To have a villainous ruler imposed on you was a misfortune.
To elect him yourself was a disgrace.
-Samuel Adams
The American war is over, but this is far from being the case with the American Revolution."
― Benjamin Rush
Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are."
― Benjamin Franklin
The man approached me while I was on the elliptical. We had talked once before, but I'd hesitated giving him my card. My intuition told me not to do that, something about the insinuation of his body between the machines as he approached me, though I'd asked him not to disturb me while I am working out. Now he was doing it again. Someone had told him I am a journalist, or maybe I had. And he had a question. "When I'm done with my workout," I said firmly.
It's a small gym in a small town and I carry my professional profile with care. I get occasional phone calls informing me of local government corruption, or a story about an undocumented worker who has been harassed. "Off or on the record what you say to me stays with me," I always say. Trust is important, not only to get the story, but because it is important to me personally as a reporter. I abide by the NY Times ethics rules, clearly stated below every reporter's bio.
The man was doing his weight work in another part of the gym. I could have left without seeking him out, but decided to keep my promise. We took off our headsets and he began to talk frantically. He is distressed by all he has been reading—the degradation of the environment, wars, the dysfunction in Washington. "And why aren't reporters reporting?" he asked. The question didn't make sense. Hadn't he just told me what he'd been reading about? Then I understood: he hadn't been reading, he'd been scrolling on social media, His "stories," were just sound-bite headlines. "That's not reading," I said.
Now I had a job to do, and it wasn't reporting: I took out a pen and paper from my backpack and created an instant reading list for him. He calmed down and thanked me.
Am I any less fearful these days than this semi-literate man? Does my knowledge base protect me from feeling out of control and despairing? Absolutely. But the despair resides in me, and everyone I know, like an undertow. The only antidote for me is more reading, thinking, engaging in civil discourse, and writing.
Recently, I've returned to the colonial history I read at university as an American History minor, and to contemporary updates that realign the historical narrative to include the genocide of First Peoples and enslavement—egregious omissions in textbooks when I was young. This week I am reading a recent biography of Dr. Benjamin Rush by Stephen Fried. It has renewed my hope that the American "experiment" will continue apace. Raised Quaker in Philadelphia, Rush was an abolitionist, or became one as his education deepened, he traveled abroad to medical school, and returned to America to participate in the declarations of independence and the revolutionary war. Many of his student notebooks are available at the University of Pennsylvania library; some have been digitalized. Rush kept common books throughout his life which read more like reporters' journals, with doodles and sketches all over them. A constant student, eager and attentive, any educator would have enjoyed Rush's presence in a classroom. And if he were alive today and I could interview him, what would he say? Perhaps this: It is not a time to relinquish hope or abstain from the struggle of an electoral emergency.
Doctors have always been considered non-combatants on the battlefield, tending to the wounded on both sides, as did Dr. Rush. They step up when others opt out. They have courage, and we must have courage also. Our body politic, our citizens--all of us--are wounded. We must work to heal. Liberty lost is not easily retrieved.