Taking a Stand in Dangerous Times

On Saturday morning, Rep. Melissa Hortman, an influential Democratic state legislator from Minneapolis, was shot dead in her home, along with her husband. The killer also attempted to murder another Democratic legislator, state senator John Hoffman, and his wife, in their home-- the two were seriously wounded, but they survived. Threats of violence have become far too common in our politics, and here again, innocent people were paying a terrible price.  

But the president, always on brand, told the press he would not call Minnesota's governor Tim Walz to express his condolences because he thinks Gov. Walz is a terrible governor. And some of Mr Trump's supporters quickly began social media mockery of what had happened to Hortman, one of the most respected Democrats in state government-- a tactic reminiscent of how they reacted when Nancy Pelosi's husband Paul was assaulted in 2022. Meanwhile, Elon Musk and others tried to claim (falsely) that it was someone from the "far-left" who murdered Hortman. That was not true. By all accounts, the killer was someone from the hard-right, and according to some who knew him well, a loyal Trump supporter. 

Meanwhile, in the midst of the fear caused by this shocking political assassination, the president simply doubled down in his criticism of Democrats. He announced a new plan to ease up on enforcement of deportations in red states, and ramp them up in blue states. The goal, he said, is to focus on big cities, because they are "Democratic Power Centers." He went on to accuse Democrats of hating our country, being sick, violent, deviant, and of course, of intentionally bringing in "illegals" and allowing them to vote (you may be familiar with this claim-- it is better known as the "Great Replacement Theory"). 

Normally, I would ignore the usual heated rhetoric from Mr Trump, having heard much of it before. But this time, it seemed especially cruel, given how a Democratic leader was gunned down so recently, and another nearly killed, by someone who seems to have been immersed in exactly that kind of rhetoric. And sad to say, those who spend prolonged periods of time in the right-wing media echo chamber hear this sort of thing over and over. 

I know what some of you are thinking: "But Donna, I can name a Democrat who said X or Y or Z, and that was awful too!" Agreed, there's angry rhetoric on both sides. And of course, not everyone who listens to violent rhetoric will decide to become violent. But some will, and in the case of Mr Trump, the endless hateful rhetoric has certainly created a permission structure. And while we can all point to some dumb thing politicians on both sides have said, these days there is only one side-- the party led by Mr Trump-- that consistently praises political violence.  

There is ample evidence of this. Mr Trump and his supporters believe that the folks who attacked police officers on January 6, 2021 were "patriots" and deserved a presidential pardon. Mr Trump and his party remained silent recently when a Democratic senator was manhandled by officers and taken to the ground, just for trying to ask a question during a press conference. And it is Mr Trump and his supporters who repeatedly refer to Democrats, along with journalists, certain judges, and all undocumented immigrants, as "the enemy."

Again, I am in no way claiming that words alone lead to violence. We all know the old saying from our childhood that claims, "sticks and stones/may break my bones/but names will never hurt me." But in a culture that glorifies being tough, where so many people have easy access to weapons, and where an entire social media ecosystem is devoted to generating anger and outrage at "the other," often by distorting and misrepresenting what is actually happening, that childhood saying may be out of date. If you are immersed in hateful words, hateful images, and hateful media messages, the end result is hatred and distrust, and that could absolutely end up hurting some innocent person, as we have already seen.  

On Saturday afternoon, millions of Americans, in red states and blue states, came out to express their love for the constitution and their support for our democracy. Nearly all of the "No Kings" protests were peaceful, as demonstrators sought to remind Mr Trump that he is not a monarch. It was an impressive example of the importance of the First Amendment, and it gave me a reason for optimism. But now, as the president once again returns to his familiar tactics of intimidation and demonization, it is worth remembering the powerful message so many of us sent: we will continue to defend our democracy. We will stand up against the hate and speak out against the madness. We are not "the enemy." Rather, we are people from all walks of life who want to see America be America again-- a country not ruled by corruption and tyranny, but by compassion and ethics. And we will not be silent. And we are not going away.

Words and Expectations

As many of you know, I'm the advocate and medical guardian for an adult with autism. I've been helping to take care of him, and standing up for his rights, since he came into my life in the summer of 1984. His name is Jeff, and he also has significant developmental delays; back in the 1950s and 1960s, kids like him were labeled "mentally retarded," a phrase I've always hated. (Another phrase from that era was "feeble-minded," and it too created a set of low expectations.) As a professor of communication, I have often discussed with my students the danger of these kinds of labels-- the words society uses when talking about "the other" often reflect how those folks are treated. And let me tell you, there is ample evidence that kids who had the "retarded" label were seldom treated well. 

Back when Jeff was growing up, the common wisdom was that "those kids" couldn't learn. Some did manage to get put into Special Ed. classes, and thanks to dedicated teachers, they were able to thrive in spite of society's inaccurate judgments of their abilities. But all too many were put into institutions. Parents were encouraged to do this, in fact, and they were told it was for the best. After all, these were supposed to be schools, places where their kids could get the help and attention they needed. But while most of these places had benign-sounding names, what they really were was institutions, many with draconian conditions. 

Today, thanks to dogged investigative reporting, and class action law suits, we finally know what went on in some of those "schools"-- and I promise you, it wasn't learning. It was often punishment. And in some cases, it was abuse-- both verbal and physical. (If you think I am exaggerating or being dramatic, I recommend an award-winning 2004 book, also the subject of a segment on 60 Minutes, called The State Boys Rebellion, by Michael D'Antonio. Jeff isn't in the book, but he certainly was at the institution where the book took place. And to this day, he still recites for me some of what was said, and done, to him there.)

When I met Jeff (a long story, better told some other day), he barely spoke. He communicated by various vocalizations that sounded like animal noises. He often screamed, or hit himself. He seemed traumatized, but he couldn't tell me, because he lacked the vocabulary. I don't know why he was put into my life, but I've always believed it was supposed to happen. I was told by all the "experts" that I was wasting my time working with him. I was told about his diagnosis. I was told that someone like me, a rock and roll deejay, lacked the skills to help. But I knew I was supposed to be there. And I promised him I would be there for him, no matter what. It's a promise I've kept, along with my husband, for more than four decades.

And one day, he made eye contact with me and said, "I love you, Donna." And one day, gradually, his verbal skills began to improve. To make a long story short, he has far exceeded what everyone told me he'd be able to do. Today, he has more than 350 words in his vocabulary. He can read and write (although his understanding is probably that of a 5 or 6 year old, at least he is able to do it). If he knows you, he will greet you by name. But despite all the progress he has made, and the caring team that has helped to get him there, there is so much he cannot tell us. He lives in a world where he's still a little kid, and still living at home. Much of what he says is echolalic-- he repeats what others have said to him. But he never forgets what happened at the institution. If I'm even driving in that area, his body will stiffen up and he will say, "You don't live there anymore?" And I have to reassure him that he is never going back there.

Jeff's biological mom passed away the other day. It has been years since he saw her, and I probably won't tell him. Jeff doesn't understand abstract concepts like death. He lives in the "now," and he lives in his childhood memories. I think it's kinder to let him stay there, where his mom and dad are still around, and he loves to eat dinner with the family, and he loves visiting grandma, and he loves listening to music, and at night, there's someone to sing him a lullaby. And yes, he knows he used to scream sometimes and act out, but back then, nobody understood autism or developmental delays. Today, I think his story might have turned out very differently. But at least he's still alive and well, still able to learn, a loving human being who proves every day that the labels applied to him underestimated who he is... and who he has always been. 

The Things We're Not Supposed to Say

I was disappointed, but not surprised, to hear that Sarah Inama has decided to resign from her job as a sixth grade teacher in the West Ada School District, near Boise, Idaho. By all accounts, she was a good teacher and her students liked her; but the school board and her principal did not, because of the poster she had put up in her classroom. She was told the poster was "controversial" and "an opinion," and would be offensive to those who disagreed with it. And she was ordered to take it down. (The poster showed various colored hands, with hearts in the center of each one. It read: "Everyone Is Welcome Here.") 

At first, she complied, although she couldn't understand what was controversial about a message that she loved her students, no matter their race or their ethnic background. But many school boards, especially in conservative states, have passed rules against "divisive concepts." These rules prohibit certain subjects from being discussed in school, certain books from being read, and evidently, certain posters from being put up in a classroom.  

The more she thought about it, Sarah believed there was nothing "divisive" or "controversial" about the poster, so she took a stand, and put it back up. It didn't take long before she was given an ultimatum about removing it. So, she told a local reporter about her dilemma, and he did a story about it. Soon, many people (both locally and in other states) were rallying behind her. They too were mystified by what was wrong with teaching tolerance; and they let the school board know how they felt. But in the end, despite the many parents and students who applauded and defended her, the policy stood, as did the ultimatum. And so, she decided to leave, unwilling to remain in a school district where it was "controversial" to tell students they were welcome.

But this seems to be where we are now. Teachers are being demonized (and sometimes penalized) if they even mention topics that have been defined as "divisive." By the way, it isn't clear to me how these decisions were made-- divisive by whose standards? Most of the laws and rules these days seem to be  promoted by conservative politicians who have a specific agenda-- ban anything they perceive to be "woke" (whatever that means). The end result has been policies that stifle freedom of speech in the classroom, even at the college level. And decisions from the President and members of his cabinet have even led to books being removed from libraries, and librarians being fired. And for what? 

As an educator, I fail to see the harm in students reading books that have a wide range of viewpoints. I fail to see the harm in teaching history in an accurate and factual manner, discussing both the good and the bad about our country. It's my belief that the best educators are the ones who encourage critical thinking, helping students to understand controversial issues, not pretending such issues don't exist. I hope Sarah Inama find a new job in a district that isn't afraid of diversity. And I hope the many teachers and professors who have felt demeaned by our current political climate will soon get a reprieve. It's a sad state of affairs when a teacher can't even decorate a classroom to let students know they are welcome. Or is the real message our leaders are promoting that only some people are welcome... while others are not?

What I Didn't Do

I was talking to an old friend of mine from the music industry the other day. We've kept in touch over the years, ever since the days when he was a record promoter and I was a music director. As we took a trip down memory lane, we kept coming back to how much radio and the record biz have changed, and we remarked upon all the people we knew back then who are no longer here. 

The conversation brought back a lot of memories. I remember that so many of the people we knew in the '70s and '80s were heavily into partying. In fact, I remember being offered just about every kind of illegal substance imaginable-- and being ostracized by certain people because I didn't do any of those things. I think I'm one of the only people I know who got fired from a radio station for not getting high. The folks at one of the stations where I worked said I was standoffish, and I just didn't fit in; and that was the end of my time working there. 

It was a recurring pattern-- I didn't always get fired, of course; but a lot of my colleagues really disliked me, because I was so different from everyone else. I probably seemed like I was being judgmental of them or thought I was better than they were. But the truth was I just felt awkward and out of place; I didn't come from a world where drug use was the norm. Plus, as one of the few women working in rock & roll radio, I wanted to make a positive impression and not do anything foolish. It was a great time to be in radio: I loved playing the hits, I loved breaking new bands, I loved going to concerts, I loved meeting the fans. But the rest of it-- the parties especially-- just felt uncomfortable, and I didn't know what to do. So I mostly kept to myself. 

Fortunately, many of the record promoters were kind to me; agreed, they were doing it for a reason-- they wanted to get their records played, and it was in their best interest to humor me. But a few seemed to like me for who I was, and those are the ones I still talk to, even 40 years later. Meanwhile, I was disappointed, but not surprised, when I found out that some of the folks I had worked with said (and wrote) some very unkind stuff about me. Perhaps if I had been more like everyone else, folks might have had a more favorable view of me. But I couldn't do it. And while I don't regret being myself, I understand what it cost me.  

What helped me get through those times was my friendship with Rush. They never mocked the fact that I didn't drink or smoke or do drugs; nor did anyone in their management or at their record company. The folks in the Rush universe always treated me with courtesy. Five decades later, they still do. The same was true for a few other musicians that I met along the way (Bruce Springsteen comes to mind). But when I think back on the places I worked, more often than not, I didn't make many friends.

Today, I still have a lot of great memories about my time in broadcasting, and I still miss being on the air. Attitudes have changed-- it's no longer considered weird to avoid drugs and alcohol, and many folks prefer a healthier lifestyle. In spite of not being especially popular with most of my colleagues, the listeners seemed to like me, and some of the happiest days of my life were spent as a deejay. But even now, when I think back on those days, I remember how lonely I often felt. And I wish I could have found a way to fit in, without having to compromise who I was...    

Who Will Stand With Us?

Not a lot of folks read my blog post from 2 weeks ago, but those who did know I was defending the value of a college education. Maybe that's not a popular topic. And this one may not be either: I'd like to defend the First Amendment. It shouldn't need me to defend it, but as it turns out, it does. It needs us all.

According to our Constitution, the First Amendment gives us rights that include freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom of the press, and freedom of assembly. These are important rights, yet one by one, they seem to be under attack. For example, a Muslim graduate student studying in Massachusetts, Rümeysa Öztürk, wrote an opinion piece in the campus newspaper, about the war in Gaza. She didn't call for violence, nor was her piece antisemitic. I may not have agreed with everything she wrote, but there was nothing in it that I found surprising or objectionable. And yet, she is now sitting in detention, in danger of being deported. She was grabbed off the street by ICE, as if she were a criminal. She has been denied her asthma medicine, and the fact that she wears a hijab has been the subject of mockery from the guards. All she did was write an opinion piece, which should be protected speech; but the government says it will decide what is allowed and what is not.

Or how about the governor of Pennsylvania, Josh Shapiro, who was celebrating Passover with his family the other night. Shapiro has never felt the need to hide his faith, nor should he, but we are living in hateful times, and late at night, someone broke in and set the governor's mansion on fire. Had first responders not been quick to bang on his door and awaken him and his family, there could have been tragic results. People are supposed to respect the religious traditions of others-- but we're not living in that kind of world. We're living in a world where some folks think attacking those whose views they dislike is perfectly okay. (And our president, who claims to be a champion in fighting antisemitism, didn't even call Gov. Shapiro to see if he was okay, nor offer him any words of encouragement.)

And then, there's the Associated Press. It has been around, covering the news, since 1846. But recently, the president decided to evict AP reporters from his press events, and despite a court order, he still won't let them back in. Increasingly, reputable and reliable media outlets are being removed from a wide range of places where they used to be permitted; they are being replaced by partisan outlets that are willing to praise the president rather than cover the news. (He actually did insult a reporter from CNN and accuse her of "hating America" because she asked him a question he disliked. He also threatened the CBS news magazine "60 Minutes" for reporting a story he disagreed with.) More of the press corps is now being handpicked by the president, with the goal of preventing the press from holding him to account or even questioning his policies. 

I could go on. We allegedly have freedom of speech, yet books are being banned or removed because they talk about racial discrimination; teachers and professors are being told to never mention "diversity." My sister lost her job when the Office for Civil Rights became one of the many agencies to be closed-- civil rights are now a no-no too. Every day, it seems more of our First Amendment rights are being curtailed, and I for one find it terrifying to contemplate what comes next. I know some folks are fine about the chaos and the cruelty. They don't mind a Muslim grad student getting deported for no good reason (she's here legally, by the way), or a bunch of journalists getting barred from covering the news. A Blue state governor has his holiday ruined and his life put in jeopardy? He's not "one of us," so why show him any compassion? And seeing all those books about racism getting banned-- hey, that seems okay too. 

But it's not. None of it is okay. I don't know what we are turning into, but I really don't like it. And it has to stop, before it gets any worse. Several weeks ago, the Dropkick Murphys did a live concert in Boston and performed a new song called "Who'll Stand With Us." I've been thinking about it quite a bit, especially the lines about "We've been robbed of our freedom, we've been held down and beholden..." And the chorus, where we are asked to take a stand, to stand together for our rights. "Who will stand with us?" So, at the risk of seeming dramatic, I believe that now is the time for us to take a stand, whenever and wherever we can: to defend our libraries, defend our schools, defend the folks who cover the news, defend the rule of law, and above all, to defend the First Amendment... before it ceases to exist.

Why I'm Still Glad I Went to College

I started college at Northeastern University in Boston in 1964. I was the first girl in my family to ever attend, and I wanted to do well. Unfortunately for me (I was always a bit of a non-conformist), the early 1960s were still a very conservative time. Yes, society was gradually changing, but girls were still expected to wear dresses to class, and many of the boys wore jackets and ties. (I much preferred wearing jeans, but that wouldn't be acceptable till later in the decade.) As I recall, most of my professors were older, and very serious. They did not expect to be questioned or challenged. We all sat in class and took notes, we memorized what the professor said, and we tried our best to get good grades. I was a commuter student, as were most of the working-class kids who attended; living at home cost much less than living on campus.

When we had some free time, many of us participated in extra-curricular activities. I immediately gravitated towards the college newspaper: I wanted to be a sportswriter, but that didn't seem to be something girls were allowed to do. I tried the radio station too, because I wanted to be a deejay, but I was told girls couldn't do that either. It was an era when I not only encountered sexism, but some folks would also make antisemitic remarks. (I applied for a loan to pay for school and was told I didn't need one because I was Jewish... Evidently, people still believed the myth that all the Jews were rich. I explained that most of us were not, but the folks in the financial aid office didn't seem persuaded...)

On the other hand, going to college opened up my world. I met students from many other countries, and I encountered ideas and beliefs I hadn't learned about before. In addition, the university often brought in guest speakers, some of whom were in the news. Not all of my classes were interesting, but a few really stood out: I especially loved my World Religions class, where I had a young professor who was different from most of the others-- he encouraged debate, he wanted us to think, and he didn't even mind if students called him by his first name.

I finally did get on the radio in 1968, as many of you know; in fact, I was the first female deejay in the campus station's history. By that time, protests against the Vietnam war were breaking out on campuses all across the country. I recall playing a lot of anti-war songs. It was personal for many of us: we all knew former students who had been drafted and sent to Vietnam, and who never made it home alive. To be honest, we didn't understand why our country was fighting in Vietnam, and we wanted the war to end. We made our feelings known through the music we played, as well as through peaceful protest. (And yes, I know: on some campuses, the protests were not so peaceful. But on ours, as I recall, they were.)  

Fast forward to today. The current president has a well-known vendetta against "elite" colleges, and against courses he deems "woke." (I still don't know what that word means, and it seems to mainly be applied to anything he doesn't agree with.) He has cancelled funds for life-saving medical and scientific research, and canceled various grants for working-class students. Meanwhile, governors who are his acolytes have demanded that entire majors and courses be eliminated. And as we all know, this president wants the Department of Education to be dismantled (which is not good news for students with disabilities, but that's a story for another day). 

These days, I'm told that college campuses are just hotbeds of "woke ideology" and "indoctrination." I've also been told that college campuses are hotbeds of antisemitism. And I'm told that professors are biased and they're teaching their students the wrong things. As someone who has been a professor for nearly 40 years, the conservative discourses about college make me sad (and frustrated) because I know they are demonstrably false-- yet I also know they're widely believed. I've taught in many cities, and yes, I've certainly met professors who were liberal ideologues, just like I've met professors who were conservative ideologues. I've met some who were biased, and some who were opinionated. But contrary to the stereotypes, the vast majority of educators are not extremists, and they're not biased. Most educators that I know care deeply about teaching, and they're trying to share their expertise with the next generation. 

I understand that college isn't for everyone. And I'm well aware that some campuses have been in the news for angry protests about Gaza, the way some were in the news for angry protests about Vietnam. I'm not trying to minimize what these students feel, or ignore the way some have acted. But let's also not minimize the fact that all over the country, millions of students (of all ages) are taking college courses, in hopes of bettering themselves. The president seems to find it politically useful to demonize college: perhaps he believes that some ideas are dangerous, and only he should decide what's fit to be studied. I disagree. As a society, we need more opportunities to learn something new, even if a course or a professor don't align with our own views. It breaks my heart to hear politicians saying college isn't necessary, or claiming certain colleges ought to be shut down. Even years later, I still believe the best thing I did was go to college. And I hope that today's young people will still have that opportunity. It could turn out to be life-changing, just like it was for me. 

Ten Years After-- Or Some Thoughts About Blogging

I guess you could call me a "life-long learner": even though I have two master's degrees and a PhD, I always enjoy learning new things. So, in early 2015, I was taking an online course about political communication via New York University, and the professor wanted us to start a blog about politics. I had read a few blogs, about various topics, but I'd never had one myself. And although I like to write, I had never thought of becoming a blogger. Still, I wanted to get credit for the course, and so it was that I began blogging. But I never planned to continue it once the course was over. 

And yet, ten years later, I'm still blogging. Once the course ended, I was able to expand into topics other than politics-- in fact, in the decade that I've been writing my blog posts, the topics have been very wide-ranging. I've written about the history of broadcasting, my favorite TV shows, baseball, classic rock, interesting aspects of my career, current events (some controversial, some not), some politics, and of course, at times, I write about a certain Canadian rock band named Rush. 

I have never expected to be widely read. In fact, a typical post of mine tends to get somewhere between 100-150 views. That's fine with me; I mainly write as a form of catharsis, and if something I wrote ever resonates with someone, that makes me happy. Now and then, people will reach out to me on social media and praise one of my posts. Sometimes, I'll get a few comments. But usually, I'm content to write something new every couple of weeks, and leave it at that. 

Blogging regularly for ten years has given me new admiration for the columnists who do it for a living. It takes self-discipline (and good research) to write on a regular basis. Sometimes, there's just nothing much I feel like saying, and at other times, there's so much to say that I don't know where to begin. Sometimes, I wonder if I should keep on doing it-- maybe I've become boring, maybe ten years is more than enough. But then, something I wrote strikes a chord and I find that I'm being quoted by Bob Cesca or Stephanie Miller; or someone messages me to thank me for what I wrote that week.

And on more than a few occasions, I've been very glad to have this blog-- especially when I could write about special occasions, like being in Cleveland for Geddy Lee's book tour, or seeing Rush's R40 concert in Boston. (My Rush-related posts, as I would expect, have been the most popular. My tribute to Neil after his passing received more than 17,600 views, for example.) And thanks to my blog, I could commemorate what I learned from my parents, or pay tribute to some unsung heroes and heroines from history who deserve to be remembered, or talk about what has (and has not) changed in politics since I was growing up. Speaking of politics, these days, I often find it best to avoid certain topics: I hate to generalize, but as a society, people seem angrier and less willing to accept perspectives that differ from their own. It didn't used to be that way. 

But for the most part, the folks who have read my blog have been courteous, and I appreciate that. I don't know how long I'll keep on blogging. I don't know if my blog is making a difference, or if anyone really cares what I think (except, perhaps, about Rush). But for now, it's my ten year anniversary as a blogger, and I may as well keep going, for as long as I still have opinions I want to express. Thanks for reading!