First Amendment Applies to Everyone (even those whose opinions you disagree with or don't like)

The Phil Guy

“I may disagree with all my heart what you’re saying, but I will fight for the death to allow you to say it.”  (surely misquoted by some important politician from way way back)

A lot has been written over the past few days on the Phil Robertson story.  Here’s my take:

In the 1970’s my mom became a big fan of John Denver.  She bought his albums and we went to see him in concert (opening band was the “Starland Vocal Band” whose only big hit was the song “Afternoon Delight”).  We listened to his albums all the time and really enjoyed the fact that he was clean-cut and sung songs about Faith, Family and Friends.  One of my favorite songs of his was the song “Matthew” (go figure) where he talks about a farm-hand friend who found the “Family Bible” after a tornado.  After buying his albums and going to see him in concert, though, my mom read an interview with him where he mentioned that he wasn’t a Christian and she was taken aback by this news.  Seems she had bought into the image that John Denver had created through his songs and persona (who cares about the fact that his real name was Henry John Deutschendorf, Jr. and he would later be convicted of hoarding gasoline, plus I think he was a bit of a pot-head).

The Decapitated Heads of the Starland Vocal Band (maybe that's why they never had another hit)

 This revelation that John Denver wasn’t what he was cracked up to be meant that we didn’t listen to John Denver for awhile.  I think my mother may have even written him a letter.  We were a good Christian household and being duped by this popular folk singer made us step back a bit.  Were we supporting a fake-named pot-head non-Christian by buying his music and seeing him in concert?  It was a while before strains of “Annie’s Song” and “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” and my favorite song “Matthew” were playing from our record player.  But, still, the “faith” parts of the songs felt a little more hollow after that...

Folksy!

 Years later Miriam and I used to watch “Tool Time” with Tim Allen.  A funny sitcom we thoroughly enjoyed.  Tim Allen was great in it and we knew he had a past where he was a stand-up comedian, but didn’t know much about it.  (Also knew he was convicted of selling drugs, spent time in prison, had issues...)  One night we ran across him doing stand-up and found his routine to be pretty filled with foul language and, once again, we felt a bit duped by the image he portrayed as a clean-cut father who gets into trouble, and the one he portrayed on stage telling off-color jokes.  (side note:  His real name is:  Timothy Alan Dick)

Not that folksy...

 And, finally, I remember when my BFF Jason handed me a videotape (or DVD) going off on the misogyny and gross-ness of Professional Wrestling.  It was 90 minutes of just the most guttural slime of professional wrestling.  Knowing that I was a fan of the WWE, Jason thought I would be interested and so I took a look at the documentary and it was, in fact, pretty damning to the organization.  I felt a little sick afterward...then I remembered that the show is fake and it’s, basically, a soap opera.  So if you’re going to take the WWE to task for their weekly fake violence, you need to take to task all the stupid-ass soap operas and police procedural shows, etc.  And, besides, I never actually bought WWE merchandise or anything (though I DID go to a WWE show after they had cleaned up their act).  I may have watched it but, you know, I didn’t really monetarily SUPPORT it.

WRASSLIN!  (otherwise known as a male soap opera)

 When the Phil Robertson story broke in December 2013 – it was interesting to see how the actions of his employer (A&E Network) to suspend him from the show caused a huge uproar in the cyber-universe.  Suddenly people were taking sides.  Bloggers were blogging.  Facebookers were Facebooking.  “A&E is committing suicide!”  Read one headline.  “First Amendment being damned!”  Said another.  “He did nothing wrong!”  And on and on and on and on and on...  Who cares that there are hungry and hurting in our streets.  Soldiers are dying in a war half a world away.  U.S. drones accidentally killed 13 members of a wedding party.  NSA continues to spy, un-checked on the American people.  A reality TV star has been SUSPENDED for words in a magazine interview!  That takes precedence over other headlines.

Little known fact:  Actually stands for "Apples & Edamame"

 But...there are two issues I see going on here.  Issue one is the suspension of a television personality.  Issue two is the “First Amendment” argument.  Issue one, to me, is pretty cut-and-dried.  When Alec Baldwin and his MSNBC Television show were cancelled after he hurled a derogatory slur at a photographer, I thought:  “What an idiot.”  When Martin Bashir resigned (or was forced to resign) after hurling some insults at Sarah “Quitter” Palin, my initial thought was:  “Idiot.”  Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Bashir are adults.  They understand that words have consequences; they spoke the words and paid the consequences.  I did not fly to my Facebook home page and scream FIRST AMENDMENT!!  FIRST AMENDMENT!!  FIRST AMENDMENT!!  Like I have seen so many others do in regards to Mr. Robertson.  I didn’t create a meme that stated:  “I’m with Bashir!”  or a meme that said:  “Baldwin Mis-quoted!!”  I shrugged my shoulders and moved on.  Any organization or company that hires an employee can, pretty much, suspend or fire said employee for anything.  If that employee wants to fight it in court, so be it, but I think we can all, pretty much, agree that this is a reality in your job, my job, anyone’s job.  As A&E stated, they did not feel that Mr. Robertson’s stated beliefs were representative of the company so they suspended him.

Martin said some not nice things...

 

Then there is issue number two:  The First Amendment.  And this is the “bigger picture” issue in my mind.  Simply put, you are free to say whatever it is you want to say, but you are not immune to the consequences of that speech.  It’s the old “crying fire in a movie theatre” argument.  You can certainly do it, but if people are killed in the process and there was no fire...well...you’re going to be in a bit of trouble.  I’m fully within my rights to go up to a 400 lb football player and call him a whiny-ass-little-baby and he’s, pretty much, within his rights to punch me in the face.  I have to decide if I want to, or can live with, the responses to my speech.  I’ll post this on my blog site and am fully aware that people may disagree with me, “yell” at me, compliment me, etc.  They’re fully within their rights to do so.  Certainly if I get a lot of mean comments coming my way I’m not going to go stand in a corner and say:  “You’re infringing upon my rights!”  You’re not.  You’re voicing your opinion which is what I’m doing.

What we're talking about...

 

Let’s get back to that old “First Amendment” thing.  I read a conservative author’s points about A&E and the First Amendment and then another and then I watched clips from Fox News and others also saying this is a First Amendment issue.  Is it?  Is it not?  I don’t know – but whether it is, or not, if you’re bringing it up in regards to this Phil Robertson thing, I call bullsh*t on that.  BULLSH*T!  Why?  Because why didn’t you bring it up when Alec Baldwin was fired?  Or Martin Bashir?  Or the band Pussy Riot was jailed?  Or those kids staging a peaceful sit-in that were sprayed with mace?  Why didn’t you bring it up when the Dixie Chicks were losing bookings and vilified in the press?  What about when Linda Ronstandt had a concert cancelled because the owner of the club didn’t like her politics?  Where were you when Richie Incognito was suspended by the Miami Dolphins for harassing a fellow player by leaving racist and offensive voice-mails on the guy’s phone?  Aren’t these all, in reality, first amendment issues?  Wasn’t Martin Bashir just voicing his opinion?  Or the Dixie Chicks?  Or....

Yeah, they were vilified for their beliefs....and where were the First Amendment Supporters then?  Probably at a Ted Nugent concert...

Then, of course, we have Fox News and their annual “War on Christmas” – doesn’t anyone have the right to change the name of a Christmas Tree to a “Holiday Tree?”  Isn’t that a first amendment right?  Yes, they can certainly complain about it, but isn’t it truly a first amendment issue?  A festivus pole?  Changing the name of a holiday parade so that it’s more inclusive?  Don’t they have a first amendment right to do that?  Certainly they do!  But don’t act like they’re infringing on YOUR belief system because you don’t like it.

Just like John Denver, I truly believe that there are a number of people out there who are huge fans of “Ducky Dynasty” and are kind of taken aback by one of the member’s opinions on gays and how blacks were treated before the civil rights movement.  The image of what they had seen on TV or read in books or heard in interviews was shaken a bit when they realize that maybe what they’ve been sold isn’t really what they bought.

But for those that continue to say this is a “First Amendment” issue – remember this:  the “First Amendment” applies to everyone.  Conservative, Liberal, Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Communist, Socialist, etc.  The rich, the poor, the brilliant, the stupid.  Picking and choosing when to pull out the “FA” card just because it suits your argument or makes you feel better about yourself is a complete and total bullsh*t move.  You can’t just argue First Amendment when it suits you and write damning articles about a network or what not when, repeatedly, there have been other situations that would certainly qualify that you chose to ignore because it didn't fit your religious or political view point.

Much like the quote that started this blog, even if you disagree with the person speaking, you should still fight for their right to say it.  But if you only fight when you feel that it bests your argument or is something you agree with...then I call bullsh*t on that.  And that's my First Amendment right.

A Hug From Michael

 I look exactly like this...only different.

I’ve been a “Shelter Santa” for many years now.  More than I can count.  I just “round down” to twenty as that seems to be a good enough, round-about number.  My first stint as Santa was a paying gig at the Aurora Village Mall (torn down) where the only true enjoyment was punking friends who had no idea who was in the red suit and beard.  In short:  I’ve been doing this for a loooooooong time.

Even though I’ve been a shelter Santa for a long time, it still doesn’t mean that there isn’t any prep work or self talk involved.  Going over the names of the reindeer in my head (note:  It’s DonDER not Donner), figuring out a response to when a child wants a “house” (standard response:  “I’ll see what I can do.” – yes it’s a cop-out, but I can’t buy every adorable kid who asks for a house an actual house house – let me win the mega millions and then we can talk).

There’s also the situation of what if they don’t ask for a house but ask for $150 pair of shoes?  Or a $500 gaming system?  Yeah it’s not 2,500 square feet and three bedrooms and $300K but, still, Santa doesn’t want to promise what Santa can’t keep.  I’m a bald near fifty year-old office worker, not a never-aging, elf enslaving, miracle/gift worker.

So, yes, mental prep work goes into play and as we wound our way to our church we went over the details:   “What if they ask for a Playstation 4?  What about those kids who didn’t get those $150 Nike shoes?  What if...?  What about...?  What happens if...?”  And we tossed scenarios around like sprinkles on cookies.

Part of doing the shelter party is that you never know who you’re going to get.  Michelle who is surgically repaired hip deep in details can give us a ball-park but, like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.  Some years we’re baby-heavy.  Some years it’s mostly teenagers who roll their eyes as Santa tells them to “Come on down!  You’re the next contestant to sit on Santa’s lap!!”  Still, most will play along, if only to make sure their younger siblings buy into the fun and mystery.  And, it’s the standard two questions:  “Have you been good this year?”  Followed by:  “What do you want for Christmas?”

When we arrived this year there were, count ‘em FOUR kids.  All within that sweet-spot of age (5 to 10).  No babies (one would show up very late – post St. Nick).  No teenagers (there were some in the shelter but they chose to not participate).  Since we never know, of course, how many are going to show up – the volunteers outnumbered the kids approximately 4 to 1.

Just to recap:  Our church takes care of the kids of shelter parents while other volunteers take the parents to a local Fred Meyer and provide them with gift cards and a couple hours of shopping.  They can purchase whatever they want (food, clothing, gifts).  They return at noon to a nice lunch and are given space to wrap presents and then see what their kids have done while they were gone.

We had gotten there early to do prep work (see Michelle’s involvement) and chat and get the lay of the land.  Four kids...wow...   This should be easy.

At about 10:45 or so I go get dressed up, grab some wonderfully made stockings full of goodies (one time a large group of kids got balls in their stockings...not the best idea as they had to throw them everywhere) and then “ho-ho-ho” my way downstairs.  Again, mentally preparing myself for the “house” ask or the “X-Box One” ask.  (Just another note here, our church is VERY generous to these families.  For some parishioners, I think this is their only charitable out-reach and by God if someone asked for an “X-Box One” they might very well get one.  Still, don’t want to promise.)

I take my seat and pull stockings out of bag and call kids over.  One was super shy and had to be coerced.  But then one girl was wonderful and I asked what she wanted.  Her response:  “An Easy-Bake Oven.”  That’s it?  Not a Kitchenaide?  Not an I-Pad?  Okay... “I’ll see what I can do.”  Another adorable little girl:  “A rainbow hat.”  A boy came and went and I didn’t get out of him what he wanted and then Michael sat on my lap.  Michael, I think, is 10.  So he’s at that:  “I should know better stage.”   Where the whole Santa myth isn’t really adding up anymore.  “What do you want for Christmas?”  “Uh....”  Here it came.  Just give it to me straight.  What do you want?  Lay it on the line.  Tell me, I can take it.  Spit it out.  Give me the big number.  Give me the grandiose.  Shoot for the moon!  “Uh....Legos?”  “Legos?”  You’re talking to SANTA here (okay, bald old office worker).  Be like the kid I ran into at The Keg last year who wanted a very specific Harry Potter Lego set that was probably top bidding on EBay for $518.  But... “Uh, Legos?”  Yes, I can do that.  Not a problem.

After a handful of photos with volunteers and handing out of candy canes, it was back up to the “north pole” to get changed and come back downstairs.

Typically, when I come back downstairs, I try to fade into the wood-work.  Partly this is to just observe the kids who are, hopefully, still on a Santa-buzz and partly so that kids don’t put two-and-two together (kind of difficult when volunteers look at me in my street clothes and say:  “Thanks Santa!”) – but fading to the background I go.  (One year I had come back downstairs and I was interacting with someone and this kid next to me whipped his head around as it suddenly became obvious that I was indeed, the man behind the plastic beard and fake belly.  I’ve learned my lesson to, again, fade for a while.)

Parents returned, presents were wrapped, photos were printed, lunch was made and I was still kind of just “hanging back.”

Someone once said:  “You can learn a lot by just observing.”

As the party wound down I was focused back on “Uh...Legos?” Michael.  It was time to go and I watched as Michael, ten-year old boy, went around and hugged EVERYONE.  Not just the people who helped him make a picture frame, or paint a picture, or decorate a bear but EVERYONE.  From the kitchen help, to the volunteers who took their parents to the store, everyone.  He thanked them, wished them a Merry Christmas and went onto the next one.  Not a hesitation.  Not a moment.  You, you were here, you get a hug.

Because I was hanging back I wondered if Michael would hug me.  I certainly, didn’t NEED a hug and he was busy with the many others but before I could talk myself out of how much I actually DID need a hug from Michael he spied me sitting to the side, ran over and gave me a hug.  I hope he didn’t see that I was crying.

Four days later it was off to Sacred Heart Shelter for my next gig.  This is my long-standing gig.  Twenty+ years.  It’s like clock-work.  Party starts at 7.  Children’s choir sings.  I show up at 7:15.  I grab the gifts, place them in my bag, get a run down on hard to pronounce names (note:  I forget within moments and then look like an idiot:  “Is this Lara or Lura?  Oh, it’s Liara!”).  Someone from the shelter heads upstairs, tells the choir director who finishes whatever song they’re singing and then starts into “Here Comes Santa Claus” – I wait for a few moments to go by and then tromp up the stairs and make my big entrance at approximately 7:30.  15 minutes of gift giving and then out I go to find the reindeer that I named Toyota Camry and head home.

Traffic on the 18^th was very good and I landed a bit before 7:15 and was shuffled off to a room to wait.  Get my candy-canes ready.  Fill the bag.  Miss-read names, etc.  And then, more waiting.

As I stood in the ever-warming room, sweat beading up in my suit, I noticed other gifts that weren’t going upstairs with me.  Those were “Christmas morning” gifts.  Excellent.  But I see ages.  One family with a one-year-old and the mom is pregnant but...they’ve got a line on permanent housing.  Another family.  And another.  Maybe there will be a year when I won’t need to be Santa because there are no more homeless and everyone is celebrating Christmas in their own home around their own tree.  I can hope.

Finally, the heat getting to me, and creeping up on 7:25, I asked a worker to tell the Choir master that Santa had, indeed, come to town.

Once upstairs a small girl, not older than 6 or so, had huge HUGE eyes.  Sort of the “OHMYGODSANTAISHEREANDINFRONTOFMEANDHEHASABAGFULLOFTOYSFORMEANDSANTASANTASANTASANTA!!!”

Indeed I did have a bag and it was full of toys and gifts but a mix of gifts for the few kids and the rest for the moms.  But...the gifts for the moms were on top of the gifts for kids and I had to kind of “work the bag” to pull out the kid presents.  Moms, they have patience.  Kids?  Well....

The moment I sat down, Jazz (the little girl) was right up to me:  “What’s your name?”  I’m thinking:  “Does she want to know my birth certificate name?”  No, that can’t be it.  So “Kris Kringle” was the answer and that sufficed.

Soon enough, I was just pulling out Mom gifts and Jazz (the little girl) was getting more impatient.  Still...she was in the moment.  She was shepparding other children:  “A. J.!  Santa has a gift for you.”  Who cares that A. J. is four months old and has no idea of anything.  And then there were the multiple gifts for people who weren’t there which just prolonged Jazz’s agony of “PRESENTPRESENTPRESENTFORME?  PRESENTPRESENTPRESENTFORME?”

And photos of each child, and photos of each mom, and photos of photos of who’s holding the child.  And the child is pulling my beard off and which camera should I look at?  Finally I got down to the bottom of the bag and there was Jazz’s gift and she dutifully sat on my lap and answered the two questions.  Answer one:   “Yes.”  Answer two:  “Toys.”  Both easy.

Now it was time for Santa to gas up his sleigh and head North.  I handed out a couple dozen candy-canes and exited the room, only to hear Jazz yell out:  “I Love You, Santa!”

When I got down to the bottom of the stairs, one of the workers said:  “Oh, we’ve got one more.”

I was confused.  A youngish woman was standing there but I didn’t fully understand.  I was trying my best to not be obvious (hard to do in a corduroy red suit with plastic beard) and didn’t want kids coming around the corner while I wasn’t in “character.”

The worker ran up the stairs leaving me with the youngish woman.  I lost the pretense.  “Hey, how’s it going?  Fist bump?”  We fist-bumped and I did it again because she didn’t “pop.”  She said:  “I like this Santa.”  I asked her:  “Are you a resident here?”  And she nodded.  I wondered which kids were hers and then, finally, my elf helper came down the stairs with her gift.

I had, wrongly, assumed that this was a mother getting a mother gift.  I didn’t realize that this was a child.  Seriously she could have been anywhere between 16 and 24.   And now, well, it was time for photos.  Jumping back into character:  “Have you been good?”  “Yes.”   “And what do you want for Christmas?”  “For my family to be happy.” 

I was at a loss for words.  How do you respond to that?  As much as you mentally prepare – you just can’t...  I tossed out something which, I’m sure, wasn’t very deep or meaningful and whatever I said I mumbled through my sweaty beard.  And then I shook her hand and wished her a Merry Christmas.  Shook.  Her.  Hand.  Even Michael gave out hugs.

Here’s hoping that whatever you find under your tree, that there’s some happiness there, too.