Bret Kavanagh and the art of protest

Judge Bret Kavanagh's appointment to the U.S. Supreme Court was confirmed by the Senate this weekend by nearly the narrowest of margins, 51-49. While any appointment by President Donald Trump would have been cheered by conservatives and damned by liberals, Kavanagh's selection was especially problematic because of [a] time spent as a partisan hatchet man, about which he has been less than candid; [b] recent conversion to a broad view of presidential immunity, which might have been what attracted him to Trump; and then, at the eleventh hour, [c] several accusations of sexual assault or harassment.

Those last were the occasion for a spectacular hearing September 27, featuring separate interviews with Kavanagh and his first accuser, Dr. Christine Blasey Ford. Then followed a brief follow-up investigation by the FBI, a clumsy and clueless interjection by the President, and some senatorial speeches, before Saturday's vote. Much, or not much, was revealed in this cauldron of a week; what was revealed depends on your frame of reference.

For many women, the situation described by Dr. Ford rang all too familiarly, as did the dismissive-to-angry responses of Kavanagh and his backers, including the Senate leadership and the President. It reopened personal experiences, or the experiences of close friends, because a year on the "#Metoo" movement has shown that an astonishing (to this naive male, anyway) pervasiveness of sexual aggression by powerful men. Even if it didn't happen to Ford and the other accusers, similar behavior has happened so frequently that the confirmation saga rubbed a lot of raw wounds. For these women and their friends, the political became painfully personal.

So it was so surprise, when I returned to Washington this weekend for a professional meeting, to find a lot of people gathered in protest of the Senate's handling and eventual confirmation of Kavanagh's nomination. When I went out Saturday morning, I found a sizable contingent preparing for some "civil disobedience"--not sure how that turned out. Across the street was a man with a very loud microphone addressing a small audience, on the same topic. Then there was this group, gathered in front of the Capitol.

The rally was organized by students from area law schools. Speeches were short but well-articulated and passionate. They called out Kavanagh and some of the offending senators, but mostly they demanded a country in which women are safe from sexual predation--a vision we should all be able to celebrate. I find it personally energizing to be around so much energy and passion, and I hope they're able to sustain that energy, not just for the midterm elections but into their careers and their lives as citizens.

On the other side of the ledger, there's this.

This is bad. Don't do this. I shouldn't have to explain why, but my whole professional identity is based on explanation, so I will. Expression of political views can be as strong and as pointed and as public as you wish, but don't follow people. Or attack them when they're eating dinner. (Senator McConnell is in the top three of people responsible for the general fix we're now in, but I'd still treat him like a human being, and allow him the same zone of privacy I value.) And don't do this, for goodness' sake.

Because then we've made it about the person, and just about winning by whatever means, instead of about a positive vision for living together in the 21st century.

When we protest, we call out what is wrong and demand/promise it be made right, "as God gives us to see the right," to quote Abraham Lincoln. Parker Palmer writes about the power of "hearts broken open" (as opposed to "broken apart") to work with others to heal the world's wounds. As the student speakers outside the Capitol repeatedly articulated, this isn't just about one judge, or one President, or on election--it's about building a common life where everyone is heard, and valued, and safe, and has the opportunity to live their best lives. President Trump has shown he does not share this vision, and the Republican leaders who have enabled his toxic rhetoric clearly don't value it, either. We who care about communities should no more emulate his toxicity than we do his hostility. As some of us (like me) become aware of the indignities many of us have known all too well, let our broken hearts help us see what needs changing, and to build the world we need.

SEE ALSO:"The Scary Side of Urbanism," 18 October 2017