Oh, seriously. C'mon.
On November 2, 2004, I was one of those people that most of you probably hated. Chanting "FOUR MORE YEARS" until early the next morning, I figured our nation would see a comfortable stretch until 2008. Now, I just hope we can last another twenty-two months without another:
Katrina
Harriet Miers
Walter Reed.
Those are just the first three that come to mind. I won't get into today being the fourth anniversary of a war of whose duration our Secretary of Defense at the time predicted, "Three days, three weeks. I doubt it'll last three months." We all know the toll it's caused on our boys. I've been trying to see the bright side of it all, but this shows no signs of winnability. I don't doubt that many innocent Iraqi citizens probably want us there. The United States military has a long history of being a comfort to the oppressed. But...Well, I said I really wasn't gonna get into the war.
Anyway, if you don't know by now, our Justice Department headed by Attorney General Alberto Gonzales has been accused of firing eight U.S. attorneys for "politically motivated" reasons. There's a trail of e-mails, and one of the big scapegoats is now the aforementioned Ms. Miers. The Pit Bull in Size 6 Shoes recently resigned as White House legal counsel, a job which she inherited from AG the AG when he became the AG. Harriet apparently suggested the removal of the Justice Department attorneys because they weren't in line with the Bush administration enough. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi and Senator Patrick Leahy of Vermont are among those calling for A-Gon's resignation. They want him to testify before Congress. They want Karl Rove to testify (they also want world peace, the ability to fly, and three wishes from a genie). More dramatically, they want Gonzales to resign.
Honestly, I don't know enough to really say what A-Gon has done for our country at the helm of the Justice Department. Not to say he's necessarily done a horrible job, but if he did something that great, I'd probably know about it. He has nothing to gain by staying, people will be raging about this until January 2009. President Bush probably has a lot to lose by keeping him, although with an all-time low 30% approval rating, I'm not really sure what could be left. He did finally show some moxie by having Secretary of Defense Bob Gates roll some heads over Walter Reed, and I think he should do the same here.
Many people hate Mr. Bush. I say two things to this. First I actually think he's a good person. He's tremendously loyal to his friends. His, um, unique style of speaking leaves little room for him to be devious and disingenuine. I don't think he lied to us, knowingly, anyway. The flipside of his loyalty is what makes him a bad president - namely, keeping Cheney, keeping Rumsfeld for as long as he did, telling Brownie he did a heck of a job, and nominating Pitty for the Supreme Court. On a side note, the New York Times mentioned this weekend that "the president's remarks...seemed more like private words to a friend than public praise of an employee." Although a good George W. Bush does not a good Bush 43 make, CLEARLY the man has some redeemable traits.
Second, like it or not, he's our president. Whether you approve of the person holding office has nothing to do with whether you should support him. No one ever has to approve. That's why we vote. But if you choose to live here, that means you think this is the greatest land on the Earth. In order for that to continue, we as citizens must root for the nation's most visible and powerful leader to do a good job.
I really hope this is the last scandal. Frankly, I don't think anything short of finding bin Laden and getting out of Iraq before 2009 will vindicate the administration. Although I'll continue to hope and pray for the best, it is in our best interests to elect a new leader. Luckily, we have to.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Thursday, March 1, 2007
On the Count of Serving Jury Duty, We Find the Defendant Innocent. For Now.
During Christmas break, I received a Juror Questionnaire. When I was about thirteen, my Mom received one. She groaned and whined about it, and I proudly announced that I couldn't wait until I was called for jury duty. My, what a difference eight years makes.
I looked upon this piece of mail from Gloria D'Amico, Commissioner of Jurors with annoyed dismay and a tinge of guilt. I've grown to dislike doing things I don't want to do but seem to have to do, anyway. However, the idealist whisper in me served as a reminder of civic duty - that if I really love my country as much as I say I do, I should be honored to be part of the judicial process.
The whisper was quickly overtaken by a series of rhetorical questions. Do they know I'm a full-time student? Do they know that I can't get someone to go to class for me or waste time on campus with my friends for me? In short: Do they know who I am? Not one to cause an unnecessary ruckus, however, I sent the form back immediately and remarked in the special notes section that I'm a full-time student.
About a month ago, I heard from good old Gloria again, this time in the form of a Jury Duty Summons death knell. That was it, I told myself. They were really starting to piss me off. But powerless, I followed the instructions on my summons to attempt an excusion. This being the painfully tedious New York City bureaucracy, I couldn't call or express my condition on-line. My presence was cordially required at Queens County Civil Courthouse itself.
I prepared for my visit with an answer to every question the judge could possibly have for me. I say judge because for some reason I assumed I'd have to go before a judge. I was ready to explain my status at Fordham University, complete with class schedule in hand. I even brought my internship contract with PricewaterhouseCoopers in case he wanted me to serve in the summer. If he did, I would have asked nicely if he'd reconsider because, well, something about how this internship could hinge on my entire future. After those initial formalities, he'd remark his daughter went to Fordham and that his wife is a tax partner at PwC. He'd say, "Who's your team?"
"The Mets," I'd reply.
"We gonna show those Cardinals who's boss this year?"
"I certainly hope so, your honor."
"Get out of my court, kid. We'll see you back here when you can grow some fuzz on your chin."
It eluded me that judges do more important things with their days, like roll their eyes at defendants and put ambitious lawyers in their place, so I'd have to deal with one of the peons.
For those of you who don't have experience with any New York City agency, consider yourself lucky. They all employ under-educated, barely competent, and soulless individuals who stand in your way of getting what you need from them, whether it be a driver's license or a burial permit (I work in a funeral home. Different story for a different day). City clerks must get some sort of pleasure out of their ability to exert control over another's life for a short period of time, because no one could naturally work that slow. Or be so oppressively ignorant with regards to another's situation.
Walking into the building, I was greeted by the requisite metal detectors. I smiled a tacit good morning to the court officer running the scanner, but she waved me along with an annoyed hand. Seriously, what's the harm in returning a smile? I walked up to Room 244, the one for Jurors with Questions. I'm sure if you took a survey of the clerks and asked what kind of questions they get, they hear, "How the hell do I can out of serving," quite a bit more than, "What sort of mental preparation should I do to serve most fairly as a member of such a prestigious body?" But that's all just conjecture.
The only moment of my visit that pleasantly surprised me was that there was no long queue loaded with smelly, unshowered bodies or children with sticky hands touching every wall in sight as their parents ineffectively called after them. In fact, I seemed to be the only juror with a question at the time. A person of indeterminate gender greeted me on the other side of the room. And by greeted, I mean indifferently calling out, "How can I help you, sir."
"I came to get excused from jury duty. I am a full-time student."
"Do you have proof that you're a student?"
"Um, I have school ID and a schedule."
"Your schedule please."
"Umm, so what do I do now?"
"Please write the date you'll be able to serve by on your summons."
"Well, I graduate in a year and a half, so should I put August 2008?"
"No, that's longer than the six month window. You'll simply have to come back if you're called again and prove that you're still in school."
"But. But. But. Won't that be a colossal waste of time since I've already told you that this will be my situation for a while?"
"Sir, that's all I can tell you."
Sir, that's all I can tell you?! If he or she (probably a he, I think that's what I may have decided at the end of our wonderful conversation) said that to a client in the private sector, he or she would find himself or herself on an unemployment line rather quickly. I left the courthouse in a rage, and thought long and hard about what I just went through.
Looking at it from a utilitarian perspective, shouldn't what we do for our society be the best alternative that services the greatest good for the greatest number? How will my city be better served: By me sitting on a tedious case with tedious facts making a tedious decision with eleven other painfully bored citizens, or by me spending this time studying and working towards my degree, which will earn me a good job and allow me to pour money back into the New York economy in which I plan in participating for the rest of my life? THAT should have been a topic of discussion during my trip. If this ridiculous bureaucracy had room for negotiation and logical discussion, my whole situation would have been a non-issue. To solve this from now on, they should first draw a jury pool from the retired and the unemployed. It would give the elderly something to do and much needed self-esteem by feeling needed, and it would give the workless something productive. And don't they pay (slightly) jurors, anyway? Then they can tap into people who have jobs.
"Hey, are you busy at work? Could you take a few days and serve?"
"Sure, the boss has been riding my ass and it'll be good to get out of the office for a few days. Hell, put me on the case of the century if ya got it."
Or maybe:
"Eh, you know, I'm up for partner this year. Really not available right now. But my wife's always complaining she's got nothing to do. Call her up, I'm sure she'll be glad to help."
See? Negotiation. It works if people give it a try. And don't tell me that this doesn't fall into the notion that one should be tried by a jury of his peers. Minors and non-citizen immigrants are part of our society, and they're not expected to serve, either.
I looked upon this piece of mail from Gloria D'Amico, Commissioner of Jurors with annoyed dismay and a tinge of guilt. I've grown to dislike doing things I don't want to do but seem to have to do, anyway. However, the idealist whisper in me served as a reminder of civic duty - that if I really love my country as much as I say I do, I should be honored to be part of the judicial process.
The whisper was quickly overtaken by a series of rhetorical questions. Do they know I'm a full-time student? Do they know that I can't get someone to go to class for me or waste time on campus with my friends for me? In short: Do they know who I am? Not one to cause an unnecessary ruckus, however, I sent the form back immediately and remarked in the special notes section that I'm a full-time student.
About a month ago, I heard from good old Gloria again, this time in the form of a Jury Duty Summons death knell. That was it, I told myself. They were really starting to piss me off. But powerless, I followed the instructions on my summons to attempt an excusion. This being the painfully tedious New York City bureaucracy, I couldn't call or express my condition on-line. My presence was cordially required at Queens County Civil Courthouse itself.
I prepared for my visit with an answer to every question the judge could possibly have for me. I say judge because for some reason I assumed I'd have to go before a judge. I was ready to explain my status at Fordham University, complete with class schedule in hand. I even brought my internship contract with PricewaterhouseCoopers in case he wanted me to serve in the summer. If he did, I would have asked nicely if he'd reconsider because, well, something about how this internship could hinge on my entire future. After those initial formalities, he'd remark his daughter went to Fordham and that his wife is a tax partner at PwC. He'd say, "Who's your team?"
"The Mets," I'd reply.
"We gonna show those Cardinals who's boss this year?"
"I certainly hope so, your honor."
"Get out of my court, kid. We'll see you back here when you can grow some fuzz on your chin."
It eluded me that judges do more important things with their days, like roll their eyes at defendants and put ambitious lawyers in their place, so I'd have to deal with one of the peons.
For those of you who don't have experience with any New York City agency, consider yourself lucky. They all employ under-educated, barely competent, and soulless individuals who stand in your way of getting what you need from them, whether it be a driver's license or a burial permit (I work in a funeral home. Different story for a different day). City clerks must get some sort of pleasure out of their ability to exert control over another's life for a short period of time, because no one could naturally work that slow. Or be so oppressively ignorant with regards to another's situation.
Walking into the building, I was greeted by the requisite metal detectors. I smiled a tacit good morning to the court officer running the scanner, but she waved me along with an annoyed hand. Seriously, what's the harm in returning a smile? I walked up to Room 244, the one for Jurors with Questions. I'm sure if you took a survey of the clerks and asked what kind of questions they get, they hear, "How the hell do I can out of serving," quite a bit more than, "What sort of mental preparation should I do to serve most fairly as a member of such a prestigious body?" But that's all just conjecture.
The only moment of my visit that pleasantly surprised me was that there was no long queue loaded with smelly, unshowered bodies or children with sticky hands touching every wall in sight as their parents ineffectively called after them. In fact, I seemed to be the only juror with a question at the time. A person of indeterminate gender greeted me on the other side of the room. And by greeted, I mean indifferently calling out, "How can I help you, sir."
"I came to get excused from jury duty. I am a full-time student."
"Do you have proof that you're a student?"
"Um, I have school ID and a schedule."
"Your schedule please."
"Umm, so what do I do now?"
"Please write the date you'll be able to serve by on your summons."
"Well, I graduate in a year and a half, so should I put August 2008?"
"No, that's longer than the six month window. You'll simply have to come back if you're called again and prove that you're still in school."
"But. But. But. Won't that be a colossal waste of time since I've already told you that this will be my situation for a while?"
"Sir, that's all I can tell you."
Sir, that's all I can tell you?! If he or she (probably a he, I think that's what I may have decided at the end of our wonderful conversation) said that to a client in the private sector, he or she would find himself or herself on an unemployment line rather quickly. I left the courthouse in a rage, and thought long and hard about what I just went through.
Looking at it from a utilitarian perspective, shouldn't what we do for our society be the best alternative that services the greatest good for the greatest number? How will my city be better served: By me sitting on a tedious case with tedious facts making a tedious decision with eleven other painfully bored citizens, or by me spending this time studying and working towards my degree, which will earn me a good job and allow me to pour money back into the New York economy in which I plan in participating for the rest of my life? THAT should have been a topic of discussion during my trip. If this ridiculous bureaucracy had room for negotiation and logical discussion, my whole situation would have been a non-issue. To solve this from now on, they should first draw a jury pool from the retired and the unemployed. It would give the elderly something to do and much needed self-esteem by feeling needed, and it would give the workless something productive. And don't they pay (slightly) jurors, anyway? Then they can tap into people who have jobs.
"Hey, are you busy at work? Could you take a few days and serve?"
"Sure, the boss has been riding my ass and it'll be good to get out of the office for a few days. Hell, put me on the case of the century if ya got it."
Or maybe:
"Eh, you know, I'm up for partner this year. Really not available right now. But my wife's always complaining she's got nothing to do. Call her up, I'm sure she'll be glad to help."
See? Negotiation. It works if people give it a try. And don't tell me that this doesn't fall into the notion that one should be tried by a jury of his peers. Minors and non-citizen immigrants are part of our society, and they're not expected to serve, either.
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