Another article interpretation piece. Title reference to Questionablecontent.net (I do not own [I believe its owned by Jeph Jacques]).
Piece regarding: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/05/opinion/05thu1.html?ref=constitutional_amendments
A Constitutional Milestone: Its about Gosh-Darn Time
In 2008, Proposition 8 was passed in California. It ruled, with bitter resentment of the homosexual population, that the marital union of gays and lesbians unconstitutional. On August 4th, however, that Proposition was REVOKED. (Take it, fundamentalists.) Vaughn Walker, the perceptive judge who heralded this movement, proclaimed that the Proposition violated the 14th Amendment rights of the ones suffering its tyranny and immediately defenestrated the piece of judicial garbage, ushering in an era of well-deserved equality for gays and lesbians.
The supporters of Proposition 8, if there actually were any (the article seldom, if ever, referenced these individuals), argued that discrimination is permissible if ruled as such by a majority vote. They were being serious, too. This paragraph cannot be extended, as the audacity of the argument is absolutely astounding, and cannot truly be augmented in any way by satirical social commentary.
The side debating for the immediate defenestration of the Proposition called for the eradication of the article, stating that the opposition presented no evidence whatsoever that the matrimony of homosexuals harmed society in any way and that to continue to bar gays and lesbians from the act of marriage is to deny them social equality. The faction continued by presenting evidence showing that homosexual couples are equally effective parents and can provide the same degree of stability to both a child and to the community.
I, Lord Erikshielder, am socially liberal. I could argue for hours on end toward social and educational reform, and the topic of equality for homosexuals is no different, but you will never find me on the side against them. It doesn’t matter your sexual orientation – Homosexual, Bisexual, Transsexual, Metrosexual, or Heterosexual – you are a human (and if you happen to live in America, you are an American), and as an American human you are guaranteed, and if you aren’t then court should be where you are, the right to equality. Period. If we, as a nation, deny equal rights to social groups, we are no better than the most prejudice, ignorant bigots, but if you choose to be morally backwards and elitist, be my guest, but prepare to be annihilated on the debate floor.
Monday, October 11, 2010
How Ubiquitous should Free Speech be?
This short summarization and interpretation was written in regards to the article mentioned below for my Government class.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/10/us/10kansas.html?ref=constitutional_amendments
A Lived Experience: Testing the Limit of Free Speech
In Topeka, Kansas, a man by the name of Fred W. Phelps entertains a constant vigilance for the right of free speech. The method? He pickets, protests, preaches at the funerals of dead soldiers, claiming that their deaths are the wrath of a vengeful god acting upon sinners and evil-doers, and that their deaths label them as such. Starting in 1979 and continuing to today, Mr. Phelps has come under fire from all levels of government for his radical demonstrations, but he’s smashed all of the accusations and attacks with the shield and sword of the first amendment – the right to free speech.
The families of the deceased, of course, think that this guy is a disrespectful lunatic, anarchy-bent heretic, god-obsessed zealot, should be burned at the stake, etc. They would just as soon argue that his exercising of free speech is invading their rights as they would take the breath of life. It can be well expected that a grief-stricken parent would take up arms against those who would rail against their dead family, denouncing their demise as the fury of God, so it is no surprise that Mr. Phelps has come under fire, but his shield has held strong thus far, to the crusader’s discontent.
Mr. Phelps holds to his acts the impregnable barrier of the Bill of Rights. The right to free speech is such a nasty double-edged sword. With his exacting of the first amendment, he has scoffed at all attempts to put him behind bars, but he has also earned the honorary position of most publicly hated man in Topeka and the title “The Most Hated Man in America”. Oh the whips and scorns of expressing your beliefs, so painful.
This is where the debate begins. The crusaders contre to the Phelpses would argue that the first amendment has limits to its credence, arguing against the blatant inflammatory lexicon used by Phelps. Of course, the herald of God’s word would never agree with this. Me, Lord Erikshielder, I am honestly at an ethical crossroads here. I seriously stand for the rights granted by the constitution, and the higher part of the conscious believes that this man should be granted the right to spew every hateful word he wishes at whosever funeral he chooses, but then I envision the bullying that goes on in schools and by parents every day and I cannot – by the word of my moral code – cannot sanction this act. It bears to great a personal conflict to ever say that bullying of any sort can ever be allowed, and this act is no different. Even so, the Bill of Rights still stands a pillar of faux justice against this idealism. The streets just can’t be cleaned up by a rugged man with a gun and a purpose anymore.
“Some times the truest justice is found beyond the courtroom and the clouded eyes of politicians”
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/10/us/10kansas.html?ref=constitutional_amendments
A Lived Experience: Testing the Limit of Free Speech
In Topeka, Kansas, a man by the name of Fred W. Phelps entertains a constant vigilance for the right of free speech. The method? He pickets, protests, preaches at the funerals of dead soldiers, claiming that their deaths are the wrath of a vengeful god acting upon sinners and evil-doers, and that their deaths label them as such. Starting in 1979 and continuing to today, Mr. Phelps has come under fire from all levels of government for his radical demonstrations, but he’s smashed all of the accusations and attacks with the shield and sword of the first amendment – the right to free speech.
The families of the deceased, of course, think that this guy is a disrespectful lunatic, anarchy-bent heretic, god-obsessed zealot, should be burned at the stake, etc. They would just as soon argue that his exercising of free speech is invading their rights as they would take the breath of life. It can be well expected that a grief-stricken parent would take up arms against those who would rail against their dead family, denouncing their demise as the fury of God, so it is no surprise that Mr. Phelps has come under fire, but his shield has held strong thus far, to the crusader’s discontent.
Mr. Phelps holds to his acts the impregnable barrier of the Bill of Rights. The right to free speech is such a nasty double-edged sword. With his exacting of the first amendment, he has scoffed at all attempts to put him behind bars, but he has also earned the honorary position of most publicly hated man in Topeka and the title “The Most Hated Man in America”. Oh the whips and scorns of expressing your beliefs, so painful.
This is where the debate begins. The crusaders contre to the Phelpses would argue that the first amendment has limits to its credence, arguing against the blatant inflammatory lexicon used by Phelps. Of course, the herald of God’s word would never agree with this. Me, Lord Erikshielder, I am honestly at an ethical crossroads here. I seriously stand for the rights granted by the constitution, and the higher part of the conscious believes that this man should be granted the right to spew every hateful word he wishes at whosever funeral he chooses, but then I envision the bullying that goes on in schools and by parents every day and I cannot – by the word of my moral code – cannot sanction this act. It bears to great a personal conflict to ever say that bullying of any sort can ever be allowed, and this act is no different. Even so, the Bill of Rights still stands a pillar of faux justice against this idealism. The streets just can’t be cleaned up by a rugged man with a gun and a purpose anymore.
“Some times the truest justice is found beyond the courtroom and the clouded eyes of politicians”
Ace T. Choline: Private Eye
A piece I wrote for AP Psych. Its not literary or anything. I just chose the Film Noir medium because I wanted to experiment. "(Mono)" indicates that Ace is monologuing to himself.
Ace: (mono) It was 1949. Crime roamed the streets of New York like it was the Archduke of Austria. I was young. Had a few cases. Nothing big. The shadows of the city pervaded my office like an iron curtain. I kept two magnums in my desk. One, a gun, and I kept it loaded. The other, bourbon, and it kept me loaded. I punched a few more keys on my typewriter. It had been a long day. A saxophone riff suddenly played. She walked through the door like a tigress walks in to a Burmese Orphanage – strawberry blonde and legs for hours. No dame her age could afford a coat like that, and the kinda makeup she had on gave me a good idea of how she got it. She had bad news written on her like October of ’29.
Sara: are you Ace?
Ace: yeah
Sara: I hear you’re pretty good
Ace: (mono) typical flattery. I could tell she hadn’t played the Femme Fatale role in a while
Sara: I have a job for you
Ace: I’m listening
Sara: my husband was murdered a few days ago. The police found no leads
Ace: (mono) she was like a cat playing with her food. I wasn’t buyin it
Ace: You’re in quite a good mood to have just lost your lover
Sara: I’m a strong woman
Ace: A little heavy on the makeup. Who you lookin good for?
Sara: I don’t sleep much. I need a little helping hand
Ace: you look well for getting no sleep
Sara: I keep a good well-being
Ace: (mono) she leaned in, flaunting what even Mae West would be jealous of. She took a puff of her cigarette. A dark puff, and blew it at me like a politician. It was predatory and corrupt, full of betrayal. She had men under her thumb. I had to be careful. I don’t do well wrapped around fingers
Ace: so Mel is dead?
Sara: how did you know Mel was my husband?
Ace: we were friends. I’d never forget his watch
Ace: (mono) Sara covered up her wrist. She could tell she had been read like a pop-up book on Kama Sutra
Sara: so will you do the job?
Ace: I’ll get to the bottom of this
(mono) the very bottom. I sat back in my chair. The street light below flickered off. My impractically slow ceiling fan spun above me like a tornado, only without the high winds, funnel cloud, devastation and death
Sara: you two were friends?
Ace: yeah, friends like Germany and Russia were friends
Sara: what happened?
Ace: (mono) she was setting me up for something. I was being herded like buffalo to a cliff. I decided to play along
Ace: we were in the watch-making business. I wanted out. That didn’t sit with him. He took our assets to court. And won
Sara: what’d you do?
Ace: I came here. I wanted to rid the street of corruption; corruption like him
G-man: GABA G-man, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Ace T. Choline, you are under arrest for the murder of Mel Tonin
Ace: you framed me!
Sara: like Roger Rabbit
Ace: (mono) A cunning Riposte in our verbal duel. I had been reduced to a Burmese Orphan, and she was the tigress. Like a fish on a hook, I had fallen for the bait; and all the obscure similes and metaphors couldn’t save me now.
Ace: (mono) It was 1949. Crime roamed the streets of New York like it was the Archduke of Austria. I was young. Had a few cases. Nothing big. The shadows of the city pervaded my office like an iron curtain. I kept two magnums in my desk. One, a gun, and I kept it loaded. The other, bourbon, and it kept me loaded. I punched a few more keys on my typewriter. It had been a long day. A saxophone riff suddenly played. She walked through the door like a tigress walks in to a Burmese Orphanage – strawberry blonde and legs for hours. No dame her age could afford a coat like that, and the kinda makeup she had on gave me a good idea of how she got it. She had bad news written on her like October of ’29.
Sara: are you Ace?
Ace: yeah
Sara: I hear you’re pretty good
Ace: (mono) typical flattery. I could tell she hadn’t played the Femme Fatale role in a while
Sara: I have a job for you
Ace: I’m listening
Sara: my husband was murdered a few days ago. The police found no leads
Ace: (mono) she was like a cat playing with her food. I wasn’t buyin it
Ace: You’re in quite a good mood to have just lost your lover
Sara: I’m a strong woman
Ace: A little heavy on the makeup. Who you lookin good for?
Sara: I don’t sleep much. I need a little helping hand
Ace: you look well for getting no sleep
Sara: I keep a good well-being
Ace: (mono) she leaned in, flaunting what even Mae West would be jealous of. She took a puff of her cigarette. A dark puff, and blew it at me like a politician. It was predatory and corrupt, full of betrayal. She had men under her thumb. I had to be careful. I don’t do well wrapped around fingers
Ace: so Mel is dead?
Sara: how did you know Mel was my husband?
Ace: we were friends. I’d never forget his watch
Ace: (mono) Sara covered up her wrist. She could tell she had been read like a pop-up book on Kama Sutra
Sara: so will you do the job?
Ace: I’ll get to the bottom of this
(mono) the very bottom. I sat back in my chair. The street light below flickered off. My impractically slow ceiling fan spun above me like a tornado, only without the high winds, funnel cloud, devastation and death
Sara: you two were friends?
Ace: yeah, friends like Germany and Russia were friends
Sara: what happened?
Ace: (mono) she was setting me up for something. I was being herded like buffalo to a cliff. I decided to play along
Ace: we were in the watch-making business. I wanted out. That didn’t sit with him. He took our assets to court. And won
Sara: what’d you do?
Ace: I came here. I wanted to rid the street of corruption; corruption like him
G-man: GABA G-man, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Ace T. Choline, you are under arrest for the murder of Mel Tonin
Ace: you framed me!
Sara: like Roger Rabbit
Ace: (mono) A cunning Riposte in our verbal duel. I had been reduced to a Burmese Orphan, and she was the tigress. Like a fish on a hook, I had fallen for the bait; and all the obscure similes and metaphors couldn’t save me now.
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