Lately, I’ve been thinking about many things at once. The sacrifices of our soldiers. The life of my Uncle James, cut short at the close of WWII. He served in the 703rd Tank Destroyer Battalion and was shot within days of being sent home. I’ve also had the COVID-19 pandemic on my mind, with all the deaths, disruptions, and disorder a microscopic organism can inflict on a supposedly intelligent species.
Lockdown and social distancing orders, happening as they have during a long, hot summer have served to fuel everyone’s frustration and animus. As I write this, Black Lives Matter, as an organization, is highly controversial, but the concept, the aspiration that black lives matter as much as everyone else’s, is not. Yet, riots, arson, looting, and shootings have called lofty ideals like these into question. Our government, rather than calming our worst impulses, has provoked more of them. Organizations that have claimed to be moral have often adopted tactics which are anything but.
Everything has become politicized. Taking a knee is no longer a sign of respect to some, but an act of disrespect or outright defiance. Wearing a mask and avoiding large gatherings have become partisan issues. The Supreme Court is now viewed as an instrument for advancing political or ideological agendas rather than arbitrating matters of law. Parties that used to differ on approaches to common problems now find it impossible to agree on basic facts and even the existence of the problems they are charged with solving. Climate change and the international arms race continue with inadequate responses from our political class. Anything politicians disagree with or that might show them in a negative light is immediately branded as a hoax. They take credit for each other’s work and blame others for their own mistakes, shortcomings, or incompetence. And a woman named Ruth died.
Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg is one of many women named Ruth who have made a difference far beyond conventional expectations. As I conceived my most recent story, I was thinking about Uncle James, the trials of the summer, the notion of what it means to be a monster, and the news that RBG had lost her battle with cancer. Young Ruth in my story, “And a Little Child…,” was inspired by the dynamo that was RBG. It occurred to me that it takes faith like hers to reach out and tame the monsters that face us.
Occasionally, one of those “monsters” turns out to be an ally of incomparable strength and dedication. Many on the right considered RBG a monster. Many on the left thought of her dear friend Antonin Scalia the same way. Yet, the two of them loved the law and respected each other. I’m sure their differences made their friendship all the richer. What we are inside makes all the difference, not our external appearance or our supposed ideological loyalties. Ruth and James in my story were as different on the outside as they could be, yet they still recognized each other’s inner worth – their humanity, if I can call it that. Maybe the real monsters in this world are those who call other people monsters while doing monstrous things themselves. RBG built bridges, empowered others, and never gave up on those she loved. There is a lesson in that. I hope my little story will somehow serve as a footnote to that lesson.
MurrayWorks 