What's so conservative about Pat Robertson?

Pat Robertson thinks Hugo Chavez is a threat to American freedom, and perhaps he's right. Chavez, among other things, has taken land away from private owners and given it to other people who say they can develop it better. Though Robertson, in his sweeping criticisms of Chavez, hasn't addressed his land reform policies directly, I'm sure he's no fan of the way Chavez has revoked thousands of land titles from middle class Venezuelans and handed them out to squatters. I'll bet Robertson sees this as part of an overall attempt to bring Castro-style communism to the region, which he believes would ultimately threaten our borders and our way of life.

Many Connecticut residents think the U.S. Supreme court is a threat to American freedom, and perhaps they're right. In a June 23 ruling which by now has become infamous, it has allowed the city of New London to take land away from private owners and give it to other private owners who say they can develop it better. This has astonished and angered homeowners throughout the country, who believe -- probably correctly -- that the decision implicitly threatens the way of life of all Americans who own their own homes.

Both Chavez and the Supreme Court say they're doing it to help the poor people in their respective regions. The crucial difference is that Chavez is actually handing over seized land to real poor people. The Connecticut land is going to a private development corporation which intends to build a hotel, condominiums, and office buildings on property where private homes will have once stood. This plan may or may not bring economic relief to the region, but it certainly will, along the way, make some very rich people a little bit richer -- at the expense of the middle class families being evicted.

There's no question that what Chavez is doing is highly controversial and is arousing a lot of anger. But anyone looking for a threat to the American way of life need look no further than our own shores. No private homeowner will be safe from the threat of the state taking away his home and giving it to someone else with a more attractive business plan for the property, except for Americans living in those few states which have passed protections to its citizens against this type of abuse.

So tell me if I have this right, Pat. A foreign leader who violates the private property rights of a citizen of his country threatens the security of our own. In fact, an elected, popular leader who does so deserves to be killed (or "taken out", as you put it). But it's good, legal, and perfectly fine to do the exact same thing when the proposed change happens in our own country, is perpetrated by an unelected branch of our government, and promises to benefit the rich.

Did I get it right? Or Will Robertson call for the assasination of Justices Kennedy, Ginsburg, Souter, and the other Supreme Court justices who have pushed the doctrine of eminent domain beyond all bounds of reason?

Probably not.

Saying goodbye to the crutch

For years, even after his leg got better, the man kept his crutch. Even though it was a nuisance, he'd become so used to walking with it that he couldn't think of ever going around without it. Often he hated it for the limitations it imposed. Many of the narrow lanes and byways of Jerusalem were impassable to anyone without two good working legs, and as for the mountains -- well, those were out of the question without the use of a healthy, reliable donkey.

But he also loved the crutch. Over the years it developed subtle grooves from where the man gripped it; the wood became polished and smooth from the constant caress of the same pair of human hands. The crutch protected and carried him, and it is a fact that, in all his years of using it, the man never fell down, even once. That leg was never injured again either. The crutch was a reliable and faithful companion in evil days when no man could trust another -- but more than this, it had become a part of him in ways that his clothing and his shoes could never be. Not only that, but using the crutch inspired many positive feelings of charity among his brethren and his neighbors. Even though he rarely needed charity, he could always count on his bowl being filled whenever he chose to go begging.

All that changed when he heard the prophet from Galilee speak. The teacher spoke about the importance of the practice of love. He said that love renews and makes all things new. That God does not want a dull, rote practice of the external forms of sacrifice, but rather a full, embodied, passionate embrace of the whole of divine law. He said that, when such love is practiced on a daily basis, all that is unnecessary and encumbering falls away.

The man was moved to tears on hearing the Galilean prophet. He looked at him, at his simple yet carefree life which was somehow also full of seriousness and passion. And something in him that was young and innocent, yet at the same time quite ancient, reached out to the Galilean. He wanted to touch his garment, but he was too far away to do that, and at any rate he wasn't even sure that the teacher would have allowed it. And then, a strange thing started to happen. Each of the man's tears became a pearl, and the pearls gathered around the man's head and coalesced into Light, until around his head a light shone, its source seemingly from the man's throat but shining everywhere around him. Then, as the prophet was speaking, their eyes met. "Heaven and earth will pass away," he said. "But My word will remain."

The crutch started to buckle from underneath him and suddenly became even more uncomfortable than ever. He suddenly became aware of his leg. It wanted to move, it was made for moving, it was anxious, almost raging to be allowed motion again. He thought of the words of the priest-physicians he had consulted, the ones who had told him the leg needed many years to heal. They had told him he would make the leg worse if he tried to use it, even though the leg had so wanted to move. "Subdue your passions," they had commanded him. "The leg must be given time to heal."

He laughed to himself at the silliness of it all -- at the fact that such men would put themselves in positions of authority, over and above the dictates of a man's body, and he laughed also at the fact that he had believed them. And straightway after he'd had his laugh, the man put down his crutch and began to walk.

Those around him started shouting. Other cripples in the crowd who saw what he had done cast their crutches off too, and many of these started hobbling towards the teacher, in pain but jubilant at walking for the first time in years. The man started walking also, and if it was painful to do so, it was only because the leg had begun to atrophy from lack of use.

Years later, after his leg had returned to normal, everyone continued to call this event a miracle, and to give the Galilean teacher credit for the man's healing. In the midst of those with whom he shared so much happiness, the man was reluctant to contradict them. He didn't want to tell them that the leg had been healed for a good many years before he'd heard the prophet's words. After all, what mattered was that he had given up the crutch.

Back from Wisconsin

Some of you may remember the spat I had with Samantha's mother over our summer vacation schedule. Well, I'm happy to report that Samantha and I have been to Wisconsin, and can testify personally that there's more to the place than just cheese. In particular, there is Lake Michigan, a beautiful body of water that's got to be cleaner than Martha Stewart's (pre-Big House) bathtub.

After my part of the Convention was over, we spent four days and three nights in perfect weather in Racine County's Cliffside Park. We fished, we waded in the lake (we didn't swim -- too cold), we camped, we hung out with the family in the next campsite, who have a six-year-old girl. Some unexpected snags were dealt with with the help of our new friends, and I have to say that, for once, all was right with the world.

One of the highlights of the trip was our visit to Wind Point Lighthouse. Samantha fell in love with the place, and had wanted to go back, though we never got the time to do that before leaving.

No more Anonymous comments

Recently a trawler running through my blog saw fit to comment on my Fourth of July post about Mommy Moneybags leaving $400 in our daughter's medication pack. This isn't the first time I've had negative comments from people too lazy or cowardly to sign their name. But this person, whoever he or she is, is the only one besides my ex who, whether in real-time or online, has implicitly assumed that I'm lying about leaving the package in the Penn Station men's room. In this, Mr. Anonymous questions my statement that Mommy Moneybags ought to be grateful for her good luck. He assumes instead that I'm saying she should be grateful for not stealing from her -- a very small, and not even the most important, part of what I said.

This type of comment might be OK (it's a free country, after all), but it's pretty provocative, especially when the only other person who feels this way is also the only person in my life who doesn't believe anything I say, out of a blind, fanatic prejudice driven by an experience, not of me but of another person in her family history. But it's cowardly to say this anonymously as a troll who clearly hasn't taken the time to inform himself or herself about the whole subject.

So to prevent this kind of abuse, I'm afraid I'm going to have to restrict anonymous comments from this blog. From now on you won't be able to comment without having a Blogger account. Hopefully Mr. Anonymous and others like him will either show themselves in the light of day, or crawl back under whatever rock they came out from.