaker and context is most determinative of whether the phrase constitutes discriminatory hate speech. These scholars explain that many of these commonly used protest slogans are not inherently antisemitic, however offensive they may be to certain individuals. 

When it comes to emotionally-charged debates on college campuses, efforts to effectively outlaw certain controversial slogans or to punish students who engage in non-violent forms of protest, is the wrong approach. In November 2023, the American Civil Liberties Union sent a letter to the presidents of 650 universities to “reject calls to investigate, disband, or penalize student groups on the basis of their exercise of free speech rights”:

All students deserve equal access to education—free from harassment and discrimination on campus. Schools have a responsibility to address discrimination and harassment wherever it occurs. But the experience of our country’s universities during the McCarthy era demonstrates that ideologically motivated efforts to police speech on campus destroy the foundation on which academic communities are built. A college or university, whether public or private, cannot fulfill its mission as a forum for vigorous debate if its leaders initiate baseless investigations into those who express disfavored or even loathsome views. Such investigations chill speech, foster an atmosphere of mutual suspicion, and betray the spirit of free inquiry, which is based on the power to persuade rather than the power to punish.

People have different levels of tolerance for certain types of speech. Balancing the rights of free speech with the right of people to not be offended is precarious. But there are far better and safer ways to approach the issue than censorship and punishment. From a safety and security perspective, a university’s defense of freedom of expression, combined with increased efforts to educate and inform, to promote respectful dialogue, and to protect the physical safety of all students as they continue to pursue their education, is the most effective response. 

Universities have a responsibility to educate students on when certain speech crosses the line into antisemitism, Islamophobia, or racism. For example, when do expressions of anti-Zionism become antisemitism? How can students speak openly and freely about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and other hot political topics in a manner that remains civil and educational? Using university resources to engage in a balanced and scholarly examination of antisemitism and Islamophobia—and when or whether certain speech crosses a line—can help facilitate productive conversations and promote dialogue. If done with nuance and sensitivity, it can also help student activists better understand what terms and phrases are potentially counter-productive to their cause and hurtful in unintended ways. 

Universities should also provide resources to support small group discussions, interfaith dialogue, and cross-political bridge building. These and similar efforts are far more productive than censorship and punishment. In my work at one university, I observed examples of  students and staff working together to promote understanding and dialogue around politically and emotionally charged issues. Effective bridge building typically occurs on a small scale rather than through large public events and forums. Students can benefit from guidance and direction in how to establish opportunities for understanding and to connect conflict resolution principles to politically volatile environments. 

While it is not the university’s responsibility to make students feel comfortable with differing historical narratives, efforts to promote understanding and provide support can help lessen anxiety over safety concerns. For example, in 2023, Dartmouth College held a series of successful panel discussions between professors from its Jewish Studies and Middle Eastern Studies departments (including Susannah Heschel, a Jewish Studies professor and the daughter of Abraham Joshua Heschel, and Ezzedine Fishere, a Muslim professor of Middle Eastern Studies and a former Egyptian diplomat to Israel). Most universities possess similar in-house expertise and resources, including experts in Middle Eastern, Jewish, and Islamic Studies, mental health counseling, and resources to support interfaith cooperation and dialogue. 

Most campus protests involve young men and women in their late teens and early twenties. Many students are for the first time being exposed to conflicting historical narratives and new and challenging perspectives. College is a time for personal and intellectual growth. Students should be allowed to express themselves freely without fear of punishment, so long as they do not infringe on the rights of others. 

I have been deeply disturbed by the startling rise in antisemitism in recent years—from the right and the left—but there is a right and wrong way to fight anti-Jewish violence and bigotry. To properly counter antisemitism, it is important not to conflate legitimate forms of political protest, including critical speech directed at Israel, with antisemitism. Regardless of how strongly one disagrees with them, falsely accusing most pro-Palestinian protestors as “pro-Hamas” or antisemitic not only ignores the moral passion and sincerity of their cause—the deaths of tens of thousands of civilians, the forcible displacement of two million people, and the destruction of Gaza—but it dilutes the meaning of antisemitism, undermines legitimate efforts to combat it, and threatens the very foundations of a free society.

 

Trump's Assault on the Federal Government Threatens All of US

Federal Safety Inspector for the Food Safety and Inspection Service

I devoted half my career as a lawyer for the Department of Justice, serving as an Assistant United States Attorney for eight years in the District of Columbia and ten years in the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. As a criminal prosecutor in these two federal districts, I had the privilege of working with hundreds of dedicated public servants of all political persuasions, people who took seriously their ethical responsibilities and commitment to the rule of law and the U.S. Constitution. From the moment I first took an oath as a federal prosecutor in 1988, I maintained a printed copy of a quote from U.S. Supreme Court Justice George Sutherland in Berger v. United States, 295 U.S. 88 (1935), which stated in part:

The United States Attorney is the representative not of an ordinary party to a controversy, but of a sovereignty whose obligation to govern impartially is as compelling as its obligation to govern at all; and whose interest, therefore, in a criminal prosecution is not that it shall win a case, but that justice shall be done. As such, [the prosecutor] is in a peculiar and very definite sense the servant of the law, the twofold aim of which is that guilt shall not escape or innocence suffer.

Over the years, my colleagues and I were frequently reminded of the words of former Chief Nuremberg Prosecutor, Attorney General, and Supreme Court Justice Robert Jackson, who told the Second Annual Conference of United States Attorneys in 1940:

A sensitiveness to fair play and sportsmanship is perhaps the best protection against the abuse of power, and the citizen’s safety lies in the prosecutor who tempers zeal with human kindness, who seeks truth and not victims, who serves the law and not factional purposes, and who approaches his task with humility.

Although the President appoints each U.S. Attorney, the entire staff at each office consists of non-political civil servants. In my eighteen years as an AUSA, I worked for Republican and Democratic administrations and served for five separate U.S. Attorneys appointed by four different presidents. I still have the handwritten notes from one of my early training sessions. On the topic of prosecutorial discretion, my notes reflect: “non-political judgments, enforce law – equal application; legislature decides what a crime is – prosecutor decides only whether crime [was] committed & sufficiency of evidence.” 

This dedication to fairness and objectivity was shared by all my colleagues (including my wife, who was a talented and devoted federal prosecutor for 31 years), and by the hundreds of federal law enforcement agents who investigated and developed the evidence in cases assigned to me. I worked closely with countless agents from the FBI, DEA, ATF, the U.S. Postal Inspection Service, Customs, Immigration, IRS, U.S. Secret Service, the U.S. Department of Agriculture, and many local and state law enforcement officers. 

Although my professional responsibilities focused on federal criminal prosecutions, over the years I have become friends and interacted with dozens of career federal employees, from foreign aid workers to diplomats, lawyers, doctors, scientists, economists, researchers, intelligence analysts, air traffic controllers, and many others. In every case, I have been impressed with how sincerely they believed in what they were doing, how much they loved serving their country and the public good. Many were highly specialized and possessed unmatched expertise in their fields. Almost all of them could have made more money in the private sector, but they were driven by a sense of mission and public service.

I point this out to emphasize how disheartening and devastating are the recent actions of Elon Musk and the Trump administration to purge or fire hundreds of experienced career federal employees, and their attempts to coerce the resignations of a large segment of the federal workforce. The day before the tragic air collision between an American Airlines jet and a U.S. Army helicopter that killed sixty-seven people, all air traffic controllers working for the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) received an email from the White House titled “Fork in the Road.” The memo, which was sent to federal employees throughout the country, encouraged the employees to resign and gave them eight days to accept a payout. The memo implicitly threatened that those who did not agree to resign could be fired, noting that “the majority of federal agencies are likely to be downsized through restructurings, realignments, and reductions in force. These actions are likely to include the use of furloughs and the reclassification to at-will status for a substantial number of federal employees.”

As one FAA employee wrote in a letter to the Washington Post, “How do you think this letter would sit with anyone in any job? I will tell you that everyone at the Indianapolis Air Route Traffic Control Center was talking about that email Wednesday” [the day of the accident]. Only days earlier, Trump had fired the head of the Transportation Security Agency and all members of the Aviation Security Advisory Committee, froze hiring of new air traffic controllers, forced out the head of the FAA, and illegally fired the inspector general of the Department of Transportation (along with 17 other inspectors general), a non-partisan position with the sole responsibility of detecting “waste, fraud, and abuse” within federal agencies. Of course, rather than express concern for the victims or address any actual evidence of the accident’s causes, President Trump childishly blamed “DEI” (diversity, equity, and inclusion) on the accident. 

Unfortunately, the Trump/Musk effort to spur mass resignations is only one of many ongoing attacks on federal employees, as Trump seeks retribution against his perceived political enemies, which includes the professional civil service that he so often fantasizes constitute the “deep state.” Trump’s attack on the federal workforce is premised on the notion that the professional civil servants who perform the everyday work of government are either useless “bureaucrats” or people secretly aligned against him. He and Musk believe that they can get rid of most civil servants, regardless of their experience, dedication, and expertise, and permanently shrink the size of government without any consequences. He is gravely mistaken.

Hitting close to home for me is the recent firing of thirty career federal prosecutors by political hack Ed Martin who Trump appointed as the Interim U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia. Martin has never been a prosecutor and most recently served as head of Phyllis Schlafly’s Eagle Forum (i.e., anti-feminist, anti-LGBTQ, ultraconservative). For the past four years he falsely promoted Trump’s claims that he won the 2020 election. Martin dismissed these career prosecutors because they helped successfully prosecute and convict some of the January 6th rioters. He also ordered an internal review of all AUSAs in the office who had any involvement in the 250 cases that charged rioters with obstructing an official proceeding of Congress (a charge that was approved by nearly all federal judges who ruled on the issue until the Supreme Court overturned them on highly questionable legal grounds). Martin has threatened subordinates who criticize his actions, and he is determined to spur an exodus of veteran prosecutors, which will only serve to threaten public safety and create a more docile office less likely to resist Trump’s avowed desire to seek legal retribution against his perceived enemies.

Equally troubling was Trump’s firing of dozens of top-level FBI officials, including the six most senior FBI executives and dozens of Special Agents in Charge of field offices across the country. He has also threatened to purge potentially thousands of agents who had anything to do with the investigations that led to his indictments in Florida and DC or who worked on the investigations resulting in the prosecution of the 1,600 January 6th rioters whom Trump disgracefully pardoned (including 600 violent rioters who attacked and assaulted police officers).

The threats to our democracy, national security, and ability of the federal government to perform the everyday tasks that help ensure the health and safety of the United States, are so vast that they cannot be overstated. As Stacey Young, an 18-year veteran of the Justice Department told the New York Times, “The animus coming from the administration is unprecedented. . . employees are terrified about the stability of their jobs. They’re worried about being fired or transferred or demoted or demeaned or doxed. . . the fear and confusion is palpable and may only grow.” Young, who resigned from her DOJ position, recently formed Justice Connection, a non-profit organization that provides guidance to current employees on legal issues, whistle-blowing, and digital and physical security, among other concerns. 

Along with many Republicans, Trump has long sought to shrink the size of the federal government and restructure it to serve his purposes. He seeks to impose loyalty tests and remove anyone who might disagree with him from the ranks of the civil service. He has reclassified Senior Executive Service employees, some of the most experienced and important members of the federal workforce, as “at will” employees serving at the discretion of the President, thus attempting to strip them of civil service protections. He is attempting to eliminate the appeal rights of a whole range of civil servants should they be fired for no justification. As Joe Davidson of the Washington Post noted, “due process for feds facing discipline or termination is meant to protect not just individual workers from unfair actions, but more broadly and more importantly to protect the public from a government staffed with partisans loyal to a political party or individual instead of to the nation and its Constitution.” Indeed, the harmful narrative that seeks to turn dedicated civil servants into villains threatens the ability of government to function and endangers our democracy.  

The attempted workforce purge is being led by the world’s richest man, Elon Musk, and the “Fork in the Road” email mirrors precisely what he did when he took over and nearly destroyed Twitter/X. Unfortunately, Musk, like Trump, has a vendetta against government regulators and knows nothing of the complexity of the federal government or the importance of maintaining an apolitical workforce that includes a wide-range of technical expertise and experience. Musk intends to ruin the federal government the same way he ruined Twitter – only now the people he is targeting do things that benefit ordinary Americans.

Close to 16% of our federal workforce consists of health care professionals – physicians, nurses, physical therapists, pharmacists, dental officers, veterinarians, and many other public health occupations. Many of these professionals work for the Department of Veterans Affairs, which runs our VA Hospitals, and an assortment of agencies within the Department of Health and Human Services. The federal government employs a significantly higher number of people with advanced degrees than does the private sector. This includes biomedical and cancer researchers at the National Institutes of Health, safety inspectors at the Food and Drug Administration, epidemiologists at the U.S. Centers for Disease Control, and doctors and nurses working for the Health Resources and Services Administration, which provides health care to people who are geographically isolated or economically vulnerable. 

Scientists at the Environmental Protection Agency collect data on air, water, and land quality, identify pollutants, assess environmental risks, and develop solutions to mitigate these risks. Toxicologists, chemists, and product safety engineers at the Consumer Product Safety Commission help keep children’s toys and all the consumer products we buy safe. Safety managers at the Occupational Safety and Health Administration identify workplace hazards, implement preventative measures, train employees, investigate accidents, and promote a culture of safety within the workplace. Nuclear safety regulators have kept our nuclear energy facilities free of fatalities since 1961. The Social Security Administration and the Center for Medicare and Medicaid Services facilitate the services that allow millions of Americans to afford the necessities of life (72 million Americans receive Medicaid; 68 million receive Medicare; and 67 million receive Social Security). The Federal Emergency Management Administration responds to natural disasters. The list goes on and on. 

And it is not only people in the United States who are badly impacted by the Trump/Musk purges. Musk and Trump have set their sights on career staffers at the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID), approximately one hundred of whom were suspended, with more severe personnel and funding cuts expected. President John F. Kennedy formed USAID in November 1961 to place all foreign aid functions under one roof. Since then, the agency has provided desperately needed and life-saving humanitarian assistance to the world’s poorest countries. The work it does supports many nonprofit organizations and enhances the reputation of the United States around the world. USAID provides disaster relief, health services, anti-poverty funding, and technical assistance on a host of issues, and promotes democracy and civil society efforts in Asia, Africa, Latin America, the Middle East, and Eastern Europe. More than three million lives are saved annually through the USAID Immunization Program.

USAID was an instrumental weapon in fighting the Cold War and has more recently helped stem the rising influence of China, which has been increasingly advancing its foreign aid efforts in the developing world. But Chairman Mao, I mean Musk, who has strong financial ties with China, has said that USAID is a “criminal organization” (of course, providing no evidence) and that it is “time for it to die.” Meanwhile, according to the USA Today, “Field hospitals in Thai refugee camps, landmine clearance in war zones, and drugs to treat millions suffering from diseases such as HIV are among the programs at risk of elimination.”

Efforts to enact good faith reforms and improve how efficiently the federal government is managed are always welcome. But it is the job of Congress to enact a budget and appropriate funds, and to approve federal programs. It is an essential function of the democratic process, one that the framers of the Constitution did not delegate to the President, and certainly not to an unelected vengeful billionaire with no security clearance, Congressional vetting, or any government experience. 

Most of the day-to-day work of the federal government is performed by career civil servants who are motivated not by politics, money, or fame but by public interest. When things work well, it is because of the committed and experienced professionals in our federal agencies. Their work is invisible to most people. But if no one prevents Trump and Musk from breaking things just for the hell of it, the damage to our economy, our society, and our way of life, will be immense and irreversible. As Ben Raderstorf of Protect Democracy writes: 

We should aim to make government work better — find ways to recruit more talent; better retain star performers; improve ways of operating and delivering services; enhance transparency and responsiveness. All of those things would make us safer.

That’s not what Trump’s team is doing with the civil service; they are instead working to "dismantle” it because it might stand in the way of their ability to consolidate power. That makes us less safe.

It also makes us much less democratic.

Preaching Truth to Power

In the 1970s, when my dad was Bishop of the New Jersey Lutheran Synod, and a decade later when he was senior pastor of a Lutheran church in northern Virginia that included high-level government officials, he and I talked often about the proper role of the Church in society. Because my dad had to write and preach sermons almost every Sunday, our conversations were mostly about the proper role of the clergy—pastor, priest, rabbi—in addressing issues of public import. When the teachings of one’s faith contradict the established political and social order, to what extent should a sermon risk offending people in power, including wealthy and influential members of the congregation? 

As both a bishop and a parish pastor, my dad knew personally the pressures facing clergy in congregations around the country. He understood the trouble that can arise when a pastor speaks powerfully on a controversial topic or engages in acts of civil disobedience or protest on behalf of a moral cause. When he served in the New Jersey Lutheran Synod (1968-1978), my dad defended several pastors who came under fire in their congregations for publicly protesting or speaking out against the Vietnam War. One pastor in Camden was arrested for publicly burning draft cards. My dad helped a youth leader and others apply for conscientious objector status on religious grounds to avoid the draft. When I was in law school during the Reagan administration, my dad contended frequently with when and how far he should push in addressing what he believed at the time were morally troubling actions of the Reagan administration. This was not a theoretical question, as his congregation included six members of Congress, some of whom strongly supported Reagan, and others who worked for the administration. 

Of course, it was easy for me, sitting in the cheap seats, to say, “Dad, what good is the Church if it does not provide moral leadership on public affairs? If the leaders of the Church do not have the courage to speak out on issues of war and peace, poverty and inequality, discrimination and bigotry, then who will?” I remember the look on my dad’s face during these conversations, a look of despair and conflict. He agreed with me in principle, but said it was complicated and not as easy as it sounds. He was right, of course. Leaders of all professions contend with these concerns all the time. University presidents, for example, are expected to provide bold leadership and guidance to the university community in addressing the complex issues confronting society. But often when they do, they risk offending powerful donors and alumni. 

My dad understood his obligation, as the spiritual leader and public face of his congregation, to speak truth to power and provide sincere guidance based on his understanding of the religious teachings of his faith. He knew it was important to relate those teachings to the issues and concerns of the congregation, even if his views as pastor might offend his congregants. He occasionally had members leave his congregations over the years based on something he said in a sermon. Shortly after my dad became pastor of the northern Virginia church, a visiting Supreme Court Justice (who at the time was one of the most conservative members of the Court) politely told my dad after the service that this was not the right congregation for him. It was just as well. But anyone who thinks it is easy to maintain unity at a church or synagogue while also providing bold and courageous leadership on controversial topics, at least without a forward thinking and supportive congregation, is mistaken.

Last week, the Right Reverend Mariann Edgar Budde, Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington, delivered a soft spoken, yet powerful sermon at the Washington National Cathedral in the presence of President Trump and a host of Washington power brokers. Presiding over a national prayer service, Bishop Budde preached compassionately on the theme of national unity, “the kind of unity that fosters community across diversity and division, a unity that serves the common good.” 

She referenced the Sermon on the Mount and reminded those present that Jesus exhorted his followers “to love not only our neighbors, but to love our enemies, to pray for those who persecute us, to be merciful as God is merciful; to forgive others who forgive us.” This love includes welcoming the outcasts and strangers among us; welcoming the poor, the weak, and the powerless.

She decried “the culture of contempt that has become normalized in this country and threatens to destroy us.” And she spoke about three important foundations of national unity. The first is “honoring the inherent dignity of every human being,” which in public debate “means refusing to mock or discount or demonize those with whom we differ.” The second is “honesty, in both private conversation and public discourse,” which requires that we “speak the truth, even when, especially when, it costs us.” The third is “humility” because “we are most dangerous to ourselves and others when we are persuaded without a doubt that we are absolutely right and someone else is absolutely wrong.”

Acknowledging that unity is not easy in times of division, Bishop Budde implored President Trump, who was seated only a few feet away, to have “mercy” on immigrants and the L.G.B.T.Q. community, people who stand to be disproportionately impacted by the president’s executive orders and his administration’s policies.

Let me make one final plea, Mr. President. Millions have put their trust in you, and as you told the nation yesterday, you felt the providential hand of a loving God. In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are gay, lesbian, and transgender children in Democratic, Republican, and independent families, some who fear for their lives. And the people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings, who labor in poultry farms and meatpacking plants, who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shifts in hospitals. They may not be citizens or have the proper documentation, but the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. 

… I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away, and that you help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here. Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were all once strangers in this land. May God grant us the strength and courage to honor the dignity of every human being, to speak the truth to one another in love, and walk humbly with each other and our God, for the good of all people . . . in this nation and the world.

At a time when political divisions threaten to rip apart the moral foundation of the nation, and when the most vulnerable among us are genuinely afraid for the country’s direction, Bishop Budde simply asked that the nation’s leaders respect our differences, treat people with dignity, speak honestly and with humility, and exercise mercy. These are not radical concepts in a faith founded on concepts of love, forgiveness, and compassion. Any person of faith would have had no issues with the bishop’s message.

It was therefore no surprise that Trump immediately derided the sermon in a post on Truth Social and called Bishop Budde a “Radical Left hard line Trump hater.” He demanded an apology and called the female bishop “nasty” and “not smart” – his favorite insults for women who dare challenge him or question the wisdom of his policies (Vice President Harris of course received the same petulant treatment). Other Trump supporters followed suit, sending insulting and vitriolic messages to the bishop.

Despite their self-proclaimed “Christian” credentials, Trump and his allies who verbally attacked the bishop (Republican Congressman Mike Collins absurdly said Bishop Budde should be deported) only demonstrated that they are profoundly ignorant of their own faith.

The fear to which Bishop Budde spoke is genuine. I know from conversations with my younger daughter and other LGBTQ people with whom I have spoken that many in the LGBTQ community fear that their recently won legal rights and protections may soon be reversed, from protections against discrimination and the right to marry and adopt children. Hopefully, this fear will prove to be unwarranted, but it is real and well-grounded now. And the transgender community, the most vulnerable of United States citizens today, feels that they are being written out of American life, and as of this week derision of their status is officially endorsed in the halls of power. This will  inevitably lead to attacks on their physical safety and an escalation in teen suicides.

It goes without saying that millions of immigrant families who have built meaningful and productive lives in the United States are genuinely afraid that Trump’s promise to implement mass deportations will destroy their lives and break up their families. His recent executive orders to immediately halt the refugee resettlement program and stop those facing political and religious persecution from entering the country, and to end birthright citizenship, a bedrock principle embedded in the Constitution, are not the actions of a compassionate, merciful, or even well-informed president. And his planned mass evictions of immigrants will deprive millions of children and their families with any prospect of dignity and deprive American businesses of access to hard working and law-abiding employees who perform much of the labor American citizens refuse to do. It is indeed important to protect our borders but there have been many bipartisan legislative solutions rejected by Trump that would more equitably balance border security with providing a pathway to citizenship for the millions of undocumented immigrants who have built productive and meaningful lives in this country and who want nothing more than to be fully accountable, patriotic citizens.

As my friend the late Rev. John Steinbruck, a Lutheran pastor who championed the church as a place of refuge where everyone was welcome, told me a few years before he died, many self-proclaimed Christians in the United States misuse and distort their own religious teachings. “We mix religion and patriotism very shrewdly,” he said. “Our society uses the stamp of Jesus to sanctify a system based on inequalities and military might.” He insisted the purpose of the Church (and all religions) is not to make us feel good, but to spur us into action to make the world more just; to impose God’s vision of shalom and justice on Earth. 

“The face of God is in every human being,” he said. “Every human life possesses dignity and demands reverence.” These concepts are the heart of Christianity and Judaism. If Trump expected to hear a different message in Bishop Budde’s sermon last Tuesday, then shame on him. Trump was legitimately elected president and has the right to implement his policies that do not run afoul of the constitution. But it might serve him well to overcome his pettiness and open his heart and mind to the words of thoughtful and compassionate spiritual leaders who know something about the faith he claims to follow. 

 

Wrestling with God in an Age of Doubt

 

When he taught at Union Theological Seminary in the 1960s, the great Jewish theologian Abraham Joshua Heschel said, “If you want to have a well-attended lecture, discuss God and faith.” Since the beginning of human existence, we have longed for a deeper understanding of life, our place in the world and our relationship to the universe, seeking answers to the Big Questions: Does God exist? Why are we here? What is our purpose?

For all my life, I have professed a belief in God, even as I have struggled to understand the nature of God and why God often seems non-existent in a troubled world. Is my belief in God an irrational means of fulfilling an emotional need borne in childhood, or is there really some higher power that allows me to feel on rare occasions God’s presence? 

I was born the son of a Lutheran minister and grew up with an unquestioning acceptance of the teachings of my mainline Protestant faith. In the four decades since, my spiritual journey evolved into a deep affection for liberal Judaism and other more humanistic traditions. The more I study religion and history, the more I am convinced that the world’s many different religious expressions represent humanity’s imperfect attempt to understand God, the universe, and our purpose in life. And yet, I remain conflicted about religion and filled with doubt, about God and the relevance of religion in modern times. 

My confusion may have less to do with God than with humankind’s inability to satisfactorily explain the nature of God in an imperfect world. It may also be due to the propensity of religious institutions to insist on doctrinal certitudes that do not stand the test of time. I am frustrated by how often biblical literalism and religious fundamentalism everywhere drown out the gentler voices of religious reason and compassion. I am equally frustrated by secular society’s failure to appreciate the diversity and beauty of religious expression, and the compelling human need for God, purpose and meaning. 

This past November, I had a thoughtful discussion with my brother-in-law Art who, like many in my wife’s family, are proud secular Jews generally skeptical of formal religious practices. Art exemplifies the rational man of modern times. He is persuaded only by facts, reason, and evidence. “I’m curious about your belief in God,” he stated, non-judgmentally, while I sipped a glass of wine on the outside deck of their Florida condominium. Art was interested in learning why I believe religion continues to have relevance in modern times and why I continue to hold, if not religious convictions, at least a spiritual belief in a higher power. Reminiscent of Heschel’s seminary class, Art wanted to talk about God and faith. 

The most difficult problem for me in explaining why I believe in God starts with language. First, what do we mean by God? Are human beings really created in the image of God, as Judaism and Christianity traditionally teach, or is God a force of nature that humans are incapable of describing or fully understanding? Second, if God exists, why is there suffering and cruelty in the world? What kind of God would allow the devastation of wars, genocide, and other human atrocities? How can one believe in God after the Holocaust and Hiroshima? The questions are endless.

I explained to Art that, from my vantage point, a belief in God in no way conflicts with scientific knowledge and advancement. Religion has nothing to fear from science, as Heschel’s writings explain. Human beings are simply incapable of fully understanding God, whom Heschel describes as “ineffable” or beyond description. Heschel explains that all religious awareness and insight is rooted in “wonder” and “radical amazement.” Thus, evidence of God’s existence is all around us, in the reality and wonder of the universe and the miracle of life itself. 

Art was unmoved. “All of the things you mention,” he countered, “life, the universe, and our surroundings, have scientific origins and explanations.”

“Maybe so,” I said, “but this does not disprove God.” I pointed out that most rational, thoughtful people of faith believe that scientific knowledge, in the words of Heschel, “extends rather than limits the scope of the ineffable, and our radical amazement is enhanced rather than reduced by the advancement of knowledge.” Indeed, two things can be true simultaneously: that which we can measure, quantify, and prove objectively, and that which we experience on a deeper, spiritual level.

“I cannot prove the existence of God,” I said, “any more than someone can prove that God does not exist.” Nevertheless, as I read to Art from my 2009 essay (“In Defense of God: Faith in an Age of Unbelief”):

[W]hen I walk among the stars; when I stare at the moon on a warm summer evening; when I acknowledge the beautiful life presence of my two daughters, I experience God’s presence. When I observe the joy in a young child's heart over the embrace of a grandparent; when I watch the trees sway back and forth on a breezy fall day and feel the moistness of the ocean at my feet; when I experience all of these things, and the multitude of ordinary everyday events, I see, first-hand, evidence of God’s existence.

Art remained unconvinced. I understand. Clearly I am incapable of expressing in language what can only be experienced on a deeper, cosmic level. I suggested that the question of God’s existence is not much different than whether love exists, or the emotional power of music and poetry. Although we try to describe the warmth, passion, and intensity we feel from art and music, we cannot quantify them or prove they are real any more than we can prove that sensing God’s presence is real. 

Art countered that psychology and science provide better and more rational explanations for humankind’s emotional dependency on religion and a belief in God. “Maybe so,” I said. But evidence of God’s existence is all around if people are willing, as Heschel suggests, to open their hearts and minds to the wonder and radical amazement of our lives. The world, the vastness of the universe, the intricacies of life itself—all are so momentous that it seems irrational not to believe in some form of infinite force we call God, which created the universe and set everything in motion. Art’s facial expression revealed that I had not moved the needle for him. 

Fundamentally, I think the best I can do is accept that I am conflicted, caught between faith and rational thought. Perhaps this is what it means to be human. To embrace that doubt is a necessary component of a life that remains open to the advancement of human and scientific knowledge and to the mysterious wonder of the universe. 

If we submit everything to reason our religion will be left with nothing mysterious or supernatural. If we offend the principles of reason our religion will be absurd and ridiculous . . . There are two equally dangerous extremes: to exclude reason, to admit nothing but reason. – Blaise Pascal, Pensées (“Thoughts”) [circa 1660]

*     *    *    *

Many people understandably have given up on the idea of God because there is little evidence of God’s presence in the harsh and cruel world in which we live. How do we relate to a God that allows so much suffering and destruction in the world? It is a question to which I must turn to wiser sages for answers.

In The Triumph of Life: A Narrative Theology of Judaism, Rabbi Irving Greenberg recounted that, while at Tel Aviv University in 1961, his faith was shattered when he immersed himself into the evidence and accounts of the Holocaust. Greenberg could not comprehend how, less than two decades earlier, “such a cruel and catastrophic fate could have been inflicted . . . without any Divine intervention to stop it. . . . If the world was ultimately to live by a moral order, how could God have not intervened?” 

Rabbi Greenberg began a lifelong journey to understand whether religion, including the modern Orthodox Judaism of his upbringing, “had lost all credibility.” He came to believe that the Holocaust happened because the victims were powerless and because the local populations and existing religious order proved incapable of responding to and preventing the atrocities. Indeed, as Greenberg discovered, some people with no faith were more capable than religious people to understand and respond to the Holocaust.

The philosopher Albert Camus, an atheist, described himself yearning and praying in vain for a word from the pope opposing the Final Solution. He expressed his disappointment and disillusion on realizing that being Christian did not make people more likely to support the Resistance. If the Nazis could see themselves as people of faith and see God as integral to their project, if an atheist could understand the absolute need to oppose the horrors of the Final Solution while the pope himself could ignore it, then something must have been wrong with inherited approaches to religion.

Greenberg concluded that we needed a new way of understanding the nature of God and humanity’s relationship with God. After study and reflection, he came to believe that, while God is deeply connected and concerned for humanity, bad things happen because God gave human beings free will and God’s presence is hidden and power self-limited. During the Holocaust, “God was neither absent nor indifferent.” But it is only through human agency, and by humans acting in covenant with God—through acts of kindness, love, and grace—that God’s presence can be felt in this world. It was humanity, not God, that was absent during the Holocaust.

All of us have a conscience, the capacity for love, and the ability to build, create, and uphold life. Thus, every person can repair the world. “Rather than relate to the Divine out of fear, incapacity, or childlike dependency,” wrote Greenberg, “we are to seek God out of our capacity and free will and relate to God out of love and a sense of common cause.” 

Decades before Greenberg, in God in Search of Man: A Philosophy of Judaism, Abraham Joshua Heschel similarly professed that God is in search of human partners to participate in the work of redeeming the world. This, according to Heschel, is the fundamental tenet of a covenant between God and humanity. Heschel believed that God is present in the world but hidden from human perception. “Our task is to bring God back in the world. . . . To have faith is to reveal what is concealed.” Tragically, according to Heschel, “the failure of perception, the inability to apprehend [God] directly is the sad paradox of our religious existence.” 

I appreciate Heschel’s notion of a God who is always present but hidden, waiting in the wings for humanity to make space for and be receptive to God’s revealed presence; to understand that life is a gift, and that God demands something of all of us. Humankind’s thirst for power and material wellbeing, its self-centeredness and indifference to the suffering of others, is our undoing. That God granted us free will and unlimited freedom, and that God does not actively intervene in the world, does not mean there is no God, only that humanity has squandered God’s gift of life. 

But even Greenberg and Heschel cannot fully resolve the tenuous nature of faith itself. To believe in God requires a belief in an unknowable and hidden presence. While concepts like “free will” and a “covenant” between God and humanity to repair the world may explain how God can exist despite untold suffering and despair, Greenberg and Heschel leave unresolved many remaining questions. When does God’s hiddenness become indistinguishable from abandonment? If God’s power is self-limited to allow for human free will, are there no depths of human destruction and cruelty that would compel a God of decency and love to intervene? 

In the end, on whether God continues to be alive and present in the world, and to wherein lies our fate, I must agree with the 17th Century French mathematician, philosopher, and Catholic theologian Blaise Pascal:

Just as I do not know where I came from, so I do not know where I am going. All I know is that when I leave this world I shall fall forever into oblivion, or into the hands of [God], without knowing which of the two will be my lot for eternity. Such is my state of mind, full of weakness and uncertainty. The only conclusion I can draw from all this is that I must pass my days without a thought of trying to find out what is going to happen to me. 

Some Final Thoughts on President Carter

 

“Human kindness has never weakened the stamina or softened the fiber of a free people. A nation does not have to be cruel to be tough.” – Franklin D. Roosevelt

I recall years ago having read an article about John F. Kennedy, Jr., the son of the 35th President of the United States, a few years before he so tragically died at a young age in 1999. What stuck with me, the only thing I remember, was Kennedy reportedly having said that, although he had studied the lives of many great men of history, he had concluded, with some introspection, that a lot of the great men of history were not good men. “People often tell me I could be a great man,” he said. “I would rather be a good man.”

Winston Churchill apparently understood this sentiment when he said, “Good and great are seldom in the same man.” To be considered great in the eyes of history, one needs to leave a legacy of accomplishment that positively impacts future generations. Napoleon Bonaparte was a brilliant military tactician who led the French Republic in volatile times. Thomas Jefferson authored the Virginia Declaration of Rights and much of the Declaration of Independence. Pablo Picasso was among the most influential artists of the 20th century. Henry Ford automated the assembly line and made cars affordable for the middle class. Robert Moses built the parks, bridges, and roadways of modern New York. But accomplishing great things often involves a singularity of mind and purpose at the expense of everything else that matters – family, moral and ethical considerations, the people who get in the way, anyone or thing that does not advance the greatness of the man himself. 

With the death of President James Earl “Jimmy” Carter, the world has lost a good person who accomplished many great things over the course of his lifetime. That he did so without compromising his fundamental decency and goodness is what sets him apart. I have written previously about how many of us have fundamentally underestimated the accomplishments of Carter’s term as President (1977-1981), which included successfully brokering peace between Israel and Egypt—a peace that has lasted 45 years; elevating human rights as an instrument of U.S. foreign policy; leading efforts to ratify the Panama Canal Treaty; establishing the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum; and instituting forward looking environmental and consumer protections that remain to this day. He did all these things in one term despite, at times, vicious political opposition. And, although the press and political pundits unfairly labeled him a failed and inept president, his many achievements in office materially improved the lives of Americans and our standing in the world for generations to come. 

Of course, Carter’s true greatness became most apparent in his post-presidential life, when he quietly and with humility showed compassion for people who had few possessions, no power, and little money; people who were without a home, or who suffered from hunger and disease. The Carter Center helped eradicate diseases in Africa and established village-based health care delivery systems in thousands of African communities. The former president personally monitored and ensured free and fair elections in dozens of countries and mediated peaceful solutions to some of the world’s most intractable foreign conflicts. Through his work with Habitat for Humanity, he and Rosalynn devoted thousands of hours to building houses for impoverished families. And he did all of it without daily press releases and photographers.

It has been gratifying to see and read about the many tributes to President Carter that are finally giving him his due. But I believe two aspects of Carter’s life and presidency that deserve more attention are his political courage and fundamental honesty. Jimmy Carter was that rare leader who believed in telling the truth, even if it hurt him politically. According to Stuart Eizenstat in President Carter: The White House Years (St. Martin’s Press, 2018), the least effective argument Carter’s aids could make to convince Carter not to do something was to say, “It will hurt politically.” Take, for example, Carter’s “Crisis of Confidence” speech in July 1979, when he addressed the nation during the peak of the energy crisis. This was at a time when Americans were experiencing long gas lines, rising prices, and exorbitant interest rates. Stories abounded about America in decline. It was during the “me decade” when appeals to self-interest and political apathy were at all-time highs, and the nation seemed directionless. 

In the speech, Carter contended that the biggest threat facing America was not to the strength of our economy or military might, but to a “crisis of confidence. . . . that strikes at the very heart and soul and spirit of our national will. We can see this crisis in the growing doubt about the meaning of our own lives and in the loss of a unity of purpose for our Nation.” Carter explained that “too many of us now tend to worship self-indulgence and consumption” and we are “no longer defined by what one does, but by what one owns.” He argued that materialism and consumption cannot “satisfy our longing for meaning” and “piling up material goods cannot fill the emptiness of lives which have no confidence or purpose.” He cited the growing disrespect for the institutions of American life, for government, schools, religious establishments, and the news media. 

He spoke with a directness not typical of presidential speeches; “people are looking for honest answers, not easy answers; clear leadership, not false claims and evasiveness and politics as usual.” He challenged Americans to make necessary sacrifices to conserve energy and help America become energy independent. He called on Americans to reject self-interest, to avoid always seeking “some advantage over others” and to instead pursue “the path of common purpose and the restoration of American values.” He did not promise “a quick way out of our Nation’s problems” and correctly warned “there are no short-term solutions to our long-range problems. There is simply no way to avoid sacrifice.”

Although the speech was initially praised, within days it was dubbed the “malaise” speech (even though that word was never uttered by Carter) and the political opposition easily exploited what any student of politics would describe as Carter’s political naivete. Although the speech was honest and attempted to appeal to the better angels of our nature, it was bad politics. Indeed, it was likely the last time an American president will ever again call for shared national sacrifice or for placing the common good over individual gain. The days when an American president could “[a]sk not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country,” as JFK so eloquently stated at his 1961 inaugural address, are over.

By honestly acknowledging the real problems then confronting our country, and by urging Americans to confront deeper truths about ourselves to fix those problems, Carter said what no politician should ever say. Had the country embraced the ideas Carter set forth in that speech and been open to concepts of shared national sacrifice and appeals to the common good, we may have solved some of today’s lingering problems and toned down the divisiveness and demonization of others. But the fault, dear Brutus, lay not in Carter’s honesty, but in ourselves. It seems we wanted only to hear that “it is morning again in America” or, as in more recent times, a falsely dystopian view of the country in chaos followed by promises to restore American greatness.

Carter was also willing to state unpopular truths in the cause of peace, even at the risk of causing discomfort. In December 2002, Carter received the Nobel Peace Prize while the nation was still healing from the 9/11 attacks, American troops were actively fighting in Afghanistan, and many advisors in the Bush administration were calling for war in Iraq. Carter provided another path:

War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other’s children. The bond of our common humanity is stronger than the divisiveness of our fears and prejudices. God gives us the capacity for choice. We can choose to alleviate suffering. We can choose to work together for peace. We can make these changes, and we must. 

Many people were angry at Carter for these comments, believing they undermined America’s war plans. But years later, after U.S. forces had unleashed unprovoked devastation and destruction on Iraq (a country not responsible for 9/11) and after a 23-year war in Afghanistan, it is fair to ask: Did we accomplish anything? Is the world a safer place, a more just place? Has anything really changed, and at what cost?

As the president whose persistence, mindfulness, and knowledge of history were instrumental in brokering peace between Israel and Egypt, Carter remained committed to a peaceful resolution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. In 2006, Carter published Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid (Simon & Schuster 2006), in which he contended that Israel’s settlement expansion and treatment of Palestinians in the occupied territories was a primary obstacle to peace. The book’s provocative title caused great controversy and resentment in Israel and much of the American Jewish community. Many critics unfairly called him anti-Israel, and some called him antisemitic. 

Critics of the book, however, frequently misunderstood the essence of Carter’s argument, which was not that pre-1967 Israel was a form of apartheid (he called Israel within its internationally recognized borders a “wonderful democracy” that guaranteed everyone, Israeli Arabs and Jews alike, equal rights under the law). Instead, Carter’s book forewarned that Israel risked becoming an apartheid state if it permanently occupied millions of Palestinians who were deprived of the rights of citizenship and legal protections that were afforded to Jewish settlers and other Israeli citizens within the Green Line. Carter courageously described Israel’s treatment of Palestinians, including the bulldozing of Palestinian homes, the dual system of justice in the occupied territories, one for Palestinians and one for settlers, and many other aspects of the occupation of which most Americans were not aware. He also set forth three fundamental conditions for peace, none of which should be controversial: (1) that Palestinians and other Arab countries grant Israel full recognition; (2) that Palestinians end all violence and terrorism against Israeli civilians; and (3) that Israel recognize the right of Palestinians to live in peace and dignity in their own land (i.e., a two-state solution). 

According to Nadav Tamir in The Times of Israel, “Carter posed an equation that many here have since internalized: without peace, the occupation turns Israel into an apartheid state, where two different legal systems exist for people living in the same territory.” In fact, Carter’s words were prophetic and honest assessments of the realities on the ground. He understood that the well-being of Israelis and Palestinians are irretrievably connected; and that the two-state solution, in the words of Tamir, “is the only way to ensure both the continued existence of Israel as a Jewish and democratic state and the rights of the Palestinians.” 

Carter understood two decades ago what the majority of American Jews and Israel’s supporters now more openly acknowledge, that Israel’s continued occupation of millions of Palestinians poses an existential threat to Israel itself. Israel can either occupy all of Palestine and deprive millions of Palestinians the rights of statehood, at the expense of Israel’s democratic character, or it can grant equal rights to all Palestinians at the expense of Israel’s Jewish status. Only a two-state solution that guarantees Israel’s security while respecting the right of self-determination for the Palestinian people, will enable Israel to remain both majority Jewish and democratic. As Jeremy Ben-Ami, founder and president of J Street, the liberal pro-Israel advocacy group, wrote in The Forward, “This is the existential conundrum that Carter was trying to get Israel’s supporters to face up to after his decades of work to resolve the conflict, both as president and in his subsequent career. Almost 20 years later, the choice he articulated still has to be made; there is no way out of doing so.”  

Despite enduring harshly unfair personal attacks and criticism, Carter never wavered in stating what needed to be said in the pursuit of peace. He welcomed debate and was not afraid to admit mistakes. He was never a politician in the traditional sense. If he were, he would never have given the “crisis of confidence” speech in 1979 and would never have linked the word “apartheid” to the Israeli occupation of Palestine in 2006. But these were painful truths borne out in time, even if one disagrees with his prescriptive remedies. Guided by his faith and sense of justice, he spoke courageously and honestly. He had a counter-cultural instinct that sometimes left him alone in the wilderness. But throughout his long life, Jimmy Carter remained forever humble, decent, and compassionate, and never wavered in his commitment to a better world for all.

Rest in peace, Mr. President. May your memory be a blessing.

Returning to the Contemplative Life

 

"Education begins the gentleman, but reading, good company, and reflection must finish him." -- John Locke

In September 1977, my parents dropped me off at Wittenberg University in southwestern Ohio and thus began a life independent of my family upbringing. For the next four years, I pursued a liberal arts education, sampling introductory courses in psychology, the physical sciences, history, and literature; and I explored more deeply the theoretical underpinnings of economics and the practical craft of accounting. Although I did not fully appreciate it then, my college years began what has become a lifelong quest for learning and desire to better understand the world around me. 

It was perhaps this same desire to learn and remain curious, coupled with freedom of thought and speech, which led the authors of the Declaration of Independence to include “the pursuit of happiness” as among the unalienable rights and self-evident truths that were rudimentary to the aspirational ideals of a national movement. 

Noble ideals notwithstanding, upon graduating college I had no choice but to pay the bills associated with independence and adulthood. And thus, for the next forty-four years, my introspective life obligingly coexisted with a life of labor. I puzzled over the desire to balance a life of the mind while actively engaging with commerce, the physical world, and the people and places I encountered.

It would take time to achieve that balance. In my first job after college, I worked as an underutilized, entry-level accountant at an oil services company in Houston, Texas. It was boring and unfulfilling work. The best part of each day was sneaking away to the nearby news stand to read the latest copies of The New Republic, The Economist, Time and Newsweek, and spending lunch hour at the local bookstore perusing tomes on history, politics, and current events. I was hungry for knowledge and filled with a desire to participate meaningfully in the world arena, which seemed light years apart from my mundane existence in a dead-end job.

So, in August 1982, I packed my belongings into a gas guzzling 1975 Chrysler Cordoba (yes, with Corinthian leather seats) and drove 1,400 miles to Washington, DC, to attend law school at George Washington University. Law school in the nation’s capital was a perfect antidote to my uninspired year in Houston. To me, Washington was a magical city filled with monuments and memorials marking key moments and leading figures in American history, world renowned museums with free admission, and rows of majestic buildings representing the institutions of democracy and the rule of law. I quickly discovered that my classmates were equally interested in politics and government, and most were critical of the Reagan Revolution, an anti-government backlash to the New Deal and Great Society that had dominated American politics for the previous 50 years. The academic elements of law school were a welcome respite from my prior 9-to-5 existence as an accountant, and law school balanced theoretical learning with the practical realities of earning a living in a consequential profession.

When I graduated law school three years later, I embarked on a career that proved to be as enriching and fulfilling as any I could have realistically hoped for. Starting out as a judicial law clerk to Judge John A. Terry of the District of Columbia Court of Appeals, I learned firsthand how the law impacted every aspect of society, from simple contract disputes that threatened the existence of livelihoods and businesses to critical issues of criminal procedure that determined whether someone was freed or remained imprisoned. I examined government regulations designed to protect societal interests and helped assess whether the imposed rules rationally advanced the intended objectives or arbitrarily harmed individuals and businesses. And I became more deeply aware of the fights for gay rights, women’s equality, and reproductive freedom. In a seminal case decided that year, I quietly advocated in the judge’s chambers for Judge Terry to join with other members of the court in ruling that Georgetown University’s refusal to recognize a gay student group violated the DC Human Rights Act, which prohibited discrimination based on sexual orientation. It was a heady time for me, living and working in the nation’s capital and dreaming of someday playing a meaningful role.

By now, I knew I wanted to be a prosecutor. Judge Terry had been Chief of Appeals at the US Attorney’s Office in DC before being appointed as a judge, and I had interned with the office during the summer of 1983; happily, I received a job offer in the spring of 1986 to start as an Assistant U.S. Attorney once my clerkship ended. But conservative hardball politics intervened when Congress placed a hiring freeze on all government offices in a misguided effort to reduce government spending without regard for the things that people needed (including criminal law enforcement in a city that then led the nation in murders and violent crime). This setback led me on a two-year detour into private law practice at the firm of Dickstein, Shapiro & Morin. There I worked with dynamic and charismatic lawyers in a firm that started in the late 1940s defending individuals accused of violating government loyalty oaths imposed by the Truman administration. It eventually grew into one of the few established DC law firms that represented labor unions while also developing a corporate litigation practice. 

Shortly after I joined the firm, I was assigned to work with senior partner Leonard Garment, formerly President Nixon’s White House Counsel, and junior partner Scooter Libby, who would 20 years later be convicted in the Valerie Plame leak scandal while he was Chief of Staff to Vice President Dick Cheyney. In the 1980s, Garment was a Republican version of Clark Clifford, the lawyer high-level government officials turned to when under investigation. In a prior life, Garment played saxophone for the Benny Goodman Band, and he was a colorful storyteller that attracted powerful clients. It was common to see such figures as former Attorney General Ed Meese or former National Security Advisor Robert McFarlane exit an elevator and head towards Garment’s office (this was during the Iran-Contra scandal and other ethical lapses in the Reagan administration). 

Garment also represented fugitive commodities trader Marc Rich, who had fled to Switzerland to evade federal tax evasion charges filed by then US Attorney Rudy Giuliani of the Southern District of New York. I spent many late nights researching legal theories and examining documents in an attempt to defend Rich, who ironically had been the subject of an article I had published in the George Washington Journal of Law and Economics during my second year of law school (the article reflected my prosecutorial bias and was not favorable to Rich’s hoped for legal defense, but Garment and Libby liked that I was intricately familiar with the indictment and relevant legal issues when they asked me to work on the case, a topic for another time). Overall, my two years with Dickstein Shapiro were interesting and enjoyable, but private practice was profit driven and (appropriately) focused on a client’s individual interests irrespective of the public interest, which did not satisfy my public service ideals. I also knew that it might be years, if ever, before I managed my own cases or learned the ins and outs of a courtroom, which hardened my desire to join a big city prosecutor’s office and handle cases for which I was solely responsible.

Thus, in October 1988, the hiring freeze ended, I began an 18-year career as an Assistant United States Attorney, first in the District of Columbia and later in the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. As a criminal prosecutor, I tried close to fifty criminal jury trials and argued dozens of cases on appeal. I prosecuted everything from drug dealing and money laundering to armed robbery, murder, rape, racketeering, violent drug gangs, and a variety of white-collar crimes. It was an exciting and fascinating career, in which I did every day what most people experience only in books and movies. I confronted elements of life to which most other lawyers and professionals do not encounter, navigating a world of criminals and crime victims, police officers and federal agents, colorful defense counsel, shady witnesses, and occasionally grumpy judges and skeptical juries.

As much as I loved life as a prosecutor, constant exposure to the underbelly of society takes its toll. My last trial in federal court involved a major drug kingpin named Kaboni Savage. After leading a two-year federal grand jury investigation that included FBI wiretaps and search warrants, I indicted Savage and nineteen co-defendants in a multi-year cocaine dealing and money laundering conspiracy. Shortly after Savage’s arrest, while jailed at the Federal Detention Center in Philadelphia, he ordered a hit on the family of cooperating witness Eugene Coleman, a long-time drug associate of Savage’s who had turned state’s evidence and was in the witness protection program. On the night of October 9, 2004, two Savage associates firebombed a north Philadelphia rowhouse causing the house to erupt in flames. Six people died that night, including Coleman’s mother, fifteen-month-old son, Coleman’s cousin and her three children. It shook my world. Although Savage was convicted at trial and sentenced to a lengthy prison term (several years later he was held responsible for the firebombing of Colemans’ family and six other murders and sentenced to death, although President Biden recently commuted the sentence to life without parole), I decided it was time for a change. 

In September 2006, I reluctantly left the job of my dreams and the career I had intended to stay in for life, and joined Kroll, a global investigations firm. Although I knew almost nothing about Kroll when I was a offered a job there, it seemed like a good transition from being a prosecutor, for I would continue to investigate alleged wrongdoing, mostly in a corporate context, and my mission would remain committed to searching for the truth without a preconceived agenda, bias, or concern for where the facts and evidence may lead. I could live with that. 

As a former prosecutor who entered the private sector reluctantly, I happily discovered that much of Kroll’s work involved investigating and preventing corporate fraud and wrongdoing. I quickly became involved in some of the firm’s most interesting matters, investigating alleged misconduct by North Carolina State Troopers, date rapes and sexual assaults at colleges and universities, an admissions scandal at the University of Texas, an off campus shooting by a University of Cincinnati Police Officer, multi-million-dollar corporate embezzlement schemes, leaks of confidential information, and death threats directed at corporate executives. Among my most impactful work were police department reviews designed to help the departments better perform their duties consistent with best practices and 21st Century policing techniques that focused on community engagement, critical thinking, and empathetic policing. When properly implemented, these techniques reduce unlawful uses of force and enhance public trust and police legitimacy. 

Although I may not have changed the world, and I never held higher office, I never again experienced the boredom of my uninspired year as a low-level accountant in Houston. Of course, such a work-focused life does not permit one to reflect on the things that truly matter, and it compromises quality time with family. I frequently asked myself if it was even possible to live a truly balanced life. When my first marriage ended in divorce, I became more intentional with the time I spent with my children, and I prioritized fatherhood in ways that made me a better person. When I met the woman to whom I am currently married, I understood finally the beauty of a sincere and loving relationship. As my youthfulness faded and I realized how limited is our time on this planet, I began to write and reflect more deeply about things that matter.

Starting in 2008, I created this blog and wrote consistently for nine years. Although it was sometimes difficult to write while also balancing a demanding job with my responsibilities as a father, I am grateful that I found a way to “do it all.” Eventually, the money-making pressures of the “business” I was in (this is what most distinguishes the private sector from public service) caused me to cut back on the time I had to reflect, think, and write. But now, after 40 years of working non-stop since I graduated law school, I have decided it is time to slow down. 

In October, I retired and left for a two-week trip to France with Andrea, leaving my laptop and work life behind. After walking the streets of Paris, experiencing wine tastings in southern France, and feasting on elegant French cuisine, I am eager to return to the contemplative life. While I may be foregoing my prior pressure-filled life of labor and work, I do not intend to become a man of leisure. Instead, I intend to think more deeply about life in all its dimensions, the nature of the universe and our place within it; about people who inspire me, and what we can continue to learn from history, art and poetry, and, for me, at least, from baseball.

So, I am back with the hopeful determination to again write and post essays on this blog that will help me think about and analyze the issues and events on my mind, and which, I hope, will modestly enhance the lives of my readers. Thank you for joining me on this continued journey, and may the new year bring us all more joy, reflection, and kindness.

“Let us read and let us dance. These two amusements will never do any harm to the world.” – Voltaire