Tag: protest

Before he says anything else about the Pledge of Allegiance, @RealDonaldTrump should read this . . .

Posted on | by Sam

Of course, we know he won’t — but that doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t brush up on the actual history of the Pledge, and the actual meaning of the flag. When we do, there can be no room for alternative facts — only a history that, based on how we define patriotism, either puts us on the side of some courageous young schoolchildren of a generation ago, or on the side of totalitarianism. . .

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Billy Gobitas knew that refusing to salute the flag in his fifth-grade classroom could result in expulsion from school, loss of friends, and even persecution in his hometown of Minersville, Pennsylvania. But on October 22, 1935, he did it anyway. “I do not salute the flag,” he later wrote to the school board, “because I have promised to do the will of God.” The next day, twelve-year-old Lillian Gobitas followed her brother’s lead and also refused to salute the flag. “This wasn’t something my parents forced on us,” she later explained.  “I did a lot of reading and checking in the Bible and I really took my own stand.”

The Gobitas children were not alone. Other members of their church — Jehovah’s Witnesses — faced the same dilemma in school districts throughout the nation where saluting the flag was compulsory. As Billy explained in his letter, Witnesses believe that a flag salute is a form of idolatry, violating the biblical injunction not to “make unto thee any graven image, nor bow down to them.”

Two years earlier, in 1933, Adolf Hitler had banned the Witnesses in Nazi Germany for, among other things, refusing to give the Fascist salute in schools and at public events. Over the next decade, more than ten thousand Witnesses were imprisoned in concentration camps. These events in Nazi Germany led the leader of the American Witnesses, Joseph Rutherford, to denounce compulsory flag salutes in a speech delivered in 1935. Witnesses, he said, “do not ‘Heil Hitler’ nor any other creature.” Rutherford’s speech inspired the Gobitas family and other Witnesses to refuse to participate in the flag ceremony in the name of religious liberty.

The Witnesses’ objections to the flag salute failed to impress the members of the Minersville school board. In their view, the Pledge of Allegiance helped fulfill the public schools’ mission to instill “love of country.” They saw failure to salute the flag as insubordinate and unpatriotic. Most people in mostly Roman Catholic Minersville were equally unsympathetic with the unpopular Jehovah’s Witnesses. Consequently, Billy and Lillian Gobitas were expelled from school.

Eighteen months later, the children’s father, Walter Gobitas, filed suit. With the help of the Watch Tower Society of the Jehovah’s Witnesses and the American Civil Liberties Union, Gobitas argued that the Minersville school board had deprived Billy and Lillian of their right to freedom of religion and speech under the First Amendment. The Gobitas family won in the federal district court in Philadelphia and won again in the U.S. Court of Appeals. Both courts dismissed the school board’s contention that refusal by schoolchildren to salute the flag on religious grounds was a danger to the nation. On the contrary, the judges said, Lillian and William Gobitas were exercising the very “liberty of conscience” that was sought by many of our ancestors when they first came to the New World.

The Minersville school board appealed the case to the U.S. Supreme Court. Minersville v. Gobitis was decided on June 3, 1940. (Due to a printer’s error, the Gobitas family name is misspelled in legal records.)  By an eight-to-one vote, the Court reversed the lower courts and ruled that the government had the authority to compel students to participate in the flag salute. Writing for the majority — and against the backdrop of an impending world war — Justice Felix Frankfurter pointed to the need for “a common feeling for the common country.” The flag, he argued, “is the symbol of our national unity, transcending all internal differences, however large, within the framework of the Constitution.” Justice Harlan Stone was the lone voice of dissent. The very essence of liberty, he wrote, “is the freedom of the individual from compulsion as to what he shall think and what he shall say, at least where the compulsion is to bear false witness to his religion.”

The Gobitis decision had an immediate and devastating impact on Jehovah’s Witnesses in the United States. Within weeks of the Court’s ruling, hundreds of attacks on Witnesses were reported to the Department of Justice. Mobs, sometimes assisted by police, attacked and humiliated Witnesses across the nation. “In the two years following the Gobitis decision,” federal officials wrote, “the files of the Department of Justice reflect an uninterrupted record of violence and persecution of the Witnesses. Almost without exception, the flag and the flag salute can be found as the percussion cap that sets off these acts.”

Disturbed by the violence, three justices began to rethink their vote in Gobitis. When told by Justice William O. Douglas that Justice Hugo Black had changed his mind, Frankfurter asked, “Has Hugo been re-reading the Constitution during the summer?” Douglas replied, “No, he has been reading the papers.”

In 1943, the U.S. Supreme Court agreed to hear another flag-salute case, West Virginia State Board of Education v. Barnette — this time with three changed votes and two new justices. The case involved children of three Jehovah’s Witnesses in Charleston, West Virginia. Walter Barnette, Lucy McClure, and Paul Stull had been expelled from school for refusing to salute the flag.

This time, by a vote of six to three, the Court struck down the West Virginia flag-salute law, overruling the Gobitis decision. In one of the most eloquent and powerful decisions in Supreme Court history, Justice Robert Jackson cited examples from history of repressive government efforts to enforce national unity:

“The ultimate futility of such attempts to compel coherence is the lesson of every such effort from the Roman drive to stamp out Christianity as a disturber of pagan unity, the Inquisition, as a means to religious and dynastic unity, the Siberian exiles as a means to Russian unity, down to the fast failing efforts of our present totalitarian enemies. Those who begin coercive elimination of dissent soon find themselves exterminating dissenters. Compulsory unification of opinion achieves only the unanimity of the graveyard.”

The First Amendment, Jackson argued, was designed to avoid such tyranny by denying government the power over basic freedoms:

“The very purpose of a Bill of Rights was to withdraw certain subjects from the vicissitudes of political controversy, to place them beyond the reach of majorities and officials and to establish them as legal principles to be applied by the courts. One’s right to life, liberty, and property, to free speech, a free press, freedom of worship and assembly, and other fundamental rights may not be submitted to vote; they depend on the outcome of no elections.”

The American flag, Jackson reminded the nation, stands for freedom — including the freedom to dissent. And to deny people their inalienable rights is to deny the very meaning of the First Amendment:

“If there is any fixed star in our constitutional constellation, it is that no official, high or petty, can prescribe what shall be orthodox in politics, nationalism, religion, or other matters of opinion or force citizens to confess by word or act their faith therein. If there are any circumstances which permit an exception, they do not now occur to us.”

The U.S. Supreme Court announced its decision in Barnette on June 14, 1943 — Flag Day. Soon thereafter, attacks on Jehovah’s Witnesses ceased.

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Postscript: For an understanding of what today’s debate is really about, take 30 seconds to hear directly from San Francisco 49ers safety Eric Reid. This is what patriotism looks like — courageous, uncomfortable, informed, principled.

This is also who we are . . .

Is this Occupy DC’s future?

Posted on | by Sam | 1 Comment on Is this Occupy DC’s future?

It was a nightmarish image for any American President to consider – U.S. soldiers attacking U.S. veterans in the shadow of the U.S. Capitol. But on July 28, 1932, Herbert Hoover believed it had to be done. “For many weeks,” he announced in a press statement, the veterans gathered in Washington had “been given every opportunity of free assembly, free speech and free petition to the Congress.” Now, he said, “in order to put an end to this . . . defiance of civil authority, I have asked the Army to . . . restore order.”

It had all started peacefully, three months earlier, when the first groups of First World War veterans gathered in the nation’s capital to demand early payment of a bonus Congress had promised them. The payment was not scheduled until 1945, but the veterans could not wait that long. As a result of the Great Depression, many had lost their jobs and been stripped of their life savings, leaving them struggling to keep their families from starving. Believing protest was better than idleness, large groups of veterans – who became known as the Bonus Expeditionary Forces (B.E.F.) – set out for Washington, D.C., to peaceably demand that Congress give them their bonus.

Their cause quickly became front-page news across the country. Hitching rides and relying on the kindness of strangers, the veterans ingratiated themselves by heeding the gentlemanly instructions of their unofficial “commander,” Walter W. Waters, a former sergeant who had been unemployed for eighteen months. Waters insisted that the men agree not to panhandle, drink, or cause trouble, and rallied veterans along the way with the cry, “Let’s hit the road to Washington!”

The good feelings for the B.E.F. continued when the first forces, also called the Bonus Marchers, arrived in the nation’s capital. Police superintendent Pelham Glassford, a retired brigadier general, arranged for the marchers to camp in two abandoned federal buildings, and secured portable kitchens for them. Secretary of War Patrick Hurley ordered two thousand beds for the men, and several civic organizations provided two tons of straw for extra padding.

As more and more men arrived, however, Congress worried about how the veterans’ protest could peaceably be resolved. “If they come here and sit down and have three meals furnished free every day,” worried one congressman, “then God knows what will happen to us. There are more than 8,500,000 persons out of work in this country, most of them with families. If the government can feed those who are here, then we can expect an influx that will startle the entire country.”

To make matters worse, the veterans were demanding their bonus – between two and four billion dollars in total – at a time when the federal government was already in dire financial straits. But Waters was unmoved. “We mean to stay until the bonus is paid,” he said, “whether it is next year or 1945.”

To help their uphill cause, the B.E.F. had a key ally in the House, a freshman congressman from Texas named Wright Patman. Patman kept the marchers’ hopes alive by steadily presenting new bonus bills, and urging his fellow congressmen to put money in the hands of “the little fellows in every nook and corner of the nation” instead of “the big boys [in] New York.” None of the bills was passed, but Patman’s public support convinced thousands of discontented veterans that their protest in Washington was worth a protracted fight.

Then, on June 15, the House passed Patman’s latest bill. With the Senate set to vote on it two days later, the veterans migrated to the steps of the U.S. Capitol, eagerly awaiting good news and a return to their families. The Senate, however, voted against the marchers yet again. At that point, hundreds of veterans, convinced their cause was hopeless, headed home. But thousands more stayed. Encamped on the mud flats of the Anacostia River, their new rallying cry became “Stay ‘till 1945.”

Wives and children joined the men, swelling the camp’s ranks to between ten and fifteen thousand. With an increase in the camp’s population came a decrease in the quality of life. Rats and flies abounded; there was no running water, no electricity, and no toilets. By early July, the lack of food had gotten so bad that Superintendent Glassford spent a thousand dollars of his own money to provide temporary relief.

The conditions, made worse by the sweltering midsummer heat, prompted President Hoover to make a last-gasp effort at easing the tension. With the help of Congress, he secured funds to send willing veterans home. Many–approximately five thousand–accepted the offer. The rest remained in the camps.

As the summer droned on, as it got hotter, and as the conditions of the camp grew worse, many veterans grew irritable. Before long, the first minor clashes between marchers and police broke out. The situation worsened when Congress adjourned for the summer, and D.C. officials decided the marchers had worn out their welcome. They ordered Glassford to remove the veterans from the two federal buildings, which were awaiting demolition. Glassford refused to remove the marchers by force, warning that a bloodbath would follow if he did.

On the morning of July 28, when workmen arrived on Pennsylvania Avenue to begin the demolition, the trouble began. According to a New York Times report, “the clash with the police . . . was short and furious. The advancing police, met by a hail of brickbats, first used their nightsticks and then began to shoot.”

Later that day, the commissioners of the District of Columbia wrote President Herbert Hoover: “This morning, officials of the Treasury Department, seeking to clear certain areas  . . . in which there were numbers of these bonus marchers, met with resistance and a serious riot occurred . . . In view of the above . . . the Commissioners of the District of Columbia, therefore, request that they be given the assistance of Federal troops in maintaining law and order in the District of Columbia.”

Hoover granted the request. “There is no group,” he explained forcefully in a July 28, 1932 press statement, “no matter what its origins, that can be allowed either to violate the laws of this country or to intimidate the Government.”

A reporter for the Baltimore Evening-Sun wrote one version of what happened next:

The cavalry clattered down Pennsylvania Avenue with drawn sabers. The infantry came marching along with fixed bayonets. All Washington smelled a fight, and all Washington turned out to see it. Streets were jammed with automobiles. Sidewalks, windows, doorsteps were crowded with people trying to see what was happening . . . Veterans in the rear ranks of a mob that faced the infantry pushed forward. Those in front pushed back. The crowd stuck. An order went down the line of infantrymen. The soldiers stepped back, pulled tear-gas bombs from their belts, and hurled them into the midst of a mob. Some of the veterans grabbed the bombs and threw them back at the infantry. The exploding tins whizzed around the smooth asphalt like devil chasers, pfutt-pfutt. And a gentle southerly wind wafted the gas in the faces of the soldiers and the spectators across the street.

Gradually, the army pushed the marchers back across the Anacostia Bridge to their shantytowns along the river’s edge. Then, according to the New York Times, “the infantry and cavalry donned gas masks and moved systematically in a contracting circle, hurling tear gas bombs before them and giving the veterans an unwilling taste of old times, when they used similar methods on German strongholds in the World War.” Everyone was evicted.

Was the use of the U.S. military on the veteran marchers justified? Douglas MacArthur, head of the U.S. forces that day, believed it was. In MacArthur’s Report on the Battle of Anacostia Flats, he wrote: “Had the president not acted today . . . had he let it go on for another week, I believe that the institutions of our government would have been severely threatened.” And Attorney General William D. Mitchell, in his private report to the President, said “the prompt use of the military to outnumber and overawe the disturbers prevented a calamity . . . The right peaceably to petition Congress for redress of alleged grievances,” wrote Mitchell, “does not include assemblage of disorderly thousands at the seat of Government for purposes of coercion.”

The public disagreed. Americans across the country reacted to the images of soldiers attacking veterans. “What a pitiful spectacle is that of the great American Government,” wrote the editors of the Washington Times, “mightiest in the world, chasing unarmed men, women and children with Army tanks. If the Army must be called out to make war on unarmed citizens, this is no longer America.”

One bonus marcher, Henry Meisel, described it differently in his book, Bonus Expeditionary Forces: The True Facts: “America, you belong to your people! Herbie Hoover, we shall not rest until you and your favored few are out of office. You cannot run our country . . . We shall beat you and yours with the mighty American vote.”

Four months later, Herbert Hoover lost the Presidential election to the former governor of New York Franklin Delano Roosevelt. And in 1936, the veterans’ initial decision to exercise their First Amendment right to peaceably assemble and to petition their government paid off. They got their bonus, nine years early.

(NOTE: This story is part of the collection included in First Freedoms: A Documentary History of First Amendment Rights in America.)