Another of the great ones is gone.
Daniel Schorr, whose calm, careful, deliberate, unhurried delivery of the news gave a "listen, this is worth hearing" quality to whatever he was reporting on, passed away today at 93.
Like Walter Cronkite, Daniel Schorr offered journalism you could rely on; you could take what Daniel Schorr said to the bank.
Like Walter Cronkite, you could trust him.
From the early 1970s, seeing him on the CBS news, right up to this month, when I heard his carefully modulated delivery on NPR, I remember with pleasure watching and hearing his carefully crafted stories, how every word was chosen with such considerate deliberation and attention to detail.
His was craftsmanship that conferred gravitas on the art of broadcast journalism. It was no surprise that Ted Turner recruited him to help bring throw weight to a spunky little startup called CNN.
Daniel Schorr was old school in the way he pursued his craft, and he was old school in never descending to the lowest common denominator. While Daniel Schorr, like all of us, had his own opinions and views, he never let those views get in the way of the facts.
Too often, in an echo-chamber culture in which confirmation bias has led to a tendency to hear only those voices that reaffirm our own beliefs and opinions, we forget how important facts, those stubborn things, can be.
Daniel Schorr never forget how important facts are. We could do him no greater honor than to come out of the echo chamber and once again remember for ourselves that facts matter, no matter how stubborn they may be.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Citizens, not Subjects: Thoughts for Independence Day, 2010
An interesting bit of new scholarship, showing that in his early draft of the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson had systematically replaced the word “subject” with the word “citizen,” shows that even now there is still much to learn about one of the most important documents in the history of the world.
Of course, reading how Jefferson had gone back and deliberately substituted “citizen” for “subject,” naturally triggers some thoughts about our American experience, and about the difference between citizens and subjects, and how one single word can radically alter the dynamic between governor and governed.
Today, given that the United Kingdom is also one of the world’s great democracies, it may seem as if the difference between citizen and subject is essentially meaningless. Certainly, the “Liberties of the Subject” enjoyed by those owing allegiance to the British Crown are far more extensive than the often-disregarded “rights” theoretically enjoyed by the citizens of ostensibly democratic states. Better, in many cases, to be a subject of her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II than, say, a citizen of the Republic of Kyrgyzstan.
Nevertheless, the word “subject” still carries with it a whole series of feudal overtones and baggage. In the back of one’s mind, the word “subject” can still raise images of someone kneeling before a sovereign reciting the ancient formula “I am your liege man of life and limb,” as Charles, Prince of Wales, did before his mother the Queen, at his investiture at Caernarfon Castle in 1969.
On the other hand, the word “citizen” carries with it echoes of the world’s earliest democracies, of Athens and of the Roman Republic. Time was, as scriptural accounts of St. Paul’s experience before the Roman governor of Judea remind us, that the words “I am a Roman citizen,” carried enormous weight. For us, citizenship, rather than subjection, implies membership in what the authors of the Mayflower Compact of 1620 called “a Civil Body Politic,” in which the existence of the Commonwealth is not a function of royal command, but the conscious and deliberate act of a group of equals.
Because citizenship itself implies equality among individuals, the very concept of classes of citizenship has traditionally been regarded as repugnant. In a Republic, composed of citizens, equality before the law and equality of opportunity are integral to true citizenship and participation within the Commonwealth. Unless every citizen of a particular Commonwealth possesses authentic, first-class citizenship, we cannot say that any individual within such a Commonwealth is truly a citizen, but merely a subject to whom the sovereign or government --- as used to be the case in South Africa --- affords greater or lesser degrees of privilege at its own convenience and to serve its own ends.
Under such circumstances, where privilege and the ability to participate in the civic life of the body politic are dependent upon officially defined status, or where certain members within that body politic are officially interdicted from living in certain areas, engaging in certain professions, marrying certain other individuals, or are otherwise limited in their liberty, the society in question contains within itself the seeds of its own dissolution.
As America enters the 235th year of her independence, she stands challenged, as she always has been, to ensure that when any American speaks the words “I am an American citizen,” the speaker can do so in the sure and certain knowledge that he or she will not be circumscribed or limited in the exercise of that citizenship on the basis of any invidious distinction of race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, disability, or any other characteristic which is now, or has been, used to limit the liberty of the different. President John F. Kennedy once famously observed that “the rights of every man are diminished when the rights of one man are threatened.”
While Pres. Kennedy’s remarks were made in the context of a Cold War, and were directed toward our adversary in that conflict, they apply to us as well. None of us can claim first-class citizenship unless our neighbors are first-class citizens along with us. It was, perhaps ironically, Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams who expressed most aptly what is truly the American challenge: we must all learn what it means to be human alongside others. On this Independence Day, we must all learn what it means to be American alongside our fellows who may not look like us, live like us, love like us, work like us, worship like us, vote like us, or root for the same squad at the All-Star Game. (And yes, that means even Yankees and Red Sox fans.)
For when the sound and the fury are over, and the issues that transfixed us this week have been lost in the flurry of the next news cycle, what is left over is our common heritage as Americans, a heritage too precious to be frittered away on wedge issue politics, or appeals to the worse angels of our nature. In the end, In God We Trust must always be accompanied by E Pluribus Unum -- from many, one. As we move toward that “more perfect Union” envisaged in the preamble to the Constitution, we must all go together, or our efforts to perfect the Union cannot succeed.
For we who were born here, the Stars and Stripes probably shadowed our birthplaces; for those who have come to America seeking a better life --- as most of our ancestors did -- those same Stars and Stripes gave inspiration for the voyage. And I expect that most of us hope, wherever we were born, that the Stars and Stripes may shadow of final resting places. For in the end, from many, we are, and must remain, one.
Of course, reading how Jefferson had gone back and deliberately substituted “citizen” for “subject,” naturally triggers some thoughts about our American experience, and about the difference between citizens and subjects, and how one single word can radically alter the dynamic between governor and governed.
Today, given that the United Kingdom is also one of the world’s great democracies, it may seem as if the difference between citizen and subject is essentially meaningless. Certainly, the “Liberties of the Subject” enjoyed by those owing allegiance to the British Crown are far more extensive than the often-disregarded “rights” theoretically enjoyed by the citizens of ostensibly democratic states. Better, in many cases, to be a subject of her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II than, say, a citizen of the Republic of Kyrgyzstan.
Nevertheless, the word “subject” still carries with it a whole series of feudal overtones and baggage. In the back of one’s mind, the word “subject” can still raise images of someone kneeling before a sovereign reciting the ancient formula “I am your liege man of life and limb,” as Charles, Prince of Wales, did before his mother the Queen, at his investiture at Caernarfon Castle in 1969.
On the other hand, the word “citizen” carries with it echoes of the world’s earliest democracies, of Athens and of the Roman Republic. Time was, as scriptural accounts of St. Paul’s experience before the Roman governor of Judea remind us, that the words “I am a Roman citizen,” carried enormous weight. For us, citizenship, rather than subjection, implies membership in what the authors of the Mayflower Compact of 1620 called “a Civil Body Politic,” in which the existence of the Commonwealth is not a function of royal command, but the conscious and deliberate act of a group of equals.
Because citizenship itself implies equality among individuals, the very concept of classes of citizenship has traditionally been regarded as repugnant. In a Republic, composed of citizens, equality before the law and equality of opportunity are integral to true citizenship and participation within the Commonwealth. Unless every citizen of a particular Commonwealth possesses authentic, first-class citizenship, we cannot say that any individual within such a Commonwealth is truly a citizen, but merely a subject to whom the sovereign or government --- as used to be the case in South Africa --- affords greater or lesser degrees of privilege at its own convenience and to serve its own ends.
Under such circumstances, where privilege and the ability to participate in the civic life of the body politic are dependent upon officially defined status, or where certain members within that body politic are officially interdicted from living in certain areas, engaging in certain professions, marrying certain other individuals, or are otherwise limited in their liberty, the society in question contains within itself the seeds of its own dissolution.
As America enters the 235th year of her independence, she stands challenged, as she always has been, to ensure that when any American speaks the words “I am an American citizen,” the speaker can do so in the sure and certain knowledge that he or she will not be circumscribed or limited in the exercise of that citizenship on the basis of any invidious distinction of race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, disability, or any other characteristic which is now, or has been, used to limit the liberty of the different. President John F. Kennedy once famously observed that “the rights of every man are diminished when the rights of one man are threatened.”
While Pres. Kennedy’s remarks were made in the context of a Cold War, and were directed toward our adversary in that conflict, they apply to us as well. None of us can claim first-class citizenship unless our neighbors are first-class citizens along with us. It was, perhaps ironically, Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams who expressed most aptly what is truly the American challenge: we must all learn what it means to be human alongside others. On this Independence Day, we must all learn what it means to be American alongside our fellows who may not look like us, live like us, love like us, work like us, worship like us, vote like us, or root for the same squad at the All-Star Game. (And yes, that means even Yankees and Red Sox fans.)
For when the sound and the fury are over, and the issues that transfixed us this week have been lost in the flurry of the next news cycle, what is left over is our common heritage as Americans, a heritage too precious to be frittered away on wedge issue politics, or appeals to the worse angels of our nature. In the end, In God We Trust must always be accompanied by E Pluribus Unum -- from many, one. As we move toward that “more perfect Union” envisaged in the preamble to the Constitution, we must all go together, or our efforts to perfect the Union cannot succeed.
For we who were born here, the Stars and Stripes probably shadowed our birthplaces; for those who have come to America seeking a better life --- as most of our ancestors did -- those same Stars and Stripes gave inspiration for the voyage. And I expect that most of us hope, wherever we were born, that the Stars and Stripes may shadow of final resting places. For in the end, from many, we are, and must remain, one.
-xxx-
Paul S. Marchand is an attorney who lives and works in Cathedral City, where he serves as a member of the City Council. The views expressed herein are his own, and not necessarily the views of the Municipal Corporation or the Redevelopment Agency
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