President George W. Bush: An evaluation

Four years ago I wrote a column evaluating George W. Bush's first term. I relayed a tale I remember well. During a stump speech, when Bush sought the authority to launch Operation Iraqi Freedom, the president stopped in Cincinnati. He described the atrocities of Saddam Hussein, and the magnitude of the threat Saddam's regime posed. Then he put forth the notion that we Americans could choose to do nothing about it.

"That's not the America I know," Bush said. "That's not the America I serve. We will not live in fear."

I described that line as Bush's public insistence that he did not run for president — put his family through the magnitude of garbage that comes with high office, put his own life in the hands of history — to watch a madman go unchecked. I described that moment as my favorite George W. Bush moment.

It still is.

And my evaluation of Bush's performance after 8 years hasn't changed from what I thought 4 years ago. Bush was a good president, though not a great one.

There are a few things that could well prove disastrous: Deficits and added debt, his failure to reform Social Security or control the border, and socialization of the finance industry.
But there have been other big, big battles to fight. Taxes have gone down, defense capabilities are up, al-Qaeda is reeling. Late term abortion. Idiotic gun control measures. The Supreme Court. On those Bush has been mostly right, most of the time.

Some used the "are you better off than you were 8 years ago?" argument during the recent election campaign. There's no single answer that applies to everybody — I know I am better off today than I was then, but I just went to college and not everyone has my story.

There is, however, a single answer to that question as it applies to the world as a whole. If we look at Afghanistan and Iraq, and especially at their previous governments, we can see that the world today is a better place than it was in 2001.

Reasonable people can't ask much more than that.

A public service announcement

Hello, readers.

I know I owe you all an apology for my lack of writing lately. I hope you know I appreciate your readership.

I was a bit busy with a toast for my cousin's wedding, and with writing a personal statement to attach to my law school applications. Those are my two other recent posts ... not something that interests most people, probably, but they were both very painful for me to write so I put them up anyway.

Anyhow, I promise (and I mean it this time) to have more good (or at least better) stuff for you this week. First, my evaluation of the Bush Years will come this week. After that, I'll have a few words for the upcoming Obama years.

Before that, however, I would like to give out a shout for This Day in History. Two significant items:

1. Jan. 14, 1784: The United States and England ratified a peace treaty, officially ending the American Revolutionary War.

2. Jan. 14, 2008: Bobby Jindal was sworn into office as governor of Louisiana. In the coming weeks, I swiftly developed a deep (almost unhealthy) man-crush on Jindal. It is because of him that I maintain hope that we can right the ship of the American government.

And tomorrow the world ...

Thanks again for your patience.

My law school application personal statement

It's cliche to say I witnessed something that "changed my life." So suffice it to say I won't soon forget a story I covered when I was a reporting intern at The Hays Daily News.

One afternoon a colleague grabbed me by the arm and hustled me out the door, into his car and down the road. In a nearby small town a man was on trial, accused of sexually abusing his foster children.

My first reaction was the disgust that comes to any sane person confronted by sexual abuse towards children. Kids shouldn't have to fear adults, especially in that way. Then I heard testimony and listened to evidence. I soon realized what was going on, and it horrified me. The defendant was an innocent man.

My parents still tried to talk me out of applying for law school.

"I think you should go to work for the Post Office," my dad told me a few months ago. Sure, it'd be a good job — reasonable hours, decent pay for a job much less stressful than legal practice — but I have higher ambitions.

In fact, I've always had higher ambitions. When I first graduated high school I intended to pursue a teaching career. I wanted to "save the world, one 15-year-old history student at a time." Seriously. A teacher can only do so much, but a positive influence on a child's life is no small thing.

I even used to joke that I intended to be president one day. (For what it's worth, my mom told me I'd be wasting my time running for office, too. Evidently, I'm too conservative and outspoken to stand any chance at getting elected.) But self-indulgent glory and attention was not what drew me to that notion. I joked about running for office because I've always had a deep-rooted desire to improve the world around me.

When I was on a camping trip as a child, an older cousin taught me the "Plus-One Rule." Every one of us in our camping group picked up each bit of trash we brought into the campground — plus one piece of litter that was left by someone before us. It's a compromise between the idealistic desire to have a perfectly clean and natural outdoor experience, and the blunt reality that a person can only do so much — I can't save the world alone.


The Plus-One Rule is our small way of making our campgrounds and fishing holes just a bit cleaner. It's grand and I wish I could get everybody to follow it. But it's a small thing, and there's a thing about doing small things. They're small. Not to repudiate those who devote small efforts to make small differences, but I want to do more.

As I watched that sex abuse trial, I contemplated a question that I've asked myself many times since: What if the defendant had not had a good lawyer? I've not yet found an answer that I like, and that ultimately is what has brought me to filing this application. As a reporter, I could write a story. If it was compelling, it might spark a public outcry. Perhaps it would induce policymakers to alter the way such allegations are investigated. But for the defendant, at the time, my services were not much use, especially in contrast with those of his attorney.

My undergrad classmates and I joked about "going out and saving the world." We theorized and boasted and discussed the possible. For the defendant in that case, while a jury considered whether or to find him guilty of an especially heinous crime, legal advocacy was frighteningly UN-theoretical. His life as a free man was on the line.

I still follow the "Plus-One" rule when I go camping. I don't like seeing littered ground in lieu of pristinity, and it's an easy way for me to improve the the world around me. And it's a wonderful thing, to help in small ways.

But the defendant in that trial did not need someone to help him in a small way. I suspect he did not care if litter soiled the park. He needed someone highly educated and skilled to fight for his life as he knew it, to protect his innocence, to preserve his liberty. A well-trained, persuasive advocate to articulate a competent legal defense.

At the conclusion of the trial, I watched the defendant's family mill around him to celebrate his acquittal. A teenage daughter hugged the man and beamed. And then she saw her dad's lawyer and pounced at him, offering a sober and adequate rebuttal to every lawyer joke ever told. "Thank you," she said, pumping the defendant's hand, on the verge of relieved tears. "Thank you for giving us our dad back."

Some time in the recent past, a man went to law school. He learned the law and he learned persuasion. He practiced and became skillful, then he offered his abilities to his community. And now, because that man devoted so much of his life to the cause of justice, that teenage girl has her dad back.

I would like to be such a man. I know in the grand scheme of the universe, my efforts will be small in scale. But if I can one day prevent an innocent man from going to prison, I will have done a big, big thing.

The best man's embarrassing speech

My cousin got married Jan. 3. I was his best man, and below is the text of the toast I gave at the reception. I cried.

My earliest memory of Cody was in his incubator, when he was a newborn.
More times than I can remember, Roger said "I swear these kids act more like brothers than like cousins."
I remember a few times when Cody threw his fists at my face.
I remember he once threw a shoe at my head.
When we were in high school, I remember him shooting me in the foot with a paintball gun at point blank range. I spent the rest of that afternoon hopping on one foot and cussing him.
Somewhere in there, I remember thinking I liked Cody better when he was in the incubator.

I remember when Cody was very young, and his sister Kalana was sick. I remember how sad and lonely it was here in Kansas when he had to move to California with Peggy and Kalana. And how it was much more fun for us when he was here. And I remember seeing him face fate's cruelties with more courage than a little boy should be required to have.
And I remember that, by the time Cody was 10 years old, he was more grown up than I will ever be.


I remember many, many, many days in our childhood when Jared and Cody and I would play football games, one against another, the third alternating teams at quarterback. Cody was the youngest and he was the smallest. But that was never a guarantee that either Jared or I would win the game.
I do not remember ever seeing Cody intimidated.
I remember in one of Cody's high school football games, when he was once beaten for a touchdown pass. A good 9 seconds after the play was over, the whistle blown, and most of the players on both teams headed for the sideline, he grabbed the offending receiver in the back of the endzone, swung him around 360 degrees at least 3 times and flung him to the ground. 6 or 7 penalty flags flew at him and let me tell you, my mother and my aunt Peggy were appalled that those referees were picking on Cody.
Just before Thanksgiving, Jared, Kayla, Catelyn, my dad and I played a football game in the yard. Jared and I beat Catelyn and Kayla, and we had more fun than I remember having for a long, long time. But I remember thinking, I wish Cody was here.

I remember how happy I was when I learned Cody and Darcy were engaged. Darcy, I've known you for as long as I can remember, and I have no qualms telling you that I am deeply honored to have you join our family.
And I will always remember standing with Cody during their wedding, watching Cody and Darcy gaze at each other, so obviously in love. In each other, you both have something that we can all be jealous of.

So here's to Cody and Darcy ... may their days be long and full of happiness. May their children be many, and full of health. And may they live in peace and freedom.