Why Donald Trump Should Not Be President
Donald Trump is a man who dwells in bigotry, bluster and false promises.


The man who wanted us to be uncomfortable
On
a rainy Friday morning in the city he called home for many years, the
Rev. Daniel Berrigan was celebrated more than mourned at a funeral mass
in Manhattan.
by MARK CHIUSANO
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The
funeral for Father Daniel Berrigan, the Jesuit poet and peace activist,
was held at the Church of St. Francis Xavier in Manhattan last week,
where he was praised as a hero, a holy man, even a saint, by speakers
and mourners.
Berrigan
was the rogue priest who, along with his brother Philip, became a
symbol of the anti-Vietnam War and Catholic peace movement. He later
protested nuclear weapons, the Iraq War and the detention of “enemy
combatants” at Guantanamo Bay.
He
spent years in federal prison for his actions, which included damaging
nuclear warheads and lighting draft cards on fire with homemade napalm.
He
clashed with the church — and there was a certain irony in this radical
peace activist, who was a member of the militant Jesuit order, being
eulogized in a Jesuit church that also plays host to military regimental
ceremonies.
But
such are the contradictions inherent in eulogizing an activist,
controversial in life but praised after his or her work is done.
Making of an activist
Pete Swanson said he had been Berrigan’s student years ago.
As
a newly ordained priest teaching at Brooklyn Preparatory School during
the 1950s, Berrigan was “electric even then,” Swanson, 77, says. “He had
an aura about him. He was on a different plane.”
But the teacher and pupil soon moved in different directions.
Berrigan
left the school and moved on to activist work. Swanson ended up getting
drafted in 1960, mistakenly, he says. He has been afflicted with
Retinitis pigmentosa since birth, he says, a degenerative disorder of
the eyes that eventually results in severe vision impairment. But the
doctor refused to grant a medical deferment. Even in basic training, he
says he was night-blind.
“Father
Berrigan was against the war, I got caught up in it by mistake,”
Swanson says. While Berrigan was dodging the FBI and protesting, Swanson
says he had friends “getting blown up” in Vietnam.
Asking questions that are easy to ignore
Swanson’s
feelings are conflicted, even paradoxical. Nuclear disarmament is very
important to him, he says. But it was activists like Berrigan who pushed
disarmament to a political reality.
“In hindsight, Berrigan did what he had to do.”
Swanson’s
reaction to Berrigan is indicative of the way activists are treated in
their own time. Some of Berrigan’s tactics might still be controversial,
but his vision seems less so today.
In
a note to the Xavier community after Berrigan's death, Xavier's high
school president Jack Raslowsky wrote of what some have said is the
strength of a Jesuit education: being made to feel "uncomfortable."
"Dan
Berrigan was uncomfortable, and he made others uncomfortable. He was a
consistent, prophetic witness for peace and often asked questions that
were easier for most to ignore."
Will
we feel the same about those who continue Berrigan's legacy in 50
years? The climate change partisans who chain themselves to each other
in oil company lobbies. The Occupiers at Zuccotti Park (who Berrigan
visited, in fact, at the end of his life). The Black Lives Matter
protesters who were once joined by throngs of supporters, but now often
continue their protests and actions alone.
Berrigan’s
legacy urges us to minister to the helpless and downtrodden, to those
in the jails, the war zones, the sick, the homeless, the poor. And to
minister to everyone else by pushing relentlessly for a better world.
If
anything, Berrigan would likely suggest that we do not protest enough —
that insufficient questions are raised about drones and endless states
of low-level, far-away warfare.
The questions might annoy, or disrupt, but someday we’ll say they were good.
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The leader of the Cuban Revolution gave a rare public speech during the closure of the seventh Congress of the Communist Party.
t
constitutes a superhuman effort to lead any people in times of crisis.
Without them, the changes would be impossible. In a meeting such as
this, which brings together more than a thousand representatives chosen
by the revolutionary people themselves, who delegated their authority to
them, for all it represents the greatest honor they have received in
their lives, to which is added the privilege of being a revolutionary
which is the product of our own conscious.
fter
rattling many of his supporters by expressing tolerance toward
transgender people, the Republican front-runner Donald J. Trump
clarified on Friday that he still opposes women who were born women.
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In the room where it happens
Lin-Manuel Miranda, the creator of "Hamilton," spent this week making headlines in Washington. But he's not new to politics.
by MARK CHIUSANO
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NOW ARRIVING
It was a particularly political week for Lin-Manuel Miranda, creator and star of the blockbuster musical "Hamilton."
Miranda
was in Washington to perform at the White House. While in town, he met
with Treasury Secretary Jack Lew, later tweeting that Lew said "you're
going to be very happy" with the new $10 bill. That tweet brought a
surge of attention to the proposed redesigned currency, which treasury
hopes can include a woman's portrait for the first time without angering
Hamilton supporters.
He
also lent his support to a bill providing bankruptcy protection to
debt-strapped Puerto Rico, standing alongside members of Congress and
another political force: his father.
Meet me inside
Luis A. Miranda, Jr. isn't just a supporting character in an epic toast from his son's wedding. He is a longtime powerbroker in New York.
A
founder of the political consultancy MirRam Group, the elder Miranda
has been on all sides of the political ecosystem: An adviser to Mayor Ed
Koch; an early contributor to the campaigns of Sen. Chuck Schumer,
Hillary Clinton, and Fernando Ferrer; and a founder of the Hispanic
Federation, an advocacy and social services group.
Luis
Miranda says he can't remember a time when he wasn't involved in
politics, dating to his time in Puerto Rico. And in Puerto Rico, all
politics is tinged by an ultimate, portentous decision, says Miranda.
You're casting a vote on Puerto Rico's future: Independence,
commonwealth, or statehood.
In America, that's a Civil War- or American Revolution-era choice, which his son captures so well in "Hamilton."
Miranda
says that upon arriving in America it took him a while to find his
place in the Democrat-Republican divide. Since then, he's been engaged
in "politics with a big P" —mostly electoral campaigns.
Angelo
Falcón, founder of the National Institute for Latino Policy and another
mainstay of the NYC political scene, says he's been "busting his chops"
for years and has had disagreements with Miranda's political choices,
but says he respects Miranda's establishing a "real powerhouse"
political consultancy in MirRam group.
Falcón
remembers the father-son team when Lin-Manuel was a kid, and he
appreciates that now, the Hamilton creator remains engaged in political
issues.
"What's
happening in Puerto Rico is a humanitarian crisis," says Falcón — an
issue that goes "beyond politics" and necessitates involvement from the
wider community, particularly artists. "Sometimes we don't see our
artists speaking out as much as they should."
History has its eyes on you
Lin-Manuel
is an exception to that unfortunate rule. He has been steeped in local
politics from an early age — he wrote the music for political jingles
for some of his father's campaign work, including Ferrer and Eliot
Spitzer. He was adept at ensuring that the "intended audience was
identified in the music," says his father — a light salsa touch, for
example.
Today
he "reads like a madman" and "can talk to you about what happened in
the debate last night." Though he's inevitably performing during the
debates, he devours coverage. But politics was never what he wanted to
do. "My son has never been a very political person" — as in big p
Politics, says Miranda.
Lin-Manuel
has become comfortable advancing political causes important to him, his
father says, noting artists like Marc Anthony or those who boycotted
the Oscars who have done the same.
The
elder Miranda makes a distinction between his and Lin-Manuel's advocacy
in the morning and the afternoon on the D.C. trip. Tuesday started by
addressing media and supporters, already receptive to their cause.
Later, they met quietly in Senate offices where they weren't always
preaching to the choir.
In
a meeting with amateur violinist Sen. Orrin Hatch, they discussed music
before moving on to Puerto Rico, Lin-Manuel adding his "perspective
from a personal view," his father says.
The
younger Miranda is learning how to use his celebrity to advance
selective causes: "He's not going to be in the room negotiating," his
father says. Instead he's figuring out what he can "realistically do to
move the conversation."
In other words, learning to have an impact whether or not he's in the room where it happens.
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