What does Free Speech mean?

I started writing this blog post several weeks ago with the intention of explaining the Supreme Court's ruling on Snyder v. Westboro Church (here is the actual case in pdf at the Supreme Court's website: Snyder v. Phelps).  Five minutes into writing I realized I wasn't really writing for people, I was writing for lawyers.  I was starting to prepare a brief.  For all those non-lawyer types, a brief is a breakdown of the case, not tighty-whities.  The first thing a law student learns (after getting over the sticker shock of the costs) is how to break a case down into Facts, Issue, Reasoning, and Holding.

Anyway, the brief is a great method to understand a case, but it isn't the way to explain it.  I think the humanity and history of the actual case is lost.  Facts fill that area, but only the facts the Court uses to make its decision are important, not the history or humanity—that is how you end up with court decisions like Dred Scott and Plessy v. Furguson.  Sometimes the facts used by the Court are completely irrelevant to what the case was really about.  
History: Matthew Snyder, a Marine, died serving his country.  His father, Mr. Snyder, buried him in Maryland.  Funeral mass was at a Catholic Church.  A notice was published in the local paper about Matthew's funeral.  The Westboro Church, from Kansas, saw that notice and planned to protest.  Westboro believes that the fate of our country is damned because of the flexible morality of society--homosexuality, support of Israel, Catholics, and plenty of other things.  Over the last twenty years, the Church has been spreading their word by making public appearances at well attended events, such as funerals, political speeches, parades, and fun-runs.  (Every time I ran the Bloomsday 12k Run in Spokane, WA, some old guy had a Westboro-type sign condemning the country.) 

Westboro notified the Westminster police about their intention to protest.  On the day of the funeral, Westboro protested 1000 feet from the church on public land.  Mr. Snyder saw only the tops of the signs on that day.  His friends let him know what was going on.  In furtherance of their...proselytizing...Westboro wrote and published online what the Court refers to as an epic.  In this web post, Westboro attacked Matthew's parents for failing to raise him correctly and continue their disturbing assault on Mr. Snyder and the country.  Mr. Snyder read this epic a few weeks after the funeral.  Already grieving for his son, Mr. Snyder suffered further torment by reading that epic.

In my opinion, and basically everybody else not overcome with hate and bigotry, Westboro's message is expressed solely in hateful words.  These hateful words are directed at everyone reading their signs.  Westboro's preaching method seems to be designed to incite action.

Issue: That is the big deal about this case.  Westboro uses hurtful words to draw attention to their cause and they do it in a way that draws attention by going to funerals.  They have made a large name for themselves by picketing the funerals of our fallen troops.  In answer, veterans have created barriers for the grieving families covering up the Westboro picketers.  This whole drama is larger than Mr. Snyder, but his experience is the first to make it to the Supreme Court.

Mr. Snyder went to court based on the tort Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress.  This tort isn't about hurt feelings.  It is about emotional abuse and the complete destruction of a person's emotional wellbeing.  The plaintiff needs to prove physical side-effects to the emotional distress.  Mr. Snyder had it in spades.  In fact, Westboro abandoned any attempt to fight this battle on the tort theory--they kind of said "Yeah, we did it, we caused his additional pain and suffering, but we're protected by the First Amendment, so you can't come after us."

Reasoning: How can the First Amendment protect Westboro?  These people go out to hurt feelings so everyone else will pay attention to them.  They're like the snot-nosed, bratty kid all the other kids ignore in the back of the classroom using rude noises and bad behavior to get attention.

Here's how the First Amendment protects these kids: Was the nature of the speech Private or was it Public?

Why does that matter?  It matters because Private speech is calling your neighbor a lying cheating bastard who sleeps with donkeys to a group of his friends.  While it might feel good, your neighbor probably isn't the subject of public discourse.  In this case, unless you can prove that your neighbor is exactly what you said and doing what you said he was, you can be sued for defamation and probably a couple of other torts.

On the opposite side is Public Speech, which is calling a highly elected official a prevaricator pilfering the public treasuries to purchase his personal pleasures.  The actions of a public actor are subject to public discourse.  We should have the ability to discuss certain things in public free from the freezing effects of silly things, like lawsuits and criminal law.

See the difference?  Even if it was clear, how does that help here?  The Supreme Court's opinion has almost the same problem.  Where is the line?

"Speech deals with matters of public concern when it can 'be fairly considered as relating to any matter of political, social or other concern to the community,' or when it 'is a subject of legitimate news interest; that is, a subject of general interest and of value and concern to the public."  Snyder v. Phelps, 562 U.S. ___ (2011) (internal cites omitted).  So, your neighbor and the donkeys aren't for public consumption, but the politician using public funds to pay his prostitutes is of public concern and a legitimate news interest.

So, a group using hurtful—hateful—words to convey their view is protected because content is the real key.  Westboro’s hurt-speech is about a topic pertaining to public concern—the course of our country.  I think if the Supreme Court hadn’t felt that the “content” wasn’t of public concern, then they would have rejected Westboro’s appeal. 

But, as rude and hurtful the words are, those words address a topic of public concern.  The First Amendment requires that we accept that anyone can express their view—regardless of how we feel about.  That is how the KKK and the Aryan Nation are able to hold parades and rallies and have websites.  We have to be able to let those Morons say their peace.

Then we can tell them to shut the F-up and go about our business.  It isn’t easy and we’ll never feel right about it.  We want to return a slap to the face with a fist.  Turning the other cheek is ideal, but hard. 

The best way to handle the slap to the face is respond with something equally protected.  Buy a motorcycle and join the Veterans that counterprotest.

I did not take any of these photos and do not claim copyright to them.

Rockin' it in Narita

           I arrived in Narita around 9:20 am on a flight from a Hiroshima.  I got off the small plane, walked into the domestic arrival terminal for All Nippon Airline and followed the trail to the international connection area.  I was surprised at the line.  Usually the only line was four people waiting to go through security.  This time the room was full and going out into the hall.  The 40 minute line gave me no trouble because my layover had me in Narita for the next six and a half hours—so I thought.

            My original flight schedule had a layover of 90 minutes.  That flight would have doubled the cost of my trip and the government can’t have that—for a number of reasons.  But I would have been to Dulles at 9am Friday morning.  And I would have only heard about the quake upon landing.

            In light of the length of my stay, I had plenty of time to finish my homework and read.  It also gave me an experience I haven’t felt in a long time.

            At 2:45 I started to my gate from the free wi-fi spot provided by Google.  I passed the McDonald’s and noticed several people were starting to panic…and I seem to be a little unsteady—maybe I was a little more tired than I thought.  A few women screamed.

 

Then it clicked: Earthquake!

 

I stood there thinking “Why are you screaming?  It is just a little quake.”  After about 15 seconds, I realized that this was not a small quake, but a more serious one.

 

The International Terminal at Narita Airport is designed in an open fashion with plenty of open space and glass art walls with square couches, and tall glass windows common to ever large airport in the world that I have ever been to looking out at the airfield.  There are several pillars, both ornamental and real, covered in tile and not.  Moving walk ways, cafés and restaurants litter the inner parts of the airport.  There is no real safe place to be in an earthquake, however.

 

When I realized how serious the quake was, about the time it sounded like the building was bouncing to a rap song, several dozen people were cowering between the large glass windows looking out to the airfield and the lowered ceiling of the hall.  Next to or near the windows was not a great idea in my mind.  What if it shattered?  Death by giant glass shards.  Closed casket funeral.

What if the ceiling fell down?  Um…crap.  Damned no matter if the building collapsed on me.

I leaned against what I hoped was a load bearing pillar assuming that it would hold even if the building began to fall around me.  The tile was cool and probably wouldn’t shatter like the decorative glass walls five feet away.  Two minutes or so later the shaking stopped.

 

My first thought once the shaking stopped was I hope my flight isn’t cancelled.  Then I began to call Jessica.  No go.  Text?  Nope.  Sh!t.  Facebook and email worked.  Thank you, God.

I continued my way to my gate as fast as possible taking pictures with my phone of some of the damage.  On the way CNN was reporting a 7.9 quake.  Several lights and tiles had fallen or shaken loose.  Shops were closing and an announcement was starting to come over the PA.  At this point, one reported death as we watched the tsunami hit Sendai.

 

Yes, the airport officials were letting us know that an earthquake had just happened, in case someone was mistaken about the current circumstances.

Several small aftershocks rocked us while we watched the news.  Then the large aftershock hit.  I was sitting next to another pillar watching the ceiling.  It moved around quite a bit, but I’m sure it was designed that way.

 

(We are headed outside at this point)

At this point someone decided it was much better for us to be outside in case another large quake took down the building.  Better us to drown in a tsunami that be crushed in a quake.  At least, that seemed to be the thought after seeing footage of people stranded on the Sendai Airport roof.

We stood outside for three hours before they brought buses for us to sit in.  The workers had supplied us with blankets and towels to keep us warm; plastic sheets and couches to sit on in the meantime.  Rain was coming and that meant we needed cover.  Hence the buses. 

By this time we shuffled into the bus, I’d formed a survivor group with a Navy officer reservist from Portland Oregon returning from an exercise in Korea, an American student/teacher who taught English in Hiroshima but returning for good to the states, and a contractor from the same exercise in Korea. 

K, the Navy officer, is a public affairs officer and spent the last few weeks in a tent and hotel in Seoul on a large scale exercise.  She spent most of her naval career on the enlisted side before her direct commissioning.  I never got her rank, and she never got mine.  I think it was an unspoken deal to not mention rank.  It was a way to ensure that conversation and comfort could be maintained without the strictures of formalities. 

M, the contractor was there as well and flew in from Seoul with K.  I know he served in the military, but I never got what service and how long.  I suspect he retired from the enlisted side of the Navy or Army and moved smoothly into a contractor position where he enjoys himself much more.  He was given a grueling work schedule in Korea for the exercise.  He was talking to his wife on Skype when the 7.1 aftershock hit and we were evacuated from the building. 

K was headed home to just outside Portland, Oregon.  M, was head back to San Francisco for his next leg of the trip. 

L, the student/teacher, spent the last 18 months in Japan teaching English at a university in Hiroshima.  She’s doesn’t want to teach anymore and her time at the US college seems to be up.  She’s at that next stage and the ever worrisome place of “what do I do now?”  Her Japanese is great—as it should be from living immersed in Japan for so long and having a BA in the language.  Her English was without expression for the most part, while her Japanese was very expressive.  L came to life speaking in that other language.  Without knowing what she said, I could understand her emotions.  She did not come across as drool, as is easily the case with her English.  L isn’t drool, just has the tendency to sound like it.

Much of the seven hours after the quake was spent waiting to hear what would happen with us.  Were we to get on a flight out?  Were we to go to a hotel to get a flight tomorrow?  Would we be allowed to leave the airport? Or would we camp the night in the airport.  I suspect K and M spent the night in the airport.  I hope they got on their flight out.

We’d had access to the internet via my iPhone and then the wi-fi signal we were able to get from the building while sitting in the bus.  We updated Facebook to make sure families wouldn’t worry and to make arrangements for our changing situation.

36 people dead according to the internet.  250 miles Northeast of Tokyo.  Sendai had been swamped.  Tsunami warnings all the way to Hawaii.  Iwakuni was having alarms and Jessica was okay.

At hour 6 after the quake we were given water, candy and Ritz crackers.  And the United flights were tallied up.  That was probably the biggest hope for everyone on the bus I was on.  Everyone on my bus had been in the United/ANA/Continental area of the airport, so we were getting itchy hearing that a representative wanted to know what flights we were on.  The plane I was on had been sitting at the gate preparing to load passengers and luggage when the quake hit. 

It turned out that almost half the bus was going to DC, including L and Tech, an 18 yr old female Chinese student attending Virginia Tech.  When the Asian man sitting next to me heard that I was going to Virginia as well, he asked that I make sure Tech got to Virginia Tech safely.  He understood I couldn’t get her to Tech, but I could make sure that she met up with her friend in Virginia.  I assume that he is a friend of the family or a caring countryman of the girl, but not her father.  She told me that this is the first time she is traveling alone and the first time to Narita ever. 

48 people dead.  Tsunami warnings for Oki and most of the Pacific coast of the US.  Hawaii could expect the wave at around 3am Hawaii time.  13 foot wave!

At about hour 7, I noticed movement.  People were getting up and moving around inside the limited area inside the building considered safe and the other buses.  Reps ran out to some of the other buses and people started moving to another set of buses and loading up.  Two full buses left towards where my plane was.  Hope! 

Finally, someone came to my bus. 

“Please be my flight!  Please!  Please!”  Everybody’s thought.  “Just let it be my flight.”

“Everyone on United flight 898 to Washington DC, please come with me.”

“BINGO!”  I won!  I think.

It wasn’t until we were standing in another line waiting to get another bus that I thought to ask L “Did he say we were getting on the plane?”

“I think so.  I think he said that,” L responded. 

I hoped she was right, but I didn’t recall the rep saying anything about a plane.  I couldn’t see any other reason for separating the passengers from that United flight.  But I’m not in control of the situation.  What is common sense for me is not always common sense for others.

My Marine leadership training has been kicking in the entire time.  “Keep your troops informed.”  It eases fear and keeps the troops calm—er.  I hate not knowing what is going on.  As a leader, even in an office, I try to keep my Marines informed of the situation and updates and changes.  That wasn’t the case here.  Granted, I know the situation was developing and plenty of the real decisions were being made about the airport by important people Not at the airport—and if the Reps didn’t know, it is because they weren’t told.

I frantically sent a Facebook message and email to Jessica asking her to call my hotel and let them know I’d be checking in late…maybe.  I figured if I wasn’t getting on a plane right now, then I’d be able to call myself when I got to wherever I was going.

I think my final Facebook post was: getting on the plane now.  We barely got off the ground in time.  We had mere minutes before the pilots absolutely had to take their federally mandated, unwaiveable break.  If the pilots took their break, we weren’t leaving the ground that night.  Once the hatch shut and the last passenger parked her rump, the pilots got us rolling while the aircrew efficiently explained our safety and emergency procedures.  We made it.  Barely.  The last United flight out of Narita and the only United Flight out after the quake.

 

Yes, there was spontaneous applause when we made it off the ground.

Right now, 29 hours after the quake, the death toll estimate is at 1000 people.  A good friend is still waiting to hear from her family in Sendai.  My family and friends have checked in with me.  Iwakuni saw a 5 inch “tsunami.”  Hawaii felt barely anything.  Nuclear power plants have had radiation leaks in the region.  The Quake is the 5^th most powerful on record.  And I made it out on the last flight before Narita was shut down indefinitely—for the night.

 

I feel extremely lucky and fortunate.

Travel Light

(The above picture is messy…I don’t apologize.  Life is messy.  I was too lazy to straighten things up and get a picture with all my “essential” Marine travel stuff.)

The picture is most of the stuff I packed—minus the netbooks, cell phones, camera, and clothes I was wearing at the time.  That is what I thought I would need to survive in Thailand for an unknown amount of time.  My seabag was almost full and my assault pack was completely full.  I have bought an additional civilian bag, two suits, several shirts and some small things to bring home.

This is light for a short deployment.  I packed a few references (the red book in the photo is one), some paper and pens, clothes, and my netbook (which I had to replace).  I was lucky.  Several of my fellow officers had additional items to carry on their person to ensure they could fulfill their more tactical/operational billets. 

I bring this up because Marines pride themselves (ourselves?) on “First to Fight” and “doing more with less.”  The first requires the Marines to act with speed and be the nation’s Quick Reaction Force—always on call and always abel to react at the drop of a hat.  We have SOP (standard operating procedure) to ensure we can mobilize a body of Marines in a set amount of time—dependent on the size of unit and sustainability of the force.  The second is out of necessity.  The Marine Corps has the smallest budget of the four primary military services.  Of course, we’re also the smallest of the four.  To prove our continued worth—and not as a second land army—we need to show we are frugal and the baddest motherfuckers in the fight.

These two points of Marine Corps pride led me to pack my gear in less than three days and forgoing some things I needed—like a government laptop to do my work on.  Yeah, my own damn fault for not critically thinking.  I forgot a few items like soap.  Almost everyone that needed a government laptop had one.  I had to borrow to get the next best thing for access to my work account.

(Tent I was in.  A/C was behind me when I took the picture.  My table is the middle on the right.)

After two weeks here, I noticed that a MEB (Marine Expeditionary Brigade)  has a LOT of gear, especially an Air Combat unit.  Plenty of tents and air conditioners and wire—both barbed and internet.  The Marines need the internet to work properly!

(Air conditioning for the tent)

WTF!  Why?!?  We tracked movements without the large projector and tv and 15 computers before 2011.  We did all sorts of complicated sorties, operations, and conquests without technology, but when the Communications Officer cannot get internet up for everyone, he’s asked why he’s not Mission Capable. 

I’m blowing this out of proportion, but only somewhat.  We (the staff) spent plenty of time leading up to the beginning of the operation looking closely at what Comm problems we had bc we didn’t have enough internet access.  It wasn’t the largest or most important issue, but we spent time on it.  We function, but complain like bitchy teenagers that we can’t do everything we can in the Rear (at our home base) without sending an email to the person sitting 30 feet away.

The…lassitude(?)…laxness…prissiness of the Wing makes me wonder if the Ground-side is as paralyzed by such communication discomfort. 

I also look to the reality of the society and the times we live in.  Technology is required!  It isn’t a luxury that we admit we can live without.  Technology’s necessity is self-perpetuating.

(My table with the borrowed gov’t laptop, my netbook, gov’t landline and cell phone, my iPhone, and the rest of my reference which are under my cover and acting as a mouse pad.)

So, I’ve just contradicted myself.  On one side I’m complaining that “we don’t really need” technology to do our warfighting job.  And on the other I state that “we must have” technology.  

How I get here is by this baggage train of logic:

In Officer Candidate School, The Basic School, and Boot Camp we are taught how to fight without 21^st century tech.  Usually we learn using left over equipment dating back 30+ years.  In OCS and TBS (and I assume Boot Camp) we are told that what we experience in training was not the Real Marine Corps.  The implication is that things are different in the Fleet, if not completely the opposite.  We train with and without the tech to make sure we can do the job regardless of our tech capabilities.

But the experience I am having on a training exercise, which is suppose to train to reality—“Train the way we fight, Fight the way we train”—shows me that we rely heavily on our tech; so heavily that we are almost handicapping ourselves.  The exercise is not hindered or slowed much by our tech issues, but the comfort of connecting via email and other online medias is a sore point that should make our jobs more efficient.

(Nokia Thai cell phone, iPhone 4G, Lenovo netbook replacing the one I broke.)

I stated that technology’s necessity is self-perpetuating.  Once we have the piece of tech we don’t want to live without it.  That is how necessity becomes comfort—and yes, necessity can become comfort.

“Necessity is the mother of invention.”

The wheel is the best example.  Once we—as in humans—had the wheel to make moving larger and larger quantities of items from Point A to Point B, we never looked back.  We created a tool that served a simple function, whatever that original purpose was, and we’ve since found countless ways to use that same tool for other things.  Wheel barrows, tires, carts, gears, water wheels, Wheel of Fortune. 

Like the wheel, the phone has changed how we act, react, and plan.  Before the phone we actually wrote letters to people, we sent telegrams if absolutely necessary, or we sent messages by word of mouth.  In war, the messenger fell under the Communication Officer (if there was one).  The phone made long distance communication easier.  Instead of traveling hundreds of miles to get a love note delivered, we could pick up the phone and say “I love you.”  Instead of sending a teenage boy on horseback from HQ across a battlefield, hostile territory, and whatever other dangers, the Commander picks up a battle phone and speaks directly to his subordinate commanders.  We won’t be going back to sending a runner.

The small Nokia is basic.  At least that is how I would describe it now.  20 years ago it was a sophisticated piece of equipment that 12 years ago I said I’d never really need.  Yeah, I’m eating crow. 

The iPhone is complex.  Not in comparison to just the Nokia, but in comparison to the netbook.  The iPhone is a true pocket computer, and possibly the best tech toy I’ve owned.  I won’t use it as a cell phone because it is set up for Japan, not Thailand and I’m not ready to throw out the warranty Jailbreaking the phone.

The things my iPhone can do—the level of comfort it gives me—makes it frustrating for me to use the Thai cell phone.  Take that analogy and apply it to automobiles.  Go from a 2010 car with a/c, heat, power windows, keyless entry, cd/mp3/ipod player and GPS, to a horse drawn carriage.  That 30 mile commute, while comfortable and enjoyable in the 2010 vehicle, in 90 degree heat and humidity will be almost unbearable in a carriage.  You won’t do it everyday.  You’ve just lost the freedom to live outside the city you work in.  No more scenic or picturesque home.  Everyone wants the best they can get—well paying job and great living condition.  (For me that is good pay, enjoyable work, and having a backyard for the dog and trees for a hammock.)  I won’t step back to horse drawn carriages if it means choosing between good job and good home. 

Now, apply those same concepts to War and an effective military.  National security pushes for a powerful, efficient and effective military.  A powerful military is a tool used to ensure National policy and goals.  This is the good job in the city and great house in the suburbs.  Now, let’s add in the extra factor that if we don’t stay at our current level and keep improving, we will become ineffective to work in the city and live in the suburbs. 

I’d like to cite China for historical purposes.  One of the greatest empires way back whenever it was inventing paper and gunpowder, but it went stagnate for centuries allowing Europe to catch up and then surpass it leading to the subordination of China to the West.

The fact that we have tech means we will need tech and to keep getting better tech.  See the Army:  http://www.nationaldefensemagazine.org/archive/2010/May/Pages/ArmysiPhoneDreamsClashWithReality.aspx

So, to bring this back to the start and travel light.  If I didn’t have the tech, my seabag and assault pack would not have been enough for what my job entails—a mountain of references and knowledge.  But without access to that same tech, I am limited.  

Rescued by my iPhone

Last night I left the cybercafe after darkness fell.  And darkness fell in horror movie fashion.  I mean the kind where light is swallowed like little children by the tooth fairy monster.  This was the kind of darkness where you find a few body parts in the morning because the cheesy sci-fi horror movie monster had a snack before it went on to dine on some slutty, big breasted bimbo defended by her condescending, egocentric jock-boyfriend.  Too dark for Jeepers-Creepers, but not dark enough for Pitch Black.  Yet, dark enough to abuse similes and metaphors to horror movies.

I stepped outside the one story maintenance building that housed the Canteena, cybercafe, and maintenance center for the Exercise.  The building stands between the main road through the base and the flight line.  Until the exercise gets into full swing, this is the defacto headquarters building and houses the entertainment center while we are here. 

I would have thought a main road would be lit through the night.  Perhaps not equal to day light, but enough to see the existence of the road.  I couldn't see the main road 30 feet away or the foot bridge over the ditch 20 feet from where I stood.  I looked left and right and saw no street lights.  The light from the building was absorbed by the darkness within five feet of the source. 

Great.  A seven minute walk back to the barracks in near pitch black, over several ditchs, across several roads, through an orchard and a lightly wooded area and a neighborhood.  Flackbacks to TBS night land navigation came to mind--"I'm going to poke my eye out falling over a tree and bleed to death." 

Night land nav at TBS involved walking through heavily wooded terrain littered with deadfall, thorny bushes, rocks, steep hills, unexpected ditches and several creeks.  F-ing creeks, F-trees, F-ing thorny bushes, and Muther-F-ing deadfall. 

The heavily wooded part meant that the illuminatin from the half-moon was absolutely useless.  The only light I saw came from the glowy stuff on the compass and 299 cell phones or digital watches belonging to my fellow tormented TBS-ers.  I appreciated the moon only when I found my way to the dirt roads marking the borders of our little joyful playground.

On the first night tortured land-nav I wore my BCGs (Birth Control Glasses--yeah, no sex with those attraction enhancers) because we were told to where eye protection.  At the time I was without contacts, and that meant I wore the ballistic corrective lenses instead of my regular glasses.  Thank God for those BCGs.  On my last trip across the rolling wooded hills I found some deadfall.  Three steps into the forest and I landed face first into a broken tree branch.  The BCGs deflected my head from the branch.  At the time, I suspected, but I confirmed later when I saw the scratch, that if I had not had the BCGs on I would be operating right now without my left eye.  Night land-nav II saw those BCGs get lost, but only after preventing more damage.

Visions of night land-nav in my mind, because they offered a real possible outcome instead of my horror flick head trip, I took a deep breath and pulled out my iPhone activating my flash light app.  Yeah, my flash light app.  No night land-nav reinactments for me.  Thank you iPhone.

Christmas Midnight Mass

I know this is late, but life intercedes...and it took me a few days to write this particular post.  I am by no means religious.

"I survived another Catholic Christmas Midnight Mass at this church," my wife said once we got home at 1 a.m.  As a recovering Catholic, I agreed.  More interestingly, I realized I missed the Christmas Midnight Mass of childhood.  

The Mass we suffered through lacked the joy and celebration Christmas should have.  It is the birth of Christ, savior of all people, God's only son, His direct representative on Earth.  He has been born, Rejoice!  Damn it.  Don't play a melancholy dirge.

Instead of joyful the music was mournful at best, the ritual grudgingly routine, and the priest almost pathetically desperate in his attempts to stir emotion.  These faults in the Mass are not from a lack of faith or a desire to express that faith by the congregation, rather it is a lack of charisma to stir emotion and bring others to action in the actors of the Mass.  

The Music bears the greater burden.  It can set the tenor of the entire Mass before the priest even opens his mouth.  I have been to Churches that have the entire congregation singing along and enjoying the uncomfortable wooden pews, jumping to sing and hug fellow celebrants and actively listen to the priest.  And I've been to Churches that condemn life itself and force believers to mourn the faith they should be rejoicing in. Christ was Born and given by God to save us!  I'm not deep in my faith or an avid defender of Christianity, but my mother taught me to understand that God should be someone (something?  some entity?) to be happy about--not regretted or resented.  The before Mass music sounded almost hopeful for half a song, but slowly devolved into routine.   

The internal Mass songs can be stirring, if sung and played with joy and emotion; but this early morning, like most normal Sunday Masses I suspect, the words and notes were merely an inconvenient routine.  And to top it off, the leader of this morose troupe alternated between flat and sharp, hardly suffering a correct note--and I am next to talentless in pitch.

The priest tried hard.  He tried to engage the few children and the scattered congregation.  However, his thick accent hindered him and his own impatience with the children made him look condescending and trite.  He asked the children questions about Christmas lore, but failed to commit to the plan and work to elicit the answers he wanted.  Placing Santa Clause into a greater religious role than he probably ever had takes away from the themes he focused on later in the sermon.  He probably was trying to bring the children into the sermon but quickly lost their attention as he ignored their answers and offered little praise for their efforts.  At that time and through most of his sermon, he sacrificed the attention of the adults, who were more entertained by the antics of a two year old.  I do not remember what else the priest talked about, but I know the kid was funny and Santa brought gifts to Christ.

I say Christmas Lore, not to degenerate Christianity, but to describe the Christianization of Pagan beliefs and traditions.  Winter celebrations predated Christianity's entrance into the world.  Thanks to historians it is easy to prove that the early Church designed Christmas (or moved its celebration) to the Winter Solstice and to encourage conversions.  There are probably plenty more facts we could catalogue to support this, but we won't.

As a child, I remember Christmas Midnight Mass being fun to attend.  I looked forward to it and not just because gifts would be under the tree afterwards.  The Mass was a celebration, not a routine that must be suffered through to enjoy Christmas Day without guilt.  The Mass was an event to start Christmas Day.

Problem Solving

I have been the Legal Assistance Attorney, Officer-in-Charge, of my little kingdom for over 7 months now.  I even have business cards with gold-embosed print.  I've learned a lot (spread your hands as far apart as possible, then triple that) in the last 7 months.

Legal Assistance is the forgotten step-child of the Judge Advocate responsibilities.  Congress deemed this service important for our military, and it most definitely is.  Every knows about Prosecution and Defense, and most people know about the lawyers that provide legal guidance to decision makers (staff judge advocates),  both are absolute requirements to the functionality of the the Military and justice.  But no one really thinks about the lonely lawyers helping to prevent an eviction, stay a civil law suit, write letters for child support.  Yeah, I've got a big office, but that allows me to have my married clients talk to me about all the issues regarding their house in foreclosure, or for the going-to-get-a-divorce client with her three under-five-years-old children explain how the servicemember has not made life easy.

I like to explain my job as all the other random legal problems people run into: divorce, death, wills, child support, home-buying/selling...and my list doth go on.

As the Random Legal Problems Attorney, I'm often left to my own devices with rare supervision and plenty of legal woes.  I am the Capt Belt-Buckle of the SJA: Alone and Un-Afraid!  And I'm never at a loss of work or research gluing me to my overly large desk--my very own government constructed fighting hole.  I digress.  Research and Legal Woes: Google is the Best legal search tool I have--better than those two dominate legal search engines.  But even with Google, I do not find the Answers.  I only find law or facts or blocked websites.  That information I gather must then be translated into understandable stuff via analysis.  I have begun to MacGyver my own legal sounding board--when my supervision is too busy to answer my inquires.

In my "alone-and-unafraid" mentality in my legal kingdom, I've grown the practice of asking questions on everything, literally.  "Yes, I remember the answer the last seven times, but maybe common sense has struck in the three days since I last asked."  When I have a question that needs answering and I'm the man for the job--usually because it is my job--I've leaned on my fellow lonely legal assistance attorneys when the answer was not immediately available in my mind.  However, I had to stop that almost cold turkey when I realized I have 6 months more experience than my closest ally--Yeah, I'm his source of info now.  Wasn't method of getting answers either.

Now, to fill the knowledge and experience gap I lay everything down in an email to an attorney I trust--normally someone placed in the state of the issue.  Then I go through the facts, legal problems, and possible solutions that I've typed.  I just hammer away at the keys explaining my problem to whomever I planned to email.  At some point during the email I've found a path to follow or the answer itself .  So I print the email for my records and communicate with my client.

Travels of Book

Some time ago, for I do not have the exact date nor even a set of years, only some time before 1928 for sure, somewhere in Great Britain and probably on a wet and cold day, for it is always wet and cold in Great Britain, a book was created.  It was probably one of several thousands of books created by that factory on that day, in that month of that year.  The book is made of paper and a hard cover and a couple of color pictures.  The hard cover is a faded blue, maybe green with a picture of the Frog Prince and his princess.  It is titled Grimm's Fairy Tales, The Brothers Grimm.

The book flops open, offering no resistance because of a thoroughly broken spine, to reveal yellowing pages.  The color on the inside cover pages has spotted and faded over the passage of time.  In the upper right hand corner of the first page in careful script are owner and year: MargarET KAYLEY, XMAS 1928.

As the flattened book lays on my desk, it's stained pages scream a fascinating story.  When was the book really published?  When did the blue book of fairy tales become a gift?  Who gave it?  Who was Margaret Kayley?  How did her book travel from Great Britain to a flee market in Yamaguchi City, Yamaguchi Prefecture, the southern part of the main island of Japan in 2010?

 Ward, Lock & Co, Limited published the book.  H.G., whoever that man is, wrote the preface detailing the task the Grimm Brothers undertook when collecting the Dutch and German fairy tales.  Butler & Tanner, Ltd, Frome and London printed the book, but in what year I do not know.

The information source (the internet) tells me that Ward, Lock & Co was swallowed by Orion Publishing or Octobus Publishing sometime ago, but Ward, Lock were publishing books back in 1854 and started on Fleet Street, London. 

How the lonely little book traveled from Great Britain to Japan is probably a good story.  Did it come immediately to some English family living in Japan to change hands during WWII and then again after the war and eventually travel the fllee market realm?  Or was it given to some family the British Isle to then travel the world at a later date?  Or was it within an American family's hands until someone brought it to Japan and left the book in a box for donations. 

Whatever the story, how a book travels around the world is always interesting.  What does this book say?