Today, voters in Alabama will go to the polls to elect the Senator who will replace Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III, who resigned earlier this year to become the Attorney General. The candidates are Democrat Doug Jones and Republican Roy Moore.
Jones is a former U.S. Attorney who is most famous for having prosecuted two of the four Ku Klux Klan members who, on September 15, 1963, bombed the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, killing four young girls and injuring 22 other people. (A third was convicted in 1977, and the fourth died in 1994.) Jones is a standard-issue moderate Alabama Democrat.
Moore is a twice-former Alabama Supreme Court justice. For more than two decades, Moore has been a darling of the radical Right, primarily because of his positions on abortion, the Ten Commandments, and other dog-whistle issues that have made him a politically popular public figure in Alabama. He became the Republican nominee in a recent primary, besting the incumbent appointee, Luther Strange, in a runoff despite Strange's receiving the endorsement of President Buffoon* for the nomination.
* - As a reminder, I do not use the name of the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in this blog or elsewhere.
This race has attracted a great deal of attention because nine women have publicly accused Moore of having pursued sexual relationships with them when they were teenagers and he was in his early 30s, in the 1970s and early 1980s. One woman, Leigh Corfman, accused Moore of having sexually assaulted her when she was just 14 years old. As those claims were investigated, it became known that Moore was banned from the Gadsden Mall in his hometown, Gadsden, Ala., in the early 1980s because he was repeatedly hitting on teenage girls there.
Now, you might expect that an election in which one of the candidates was credibly accused of being an aggressive pedophile would not be a close one. But this is Alabama. Recent polls show that most conservative Alabamans don't believe the allegations against Moore, despite his essentially having acknowledged that he liked to date very young girls at that time. Those who do believe them have, in some cases, suggested that there was nothing particularly inappropriate about the practice. (The age of consent in Alabama is 16.) One man who participated in a focus group run by Republican pollster Frank Luntz bragged that his grandmother was married at 13 and "had two kids and a job at 15." Many conservative Alabamans believe that Moore's accusers are being paid to make up stories about him.
It is an unfortunate fact of electoral life that white evangelical voters, who make up a substantial portion of the Alabama electorate, care primarily about one issue. That issue, of course, is abortion. Doug Jones thinks that the abortion laws ought to stay exactly as they are. He has been (falsely) accused of supporting the right to choose an abortion up to the moment of birth. Moore, by contrast, is an anti-abortion extremist. I have been unable to ascertain whether there are any circumstances under which he would think an abortion should be legal. (Presumably he believes that if you rape a 14-year-old girl and she gets pregnant, abortion should be an option as long as you can afford to pay for it. But I don't think he would say so publicly.)
So, for that reason, I fully expect the returns on Tuesday night to show Moore winning a close election.
Which is a shame, because—apart from his being a probable pedophile who sexually assaulted a 14-year-old girl he encountered because she was involved in a custody situation—he's a genuinely terrible human being.
We can have political disputes about all manner of issues. I am unapologetically liberal on most issues, but I believe that you can take conservative positions on issues and not be a terrible human being. Still, there are some things about which there can be no legitimate debate. One of those things is the rule of law. There have been many Supreme Court decisions with which I have disagreed, but if I were responsible for enforcing those decisions, I would do so, because we must all submit to the law as it stands, and the Supreme Court decides where the law stands unless, and until, their opinion is superseded by a Constitutional amendment. This is how our system works.
But Roy Moore obviously doesn't believe in the rule of law, and that makes him a terrible lawyer, a terrible judge, and a terrible human being—and it will make him a terrible Senator as well.
In 2001, the American Civil Liberties Union sued Moore, then chief justice of the Alabama Supreme Court, seeking the removal of an outsize marble monument to the Ten Commandments that Moore had ordered placed in the rotunda of the Alabama Supreme Court building. After a 2002 trial, a federal judge ordered Moore to remove the monument. Moore appealed, and the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Eleventh Circuit affirmed the lower court's decision. Moore refused to comply. Only after the district judge threatened the State of Alabama with a $5,000-per-day fine for contempt of court did the other 8 members of the Alabama Supreme Court vote to overrule Moore's order. Moore was removed from the bench by a special court that polices the Alabama judiciary.
Voters returned him to the Alabama Supreme Court in 2013, just as the U.S. Supreme Court was taking up the marriage equality cases. After Obergefell v. Hodges was decided, making marriage equality the law of the land everywhere in the U.S., Moore issued an order directing all of the state's probate judges to continue to refuse to issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples.
In response, in May 2016, the Alabama Court of the Judiciary issued an order suspending Moore from hearing cases, the first step toward his removal. Moore appealed the order, but lost, then resigned earlier this year to campaign for the Senate seat he now seeks.
There is a long history of civil disobedience in Alabama. Some of the great and courageous acts of civil disobedience happened there. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., wrote one of the great pieces of protest literature, "Letter from Birmingham Jail," from there. Perhaps his most famous line from that document was "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere."
But when a person is an elected official, such as Moore was when he defied a court order to remove the Ten Commandments monument, and such as Moore was again when he defied the Supreme Court's holding that bans on same-sex marriage are unconstitutional, that person owes an obligation to respect the rule of law. An elected official who ignores the law creates injustice on two counts: first, by holding himself and his political views above the law, and second, by creating disrespect for the law among his constituents. Elected officials are constrained to work for reform within the system; if they cannot do so, they must exit the system.
I cannot imagine that Roy Moore, when he was a judge, would be sympathetic to anyone who displayed contempt for his authority or orders. But he expected sympathy for his contempt of other courts. That's just garden-variety hypocrisy.
As I said above, I expect that Moore will win this election. And that's a shame.
Tuesday, December 12, 2017
Saturday, December 2, 2017
In memoriam
The evening of March 17, 2004, I was working in Raleigh. I received a call from Michelle to tell me that on her way to pick up dinner she had seen a small dog—a pug—in the road, staring down cars. On her way back, he stared down her car again, so she stopped. He ran under the car, and it took about half an hour and the meat from her Big Mac to coax him out. She took him home and examined him. He was so thin that you could feel every bone in his back. His feet were bloody. She fed him some Puppy Chow and, because it was a warm night, she put him on our screen porch for the night.
The next day, she took him to the vet. The bloody feet were because of a mite infestation. His facial wrinkles bore signs of infection. And he had heartworms. But everything he had, said the vet, was fixable.
Ironically, we had been planning to use that year's tax refund to build a fence so we could get a dog. Instead, we paid for the treatments.
Michelle wanted him to have a strong name, so she settled on Jax. I said that he needed a proper name, so he became "Jackson Tiberius Harrington." For about six months, I was cool to him. I'm sorry to say that I resented him for being expensive to treat, and because he wasn't housetrained, and because he was another mouth to feed at a time when I was growing very weary of big law firm practice and aching to do something different.
In time, he recovered. As he got his muscle tone back, he was able to climb the stairs and--eventually--to jump, even onto the high bed we had at the time. And I grew to love him.
I know that everyone thinks their dog is special. But ours truly was. He was exceptionally tough, because he had managed to survive alone for God-knows how long before he found us. He was smart. He seemed to understand English better than most dogs. He was always--ALWAYS--on security duty, alerting us whenever some threat appeared, real or imagined.
He had a strong antipathy for thin men. We thought that perhaps in his early life he'd been abused by a thin man, maybe even kicked with a boot. He had a funny-looking rib that stuck out like it had been broken and had healed funny.
But he loved women. He became Michelle's personal bodyguard. Once, early on, she was walking him in the next neighborhood over when a black lab came bounding down the street, dragging a broken chain behind him. The lab, excited to be free and ready to play, put his paws on Michelle's chest. It was a scary moment, mostly because Jax was ready to fight this dog that was 5 times his size.
And he loved babies. Whenever he could, he would lick babies' toes. He was gentle with them and responded to their cries.
About 9 or 10 years ago, he was sitting on the couch, and he didn't seem like himself. I reached over to pet him and he yelped. We took him to the vet, who took x-rays and diagnosed a probable herniated disc. It was then that we learned there are such things as veterinary neurologists. We took him to one, who said that it was a serious problem but that it could be fixed with an expensive surgery. It didn't cross our minds that it would be the end, so we got out the checkbook. A few weeks later, he was fully recovered, and even though the neurologist had warned us not to let him jump, Jax was unpersuaded.
After all, he was the dog who, the day after he was neutered, found a two-pound dumbbell and was carrying it around in his mouth, like a bone. This is the canine equivalent, I think, of jogging home from your vasectomy.
He was gregarious. One day, we were in the living room. Michelle asked me to toss her a Hershey's milk chocolate nugget. My throw was errant, and Jax pounced. He snapped up the chocolate, then, when we started yelling, ran up the stairs with it. As we begged him to drop it, he look a look at us, smiled, then furiously chewed it up, wrapper and all, before we could get to him.
He was a pizza thief, too.
The best incident, however, was when we had laid out a five-pound roast to thaw while we ran some errands. When we returned, it looked like a crime scene. Evidently, one of the cats had pulled the roast off the counter. Jax was having none of that; he dragged the roast, by now dripping blood, across the kitchen, to the dining room, and under the table, where he fiercely defended the meat from the cats' advances. He was so proud of what he'd done that we couldn't even be mad.
Jax was a survivor of heartworms, a herniated disc, a perforated cornea that required surgery by a veterinary ophthalmologist, degenerative myelopathy (essentially ALS for dogs), and a popped-out eyeball (not the bad one, unfortunately) that eventually had to be removed, too. Even with half an eye, however, he still had great vision. It barely slowed him down.
He was our constant companion, always wanting to be near us. I work from home most days, and Jax was usually next to me when I was at my desk. When one of us was in the bathroom, he took up a security position with his back to the bathroom door, ready to protect us at our most vulnerable.
A few weeks ago, we began to notice him breathing hard, often without any apparent cause. After one particularly bad night, I took him to the vet. A chest x-ray revealed the probable cause of his trouble: His heart was twice the size it should've been, so big that it was crowding out his lungs. The vet gave him a steroid shot and antibiotics, hoping that it would give him some relief, but it didn't get any better.
Last night, he coughed and coughed and couldn't catch his breath. About 6 a.m. he asked to go out, so Michelle took him out. When they came back, Michelle said, "I think it's time." And it was. He was clearly in pain, scared, and unable to function as the dog we'd known for so long. When the vet opened, I called for an appointment. 9:30, they said. Earlier than I'd expected. Michelle quickly grilled him a cheeseburger, which he ate hungrily and happily even though we were torn up and crying. Wracked with grief, we began to second-guess ourselves, but in the end, we drove him to the vet and held him as the vet ended his suffering.
There are many upsides to bringing a dog into your family. Companionship, unconditional love, the fact that all they want is to be fed and watered and to be loved. The downside is that you outlive them, and when it's time, all the years of pleasure and happiness get balanced out in one cruel moment.
Jackson Tiberius Harrington was a part of our family for 13 years, 8 months, and 15 days. We don't know how old he was when he found us--at least a year, maybe two. He was the best dog I've ever had. And I don't know if there is any better eulogy for a dog.
The next day, she took him to the vet. The bloody feet were because of a mite infestation. His facial wrinkles bore signs of infection. And he had heartworms. But everything he had, said the vet, was fixable.
Ironically, we had been planning to use that year's tax refund to build a fence so we could get a dog. Instead, we paid for the treatments.
 |
| Jax, early in our relationship |
In time, he recovered. As he got his muscle tone back, he was able to climb the stairs and--eventually--to jump, even onto the high bed we had at the time. And I grew to love him.
I know that everyone thinks their dog is special. But ours truly was. He was exceptionally tough, because he had managed to survive alone for God-knows how long before he found us. He was smart. He seemed to understand English better than most dogs. He was always--ALWAYS--on security duty, alerting us whenever some threat appeared, real or imagined.
He had a strong antipathy for thin men. We thought that perhaps in his early life he'd been abused by a thin man, maybe even kicked with a boot. He had a funny-looking rib that stuck out like it had been broken and had healed funny.
But he loved women. He became Michelle's personal bodyguard. Once, early on, she was walking him in the next neighborhood over when a black lab came bounding down the street, dragging a broken chain behind him. The lab, excited to be free and ready to play, put his paws on Michelle's chest. It was a scary moment, mostly because Jax was ready to fight this dog that was 5 times his size.
And he loved babies. Whenever he could, he would lick babies' toes. He was gentle with them and responded to their cries.
About 9 or 10 years ago, he was sitting on the couch, and he didn't seem like himself. I reached over to pet him and he yelped. We took him to the vet, who took x-rays and diagnosed a probable herniated disc. It was then that we learned there are such things as veterinary neurologists. We took him to one, who said that it was a serious problem but that it could be fixed with an expensive surgery. It didn't cross our minds that it would be the end, so we got out the checkbook. A few weeks later, he was fully recovered, and even though the neurologist had warned us not to let him jump, Jax was unpersuaded.
After all, he was the dog who, the day after he was neutered, found a two-pound dumbbell and was carrying it around in his mouth, like a bone. This is the canine equivalent, I think, of jogging home from your vasectomy.
He was gregarious. One day, we were in the living room. Michelle asked me to toss her a Hershey's milk chocolate nugget. My throw was errant, and Jax pounced. He snapped up the chocolate, then, when we started yelling, ran up the stairs with it. As we begged him to drop it, he look a look at us, smiled, then furiously chewed it up, wrapper and all, before we could get to him.
He was a pizza thief, too.
The best incident, however, was when we had laid out a five-pound roast to thaw while we ran some errands. When we returned, it looked like a crime scene. Evidently, one of the cats had pulled the roast off the counter. Jax was having none of that; he dragged the roast, by now dripping blood, across the kitchen, to the dining room, and under the table, where he fiercely defended the meat from the cats' advances. He was so proud of what he'd done that we couldn't even be mad.
Jax was a survivor of heartworms, a herniated disc, a perforated cornea that required surgery by a veterinary ophthalmologist, degenerative myelopathy (essentially ALS for dogs), and a popped-out eyeball (not the bad one, unfortunately) that eventually had to be removed, too. Even with half an eye, however, he still had great vision. It barely slowed him down.
He was our constant companion, always wanting to be near us. I work from home most days, and Jax was usually next to me when I was at my desk. When one of us was in the bathroom, he took up a security position with his back to the bathroom door, ready to protect us at our most vulnerable.
A few weeks ago, we began to notice him breathing hard, often without any apparent cause. After one particularly bad night, I took him to the vet. A chest x-ray revealed the probable cause of his trouble: His heart was twice the size it should've been, so big that it was crowding out his lungs. The vet gave him a steroid shot and antibiotics, hoping that it would give him some relief, but it didn't get any better.
Last night, he coughed and coughed and couldn't catch his breath. About 6 a.m. he asked to go out, so Michelle took him out. When they came back, Michelle said, "I think it's time." And it was. He was clearly in pain, scared, and unable to function as the dog we'd known for so long. When the vet opened, I called for an appointment. 9:30, they said. Earlier than I'd expected. Michelle quickly grilled him a cheeseburger, which he ate hungrily and happily even though we were torn up and crying. Wracked with grief, we began to second-guess ourselves, but in the end, we drove him to the vet and held him as the vet ended his suffering.
There are many upsides to bringing a dog into your family. Companionship, unconditional love, the fact that all they want is to be fed and watered and to be loved. The downside is that you outlive them, and when it's time, all the years of pleasure and happiness get balanced out in one cruel moment.
 |
| Jax, this morning, his final picture |
Jackson Tiberius Harrington was a part of our family for 13 years, 8 months, and 15 days. We don't know how old he was when he found us--at least a year, maybe two. He was the best dog I've ever had. And I don't know if there is any better eulogy for a dog.
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