Do you need to have faith to practice values?

An increasing number of Americans are identifying as “nones,” with no religious affiliation at all, or switching faiths, dissatisfied with the one they knew as children. That is not exactly a revelation. Trust in every sort of institution is sinking. But does that trend signal the end of the world?

To my seatmate on a recent flight, it did. Not that he thought gun violence, political polarization and racism could be solved if everyone started attending weekly services. But organized religion, however flawed, provided a moral structure, a guide for living a decent life, he told me. And the secularization of America leaves too many adrift, missing something of importance as they figure out how to navigate the world’s challenges.

As a churchgoer — intermittent, I admit — I was surprised at the intensity of my pushback, to a stranger, no less. Perhaps I should have been agreeing with him instead of saying, “Wait a minute.” But my reaction was fueled by my recollection of congregations, especially those most faithful in their attendance and outward piety, acting in ways that would make the Jesus in “What Would Jesus Do?” blush.

If anyone thought the house of worship was refuge from such concerns, more about the commandments than political party, that’s not what folks in the pews believe. According to a study from Lifeway Research: “Half of U.S. Protestant churchgoers (50 percent) say they’d prefer to attend a church where people share their political views, and 55 percent believe that to be the case at their congregation already.”

That doesn’t include all religions, but being an insider is balm for many I speak with who seek refuge rather than argument whenever and wherever they worship.

Judging people based on how they fall politically has indeed become an article of faith, even when there would seem to be an easy area of agreement, like, for example, caring for the less fortunate.

But even that baseline is not so reliable.

For instance, I have always admired the Rev. Dr. William J. Barber II for speaking up continuously and relentlessly about the poor — from his pulpit, from the streets, during marches and demonstrations, to anyone willing to listen, as I have been in several interviews with him.

On that topic, the good reverend has lots of backing from the Bible, which praises those with little, doing the best they can, giving to others even if they don’t have anything to spare. And though I realize that in some quarters, poverty has become a sign of personal weakness rather than misfortune, I was a little shocked when a tweet on the North Carolina Republican Party’s official account last month called the founding director of the Center for Public Theology & Public Policy at Yale Divinity School, the man who brought together diverse coalitions as part of the Poor People’s Campaign and Moral Monday marches, a “poverty pimp.”

Barber’s apparent offense was appearing with Sen. Bernie Sanders, I-Vt., at a North Carolina rally on raising the federal minimum wage, a position most Americans favor, according to polls.

Though, in this case, his companion was a progressive democratic socialist senator, Barber walks with anyone who favors his causes, be it a living wage with Sanders or rural hospitals and Medicaid expansion when he joined with a Republican mayor to shine a spotlight on what both deemed an urgent need.

So much for “blessed are the meek.” When racist, demeaning slurs flow so easily (and officially), it’s a signal that disrespect for the clergy is no deal-breaker, especially if there’s a political point to be made.

Just as Barber believes that meeting actual people whose lives are affected by unemployment or a lack of health care is crucial, Utah Republican state Sen. Daniel W. Thatcher has said it was meeting with people affected by anti-trans legislation as well as his work on hate-crime legislation and suicide prevention that led to his opposition to his state’s anti-trans bills, according to The Washington Post.

“I have had people who claim to be Christian reach out to me and tell me that I can’t be a Christian unless I hate certain people,” he said on The New York Times’ “First Person” podcast.

The recent Supreme Court ruling that would now allow a Colorado woman to refuse to provide wedding website services to same-sex couples — if they ever asked — has been both hailed and derided by those who worship under the same spiritual roof.

What has been deemed legal is not always right

Sometimes, the court gets it right.

It did in the case of Bridget “Biddy” Mason, who eventually walked more than 2,000 miles before her journey ended in California, where her enslavers, Robert and Rebecca Smith, held Mason and her children captive in the supposedly “free state.” When she learned of the Smiths’ plan to haul them all to the slave state of Texas, Mason sued. And in 1856, after listening to her testimony in chambers, because Blacks could not testify against whites in court, Judge Benjamin Hayes decided in her favor.

Lucky for her, and for California, since Mason went on to success as a midwife, entrepreneur and philanthropist, establishing day-care centers and the First African Methodist Episcopal (FAME) Church in Los Angeles, which is still in operation.

I was spurred to learn more about her story after reading a tribute in the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center in Cincinnati during a recent trip there. Hers is a true-life tale that displays strategic intelligence and agency, and the countless ways society benefits when barriers are removed and innovation and imagination allowed to flourish.

The current U.S. Supreme Court, unlike Judge Hayes, in my opinion, got it terribly wrong in a flurry of decisions it issued last week. Each one, delivered in turn like staccato body blows, punctuated the court majority’s agenda to halt progress and move the country backward.

At the Freedom Center, I spent hours studying the exhibits, repelled by the lengths those in power would go to possess human beings they viewed as property, yet inspired by stories of brave patriots of every race who traveled on all sides of the “law” but always on the path of justice.

What has been deemed legal is not always right.

This country’s highest court has acted ignobly, as in the 1857 Dred Scott decision, in which Chief Justice Roger Taney declared that Black people had “no rights which the white man was bound to respect; and that the negro might justly and lawfully be reduced to slavery for his benefit.”

And it has been the prodding guide for a recalcitrant nation, as in the 1954 Brown v. Board of Education decision, in which it unanimously stated: “The doctrine of separate but equal has no place. Separate educational facilities are inherently unequal.”

Pushback has come from those who call out injustice, as Frederick Douglass did after Dred Scott, when he noted: “The Supreme Court of the United States is not the only power in this world. It is very great, but the Supreme Court of the Almighty is greater.”

And negative resistance has persisted, as well, the hallmark of those who would stand in the way, yelling “stop,” as segregationists proved when they used every tool, including violence, to fight Brown.

It wasn’t a surprise when the Supreme Court knocked down the use of race, but nothing else, as one factor among many for colleges and universities deciding which students to admit. Their reasoning ignores how the Harvard of today chooses a class, saving spaces for children of alumni, faculty and donors, those with talents in music or athletics, or from a state with paltry representation, and with a sprinkling of celebrity names moving to the front of the line.

It ignores that any applicant who makes it past review is qualified, and that no school has ever chosen a class based on test scores alone, lest it leave out too many children of the rich and powerful.

But most of all, Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. and the majority on the court ignore America, where race matters — and has always mattered. Instead, as Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson wrote in brilliant dissent: “With let-them-eat-cake obliviousness, today, the majority pulls the ripcord and announces ‘colorblindness for all’ by legal fiat.”

In a moment of progress in America, everyone can win

It’s one of those moments that theater fans live for: A performer delivers a monologue or a move or a song that stops the show — literally. Strangers become friends, applauding as one in the dark, all thinking the same thought: “Start writing your Tony Award speech now.”

One of those moments happens when the character of “Lulu” explains her philosophy of life to a gob-smacked conman who has invaded the lives of the citizens of Cobb County in the Broadway musical “Shucked.” (Judgment of the show depends on your tolerance for a relentless stream of puns, many involving corn.)

But on one thing those who have seen the show could agree: Once Alex Newell finished the final notes of “Independently Owned,” it was just a question of when, not if, they would hold Broadway’s most prestigious award, a Tony for best featured actor in a musical. Newell, who identifies as non-binary, said at the recent awards show: “Thank you for seeing me, Broadway.” Mom got a shout-out as well, “for loving me unconditionally.”

It was a scene that triggered cheers in the house and some jeers in other quarters, predictable in a time when red states are rushing to pass laws to restrict the rights of non-binary Americans.

But it shouldn’t have, at least not from the folks who bleat about the loss of meritocracy in America. They should be applauding, too, because, with all due respect to the talented nominees, the best person won.

All the reactions to history-making scenes surface the hypocrisy of those afraid of an America they increasingly do not recognize. The so-called changing country has always been there, just hiding — well, forced to hide. And that worked, unless you were the one in the closet or at the back of the bus.

If you were someone with a race, gender, creed or identity who was barred from jobs, schools and neighborhoods or the Broadway spotlight, you spent so much time worrying about presenting a non-threatening façade — with the stakes often your survival — not much energy was left for living out your wildest dreams.

Trump indictment: When always striving for ‘more’ turns toxic

It’s an exchange I remember, one that instantly stuck while watching the 2017 movie “All the Money in the World,” a version of the kidnapping and ransom saga of the grandson of J. Paul Getty, a man wealthy beyond measure. A hired middleman, watching Getty haggle as the young man’s life is at stake, proclaiming he has “no money to spare,” incredulously asks: “What would it take for you to feel secure?” Getty, portrayed by the brilliant Christopher Plummer, answers with one word: “More.”

I recalled that scene as real-life events, as startling as any movie plot, have played out. Just this week, a former president of the United States appeared in a Florida courtroom to answer to federal charges that he hoarded classified documents in his Mar-a-Lago home, hedged about having them and refused to give them back.

Like any other person accused of criminal conduct, Donald Trump is awarded the presumption of innocence. The grand jury that indicted him was made up of fellow citizens, and his ultimate fate will be in the hands of the same.

But the crimes presented in the indictment issued by federal prosecutors are serious, and what we already know is astounding.

So, why? Why jeopardize national security by allegedly stashing classified documents in unsecured areas in a ballroom, a storage area and, in one weird instance, a bathroom adorned with an enormous chandelier? (No one ever said that wealth bestows good taste.)

Even those who adore Trump would have to admit the man is not known as a reader, so I doubt he wanted to catch up on information he neglected while “president-ing.”

Isn’t this a man who gained the ultimate prize?

While Trump lost his reelection bid, something he never accepted, the former president scaled heights unknown to most people on the planet. Maybe he might be a bit insecure because his business success needed a boost from his dad — though, even then, he acted as though it was his due. Trump became a television star in a world where celebrity is admired and often worshipped. He was elected to the top office in the United States, stood as a global leader, with all the powers that come with the titles.

Did he still want “more?”

Public education won’t ‘fail,’ unless America abandons the idea and the ideal

While many on the right decry the lack of respect Americans now bestow on the U.S. Supreme Court and its 6-to-3 conservative majority — denouncing the shift in public opinion, a low 18 percent vote of confidence, as sour grapes from liberals who can’t get their way — it wasn’t always so.

In 1954, after the Supreme Court ruled that racial segregation in public schools violated the Constitution in Brown v. Board of Education, it was many who called themselves conservatives who expressed outrage and did something about it, ignoring the decision in order to maintain the segregated status quo. In a 1956 “Southern Manifesto,” a long list of lawmakers vowed to “pledge ourselves to use all lawful means to bring about a reversal of this decision which is contrary to the Constitution.”

What was deemed “lawful” by them often included actual violence inflicted on African-Americans who dared follow the court and the law toward an education that was their right as citizens. After all, they and their families had been paying taxes to support a system closed to them, as well as paying again for schools where they could learn.

To maintain a worldview of white supremacy built on lies of Black inferiority, some states and counties defied Brown with “massive resistance,” closing entire public-school systems — as Prince Edward County, Virginia did for five years — rather than tolerate Black and white learning side by side. Private, all-white “segregation academies” sprung up to educate a portion of the populace, with publicly funded vouchers enabling parents to escape integration until such evasions were ruled unconstitutional.

North Carolina’s Pearsall Plan was enacted with the same intent, to circumvent the Brown decision.

And though the South was the face of this “resistance,” some of the most rage-filled images of white resistance originated from Northern cities.

Schools have always been a battleground. And while race is not always the primary catalyst for the fight, to deny that it’s often in the mix is to ignore history and reality. For instance, the race-neutral insistence on the value of students attending neighborhood schools rings a bit hollow when redlining and housing discrimination have left a legacy visible on the streets where Americans have lived for generations. Schools across America have remained unequal, depending on ZIP code, when it comes to available educational options. In cities such as Chaicago, majority Black schools are also the first tagged for closure when budgets tighten.

It’s ironic, considering it was African-American voters and legislators who were key in creating public schools for Blacks and whites in the South in the late 1800s.

Why mental health policy is personal and political

Surgeon General Vivek Murthy has described mental health as “the defining public health crisis of our time.” He has used his position as a megaphone to highlight how the country is doing and where it falls short, particularly in the treatment of young people who are suffering.

It’s a complex topic worthy of discussion, and not just in May — Mental Health Awareness Month. How can the mental health of young people in America be protected from influences that could harm? Legislators are taking note; but is it enough?

Equal Time host Mary C. Curtis speaks with Julie Scelfo, executive director of Get Media Savvy, a nonprofit initiative devoted to fighting media chaos and fostering media literacy, about what is needed from policymakers and the public to tackle the youth mental health crisis and rebuild “our civic fabric.”

Many Americans really are thinking terrible things — and proudly saying them out loud

“You know why I love Donald Trump? He is the first one who says what everyone’s thinking.” Anyone who has covered Donald Trump through two presidential campaigns — one successful and one that ultimately flopped — has heard that explanation lots of times. I know I have.

When asked exactly which out-loud thoughts resonated, answers varied. But the folks I spoke with at rallies especially reveled in insults once considered, if not taboo, then too edgy to say out loud — about immigrants, city dwellers and Black NFL players who knelt to protest police brutality. Things like that.

I dutifully recorded what caused all the excitement among those who stood in long lines to hear and see their idol, though, ironically, many streamed out of venues large and small once Trump’s shouted litany of grievances stretched past the one-hour mark.

But I wondered just how many Americans could be included in the assumed masses who were thinking such thoughts and felt exhilaration when a presidential candidate spewed them so convincingly.

Turns out Trump’s schtick worked in 2016 and came close in 2020. And after a recent free-for-all town hall on CNN that saw a curated audience of his followers laughing and applauding as he dodged questions on respecting democracy and mocked a woman who convinced a jury that he was liable for defamation and sexual abuse, I’m worried if not surprised.

There are plenty of Americans on the same page as presidential hopeful Donald Trump, and that includes leaders in the Republican Party.

What once was transgressive now defines the GOP, with politicians falling over themselves to demonize and scapegoat.

Is former battleground North Carolina becoming a Florida clone?

CHARLOTTE, N.C. — North Carolina is a state on the verge. Of what? Well, that depends on whom you ask. Some residents are thrilled that the state seems to be politically falling in line with a bunch of its neighbors to the south, most recently with an abortion bill. Others, particularly those who felt protected in relatively progressive urban bubbles, aren’t happy with the shift and are vocalizing their displeasure.

To back up a bit, in the past few years, the state’s tint could reasonably have been described as a reddish shade of purple. You could see it in its Democratic governor, Roy Cooper, with moderate policies and a calm demeanor that shielded his resolve, and a competing state legislature with a Republican majority big enough to flex its muscles but still subject to a veto when it pushed too far right.

There were the occasional cautionary tales, as in 2016, when then-Republican Gov. Pat McCrory signed the infamous HB2, or as it was nicknamed, the “Bathroom Bill.” It was the state GOP’s response to a Charlotte anti-discrimination ordinance, particularly the part that said people could use the bathroom for the gender with which they identified.

That installment in the ever-present rural vs. urban culture clash attracted the national spotlight as well as late-night comics’ jokes. Both proved harsh.

When concerts — including “The Boss,” Bruce Springsteen — and beloved basketball tournaments were canceled, once-bold politicians backtracked and McCrory lost his reelection race to Cooper, who is now approaching the end of his second term.

But memories are short, especially after the 2022 midterms, when the stars and voters aligned for North Carolina Republicans.

While Democrats did better than expected nationally, Republicans held their own and even made gains in North Carolina. Ted Budd, who as a House member voted against certifying Joe Biden’s 2020 presidential victory, won the U.S. Senate seat of the retiring Richard Burr, one of the seven GOP senators who voted to convict Donald Trump on an impeachment charge of inciting an insurrection.

That’s a philosophical, if not party, change.

In the state General Assembly, Republicans won a veto-proof majority in the state Senate and came one vote short in the House. The state’s Supreme Court changed as well, with a 4-3 Democratic majority shifting to a 5-2 Republican advantage.

When Democratic state Rep. Tricia Cotham, months after her election in a blue district, donned a red dress for her April announcement of a switch to the GOP, any gubernatorial veto became vulnerable to an override.

A word about Cotham: Shocked constituents and folks who knew her when — meaning: all her political life — asked how someone who campaigned with support from those who supported LGBTQ rights, someone who spoke of her own abortion when she stood firm in support of reproductive freedom a few short years ago, who had said, as The Charlotte Observer pointed out, she would “stand up to Republican attacks on our health care” as well as “oppose attacks on our democracy, preserve fundamental voting rights, and ensure all voices are heard” could turn on a dime? Well, she explained, Democrats hurt her feelings; many feeling burned by the bait-and-switch are not quite buying it.

Attention, though, is now focused on a GOP agenda in overdrive, mirroring moves in Ron DeSantis-led Florida, with a few extras.

Why the rush, in a state with registered voters roughly split into thirds among Democrats, Republicans and the unaffiliated, and where elections up and down the ballot are always close?

Because Republicans can.

Sacrificing democracy to belong to a shrinking ‘club’

It was a scene both disturbing and expected: former President Donald Trump embracing one of the insurrectionists who stormed the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, with the intention of overthrowing the results of the 2020 election.

Micki Larson-Olson was found guilty of a misdemeanor charge of resisting police as they tried to clear the grounds that day. Yet, apparently, there are no hard feelings against Trump. In fact, quite the opposite. After driving from Texas to the New Hampshire campaign stop of the current candidate and former president, Larson-Olson got emotional over the recognition, the photographic record of her meeting with him, and his autograph on her backpack.

“And he gave me the pen,” she said, according to a Washington Post report. That she belongs to a QAnon offshoot is also no surprise.

I understand.

She was thrilled to be a member of the club, one that is losing the culture and has been rejected at the ballot box, but needs to feel special, as special as the insecure little boys who once locked their ramshackle clubhouse before scrawling “no girls allowed” on the door.

All those Washington invaders who throw around the word “patriot” as they trash America’s ideals — all those “true believers” in election fraud myths, the Kari Lakes and Mike “My Pillow Guy” Lindells of the world, the veterans and police officers who found themselves on the wrong side of the law that January day — I suspect they realize in their heart of hearts that Joe Biden tallied the most votes in the last presidential election.

Their beef is where many of those votes came from.

Democratic candidates Bill Clinton, Barack Obama and Biden may have won the presidency fair and square, but each failed to gain a majority of the white vote. That means a coalition of, in Trump loyalists’ eyes, “other” voters put them over the top — and that breaks the brains of a lot of folks.

A fantasy world of election-rigging schemes attempts to cover up their resentments, but instead it shines a spotlight on them.

Will Democrats raise the volume on expressing what they believe in?

Does this mean Democrats don’t have to be afraid anymore?

You know what I mean. Though Democratic politicians and the party itself stand for certain values and policies, sometimes, when they promote and defend them in the public square, well, they do it in a whisper. This is despite the popularity of many of these views, and despite the fact that the folks they are trying to persuade with cautious hedging were never going to vote for them in the first place.

It’s a problem Republicans traditionally have not had. No matter how extreme or unpopular the opinion, you have known exactly where they stand. Hit them with truth or logic, science or math, and you could bet they would double down. And it has worked; bluster and browbeating have the ability to drown out most everything else.

All that may be changing.