The Scarlet “D” – One voter’s perspective

 

Way, way, way back in high school, one of my first serious reading assignments was Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter, first published in 1850. The novel is set in the Puritan Massachusetts Bay colony, between 1642 and 1649. The protagonist is Hester Prynne, who became pregnant and would give birth, out of wedlock. The community forced her to stand on the scaffold for three hours, wearing the red letter “A,” for adultery, which she would have to do for the rest of her life. But where is the man in all this? He lets her be punished, alone, and she will not reveal his name. Hum. A very early lesson in the inequity of life, one that I quietly vowed not to repeat. It takes two to tango. And when I was taught it was all Eve’s fault that we were thrown out of the Garden of Eden, I demurred.

Fast forward more than half a century, and I look down at my own chest, and see a scarlet “D,” for “Democrat.” It now evokes the shame that Hester was meant to feel. I’ve been aligned with many of the values the party once stood for, ever since I supported Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota for the Presidency, in 1968, as the picture indicates, taken halfway around the world. And now, as Bill Maher appropriately quipped: “I did not leave the Democratic Party, the Party left me.” I understand.

Four examples.

1. I observed, and directly participated in the end of legal racial segregation in the South in the 1960’s, going to university in Atlanta. MLK looked forward to the day when a person was judged by their character and not the color of their skin. And that is how I lived my personal life, and also when I was in the role of a hiring authority. And now the Dems are gripped by an ideology that proclaims that the color of the skin should be the chief criteria in hiring an individual. And call me “racist” if I do not agree.

2. I am unambiguously heterosexual, and one half of binary, and have unambiguously supported gay rights since the early ‘70’s, including in the role of a hiring authority. In the ‘70’s I lived in the Inman Park section of Atlanta with its Victorian homes, large front sitting porches, and hundred-year-old oak trees. I would fly the rainbow flag off my own home, “in solidarity.” In the early ‘90’s I returned to my home for a brief period, married, with two kids. Most of my former neighbors from the ‘70’s were dead, cut down in the ‘80’s by the cruel scythe of the OTHER pandemic, HIV/AIDS. Why the version of the virus that reached North America primarily affected homosexuals, while the version in Africa primarily is transmitted by heterosexuals remains a mystery. Now, if I believe that men should not participate competitively against women in sports, I am labeled a transgender phobe, or worse. I just think it is not “sporting,” and still understand why women might object to me being in their locker room.

3. I was for Roe v. Wade BEFORE it was ever decided, in 1973. In 1972 my girlfriend at the time decided to stop taking “the pill,” and not tell me, and sure ‘nuf, became pregnant. Hum. After discussion, it was decided that our relationship was not strong enough to raise a child. Abortion was illegal in Georgia at the time. We would learn that the stewardesses (as they were all called, back then) called the Saturday morning flight from ATL to DC “the abortion flight.” Debarking, about 10 couples shuffled over to the waiting shuttle to the clinic. Yes, 10 men must have also read The Scarlett Letter and accompanied their significant others. And there was one “girl,” alone, and I wondered if she was old enough to fly unaccompanied. One more story, for another day… Reproductive rights should be framed as a couple’s rights, and not exclusively a woman’s issue, though she does bear the primary responsibility (and joy) of bringing a new person into the world.

4. And the First Amendment. Norman Rockwell painting, “Freedom of Speech,” has a man standing up at a town hall, with his dirty jacket, and open shirt collar, and his labor-worn hands, speaking his mind, while men wearing ties, his “betters,” look on. The quintessential American right… or so it used to be. All too often, now, he would be labeled as espousing “misinformation.” And therefore, would need to be silenced. I remain under the orders of the New Mexico State Police that forbids the writing of this op-ed. To be silent. It is not just the “D” on my chest that is red, my cheeks, also, in embarrassment, knowing that my Democratic representatives, my “betters,” fully support the order of the NMSP.

 

Like most Americans, I have a LOT of problems with BOTH national candidates at the top of the ticket. So, I will focus on the bottom, where my vote might matter the most.

I live in NM Senate District #20. I’ll admit it – I voted for Martin Hickey in 2020. In the intervening four years he has adamantly refused to meet with me or communicate with me in any way. We both have had careers in the medical field, at the senior level, and might have been able to formulate better approaches to the COVID pandemic, for example. The United States led the world in deaths, injuries and cases, and New Mexico ranked in the top third, as a state, in these categories, on a per capita basis. In sharp contrast, his opponent, Republican Wayne Yevoli was willing to meet with me for an hour, one-on-one. I was impressed. A matter-of-fact, “no spin,” engineer sort of guy, who clearly wants to get things done, and address the problems we continue to complain about, ad nauseum, to indifferent ears: crime; the open southern border, opioid addiction and abuse, poor education.

I also live in NM House District #28. I’ll admit it – I voted for Pamelya Herndon in 2020. Unlike Hickey, she has been willing to meet with me. Of course, crime and illegal immigration were topics, but my central concern was the restoration of my First Amendment rights and the correction of the falsified NMSP report that was written about me, and their deliberate insults to my military service as a conscript. She said she would look into it… and she did get back with me. She had been “told” to drop her inquiry. Hum. I asked her by whom. She never would tell me. Another version of Hester, protecting the guilty? Her opponent is Republican Marcie May, who was willing to meet with me for over two hours. We don’t agree about everything politically, but we did establish some rapport over the efforts that she too had experienced to deprive her of her First Amendment rights. Naturally she is concerned about our open border, crime, and drug addiction on our streets, and the indoctrination students receive in school, the opposite of being encouraged to think critically. And even do some math, and we agreed it was not inherently racist.

The phone rang while I was writing this. Another scam, that managed to circumvent the “scam-blocker.” You get them too, along with the daily attempts by email to “phish,” and to deceive, and to leave you poorer. Some of us are old enough to remember that Nigerian prince, who had to get $25 million out of the country and into your bank account… but needed a little help with the “custom’s fees.” The home phone, the email, and now my US Postal Box. Slick, glossy cards, with pictures of the candidates, sometimes with heroic gazes, eyes uplifted. Telling me that – wow – they too are concerned about crime, despite the last four years of “do nothing.” They proclaim an endorsement or two, but I note that there is none from our Democratic Governor, who went very public about her displeasure with the “do nothing” Democratic legislature. Re-elected, this time, the slick cards assure me that they would actually do something about it… well, after sufficient “study.” An open question: Am I more likely to get the $25 million from the prince?

Unlike Hester, it is possible for me to walk into a polling booth, take off my scarlet “D,” and regain my own self-respect by giving some new folks a chance to resolve some very old problems. Looking over into the next polling booth, is that the Governor that I see, taking off her own scarlet “D”? We deserve a legislature that is worthy of the natural beauty of our state, starting with the lovely Sandia, almost in my backyard.