I was first introduced to these poetically arranged lines of prose in kindergarten. It was through rote memorization that they became a ne'er-understood ritual for schoolchildren 180 days of every year. For one thing, we certainly didn't know what words like "allegiance" and "indivisible" meant, much less why our allegiance was being pledged literally to something symbolic, a piece of cloth. Years later, we were privy to (and perhaps in solidarity with) arguments against the pledge's use of the words "under God."
I think I can count on one hand the number of times outside school I have been in the presence of a pledge of allegiance. The pledge seems irrelevant to me as anything. It's simply a recitation of a pledge whose underlying meaning I fail to grasp fully. I understand pledging oneself to his or her nation. I understand supporting the troops fighting for his or her nation. However, the flag? Does questioning why one would pledge a personal connection to a piece of cloth, no matter how symbolic its stars and stripes may be, make me unpatriotic?
A gig I played in Maryland at a partisan political function made me think about that conundrum and more. I've lived in the politically charged capital area for six years. In that time, I watched many hours of political television and read many column inches of political periodicals. But as for actually participating in our democracy, I can claim only that I voted a few times, spread a few self-created e-mails mainly about the District of Columbia's lack of voting representation, switched my political party affiliation once, wore a few buttons in support of particular candidates, and had drinks with some of the capital's movers and shakers. At times, I may have unknowingly sat next to a member of Congress on the Metro. A few more times, I've been an impartial reporter watching as lobbyists and private-sector constituents made points to their elected officials, but that's about it. In all, I would say I'm politically aware and yet not politically active.
Yesterday, I had a front-row ticket to see how the other half live. With a set of 88 keys in front of me and ready to see if a bunch of white-haired Republicans remembered how to twist again like they did 50-plus summers ago, I saw first how political activists conduct themselves when they're among themselves. And you know what? I'm glad I haven't been politically active.
The Grande Old Party officially kicked off its afternoon picnic with the pledge to allegiance, followed by an improvised prayer led by one of the moose hunters hand-selected only seconds in advance after the first two turned down the offer. It being a prayer, I wasn't all that surprised to hear God's name invoked. But my jaw dropped when I heard Jesus Christ mentioned as our lord and savior. (OK, so I looked around and didn't see any Jews, Muslims or Buddhists crying foul, so maybe the prayer leader was safe.) But then my jaw took another fall when the prayer went on to thank God for John McCain and his pick of Sarah Palin and for the policies that are right to lead this nation down the correct path. Since when does God -- yours, mine or anybody's -- give a shit about Wall Street bailouts? I was later fed the lame excuse that she was nervous and didn't know what to say; my problem with her prayer has more to do with what she didn't know NOT to say.
The prayer ended with a restrained "amen," and following a perfunctory rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner," it was time for the band, including me, to entertain with the Coasters' "Young Blood," the Rolling Stones' "Brown Sugar" and other assorted love songs. Since the Republicans in our band were dedicating every other song to Sarah Palin, I took it upon myself to interject what I considered a mild anti-Republican jab into "Superstition": I followed up the line "Seven years of bad luck" with an improvised "and going on eight."
I'm not big on rote memorization, and it seems like that's all Sarah Palin was doing in that first interview with Katie Couric when she seemingly tried to spout off every talking point in existence in the span of one sentence. Sarah "Punchline" Palin's performance in the later-aired interviews were similarly unimpressive, such as when she was at a loss for any Supreme Court decisions with which she disagreed, or when she couldn't name a newspaper she reads. And I thought the lackluster performance that saw Palin visibly squirm in her chair was a point everybody, regardless of political leaning, could universally concede.
There were no such concessions from the people I talked to at the event yesterday. One blamed the interviewer, Couric, insisting Couric is "a B-I-T-C-H." (Yes, the person who said this spelled the word aloud to me, either because the word is not appropriate in polite company or because it bestows more punch when spelled for emphasis -- i.e., "Katie Couric is not just a bitch; she's a B-I-T-C-H." The distinction here must be crystal clear.)
I don't see how Couric's demeanor could be the culprit for Palin's embarrassing performance. I will agree we didn't see the same squirming when Palin took to the podium facing off Thursday night against Joe Biden, even if she did rail against debate moderator Gwen Ifill on more than one occasion. But the fact that she didn't monumentally falter on that Washington University stage in St. Louis only intensifies for me how poorly she did, in contrast, when she was lobbed Couric's non-"gotcha" softballs. The only way Republicans see fit not to agree on that point is by sidestepping the issue and instead focusing on an irrelevant point -- exactly the way Palin herself insisted on changing the topic and not addressing Ifill's questions during the debate. I find this to be disingenuous and dishonest.
I also felt the same way about one of the messages I saw relayed on the back of two T-shirts on display yesterday. Shortly after I picked my jaw up off the ground following the so-called prayer, I saw two backs emblazoned with pictures of Barack Obama and Osama bin Laden, with only the rhyming portions of their names in writing, and the second letters of each highlighted in a different color. It said, "The difference between OBAMA and OSAMA is just a little B.S." Disingenuous, dishonest, disgusting!
Now, it's not that I disagreed politically with the things said at yesterday's event that has me up in arms. And it's not that I would have rather hugged some trees and attended a Muslim marriage of two lesbians. It's just that these political activists are so philosophically divergent from me that I struggle to understand their behavior on the most fundamental level. One woman who appeared to be in her 70s or older came up to the band during a song in our second set and emphatically cupped her ears and otherwise signalled that we were too loud for her liking. I signalled back, shooing her away, because she was right next to our sound system, the single aural vantage point at which we were loudest. When the song ended and her excessive-volume protests were still continuing, I immediately pointed the speaker and informed her, "That's a speaker. Of course it's loud here. Don't stand next to the speaker." She responded in the only sensible way one could: by taking my advice and retreating. Wow, what a novel concept!
The woman's retreat doesn't mean she eschewed victory, for what is victory? How can it be defined in any confrontation? How can victory be achieved in a war whose stated goals have shifted whenever the original mission was declared accomplished and the new goals were judged irrelevant or unattainable? I don't claim a personal victory over the woman with an unworthy noise complaint; in the end, I believed it was logic and reason that triumphed.
There will be a victory after all the votes are counted on or shortly after Election Day. It is my hope that the winner of this presidential election is the one who espouses superior logic and reason.
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