Ordering up a Helping of Hatred

It was doubly crazy. First, it was a crazy idea that Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio were slaughtering people’s pets and eating them. C’mon, folks; that’s crazy. But then came the even more unbelievable story: Donald Trump with his sidekick J.D. Vance apparently believed the lies – at least, they believed the zany concoction was worth repeating, and repeating, and repeating – that’s really crazy.

“In Springfield, they’re eating the dogs. The people that came in [from Haiti], they’re eating the cats. They’re eating the pets of the people that live there. This is what’s happening in our country. And it’s a shame.”

There’s plenty of shame involved with this lie, alright, but the shame doesn’t belong to hard-working Haitian immigrants, most of whom have contributed to a revival of economic hope in Springfield. The mayor of the city and other Ohio leaders couldn’t debunk the story fast enough. But shutting down the lies is harder than making them, and the shame in this account belongs to Trump and Vance.

In repeating and exaggerating their lies, Trump and Vance knowingly lit a fire of dishonesty and potential violence that can’t be extinguished. The Haitians are described as “dangerous.” The implication is that Haitians have acted violently, thereby earning some violence in return.

“They’re at the highest level of criminality,” shouted Trump. And then he made the charge that he was wanting to make all along: “We have to get them out. We have to get them out fast.” Don’t stop to think. Don’t find out what’s true and what’s not. Don’t get slowed down by any sense that violence is wrong. It’s the “get’em, get’em all and get’em quick” mandate from Trump.

It’s impossible for me to hear Trump’s call to get rid of these people without, at the same time, hearing the shuffling boots of Nazi enforcers coming for those hated by Hitler. Trump loved the lie about the immigrants because it justified his call for hatred. It’s all about hating, and recruiting others to hate as well. He would like some willing “patriots” to erase an American community of Haitian immigrants. We only need to look back as far as January 6 (2021) to know there are thugs who’d love to do the job at his suggestion. As surely as Hitler’s troops herded up Jews (among others) for the ovens, and as surely as the Jim Crow south used lynchings and bombings to instill fear among the innocent – so surely does Trump want us to round up law-abiding Haitian immigrants and remove them from our shores.

I’ll never get the media audience drawn by Trump and Vance. Frankly, I don’t want it. But for a moment I wish my nation’s people would stop, listen, think and know that what we need is not more hatred fueled by lies. I wish the media which broadcast the lies would give as much time and space to proving the lies false and taking away the power of hatred being spewed by Trump and his lackies.

Good grief, friends, isn’t it clear that what we need is NOT more hatred?

What we need is a greater sense of service to our neighbors, no matter the color of their skin or the place of their birth. On my worst days, I fear that lies will prevail and innocents will be targeted. On my better days, I’m convinced that we are a nation longing to be brought together. I’d love to see the evidence that supports my hope, evidence that would roll in with acts of kindness, compassion, respect, and love.

A Timeless Message

I was privileged to deliver the keynote address at the August 19, 1992 Republican National Convention in Houston. We imagined, then, that my AIDS would kill me within a few years. But thirty-two years later, I’m still alive; still an activist; still able to mount a podium, pulpit or platform and speak out.

If I were to speak to Republicans today, I would want to take on the merchants of hatred and false prophets of brutality: white nationalists, misguided patriots, those who peddle misinformation and trade in lies. I’d like to go after those who seek power so that they can reduce their opponents to worthless enemies, ignoring their common humanity.

Were I invited to Chicago – an amusing thought – I’d want to defend those who are unable to defend themselves. They’re poll workers whose integrity suffered the slings and arrows of false charges. They’re the immigrants who crawl through snake-infested deserts because they long for a life in America. They’re children who are hungry, elderly who are lonely, and People of Color who have inherited the legacies of slavery, brutality and poverty. They are people featured in my upcoming book, Uneasy Silence, due out late this year.

In Houston, 30 years ago, I spoke of AIDS. In Chicago, I would speak of hatred. Both, as nearly as I can tell, are versions of the enemies that plague our nation and our politics. “They have not earned cruelty and they do not deserve meanness,” I said 32 years ago of those who had AIDS. I’d say it again today, applying it broadly to all those under attack. I’d say, again, that “they don’t benefit from being isolated or treated as outcasts. Each of them is exactly what God made: a person. Not evil, desiring of our judgment; not victims, longing for our pity. People. Ready for support and worthy of compassion.”

The dehumanizing of others has become a political pastime for some so-called “leaders” and a score of broadcast platforms. It’s not worthy of us as Americans. I’d love to find a way to deliver that message from any platform in the world.

P.S. - Wishing President Biden strength for his speech tonight!

Reflections on '92

Tomorrow is the thirty-second anniversary of my keynote address to the 1992 Republican National Convention in Houston. I spoke two nights after Patrick Buchanan -- the one-time speech writer for Spiro Agnew and then Richard Nixon, and himself a failed presidential candidate in ’92 – launched a major assault in what is today known as America’s Culture War.

“There is a religious war going on in this country,” claimed an angry Buchanan, “a cultural war…a war for the soul of America.” He was all about righteous fury and that destruction (or slander) of anyone standing in his way.

The objects of Buchanan’s anger were immigrants, liberals, People of Color who protested police brutality and his two favorite terrors: “radical feminism” and “homosexual rights.” All these were seen by him as proof that the “real America” was dissolving, and they deserved to be driven from our shores. The late Molly Ivins found Buchanan’s harangue Nazi-enough to remark that she would have preferred it “in the original German.”

While Buchanan declared war that hot night in Houston, I spent my time on the podium a few days later calling for decency, kindness, courage and compassion. I thought of them as legitimate Republican themes in 1992. I had served President Gerald Ford as one of his “advancemen” and was honored that he was among those attending my address. And I had learned over the years from my friend and heroine, Betty Ford, that speaking the truth softly can deliver a powerful witness to others. She had taken on first breast cancer and then alcoholism without shame or pity. She wanted to save lives, and she did. As I approached the Convention in 1992, I sought her counsel and hoped I could serve with the courage and candor she embodied.

When my speech was over that night in Houston, Mrs. Ford was among the first to embrace me. She wasn’t concerned about culture wars or political attacks. What mattered to her was that I had told the truth, hoping to make a difference. Although the themes might not resonate with today’s Republican Party, they represent the values that are more than thirty years old.

I still miss both the President and Mrs. Ford. I doubt they would recognize today’s Republican Party. But I know what would matter most to them about my time on the podium in Houston: That I had told the truth candidly and consistently, with respect for all people regardless of party affiliation.

That wouldn’t have gone well at this year’s Republican convention in Milwaukee. But, frankly, I’m honored to serve in the Fords’ tradition – even if that makes me more comfortable in Chicago than in Milwaukee.