I was there during both the tumult of the Supremes' flag burning decision in Texas v. Johnson, and the parallel battle in Congress over a Constitutional Amendment to ban flag desecration. One day, the executive director of the office, Morton Halperin, asked me to participate in a debate on the issue for a group of high school kids; I would represent the A.C.L.U., and my opponent, a representative from The Heritage Foundation, would represent the contrary view. I was thrilled, especially because the debate would take place in a conference room somewhere in the bowels of the Capitol Building. Honest to God, I'm going to debate free speech on Capitol Hill.
Debate day came. I was no stranger to public speaking, and it was a gig of sophomores, but I was nervous, struck by the subjective gravitas of the moment: shaping young minds on a matter of profound cultural importance. I arrived to find a hundred or so kids, a moderator, and my debate opponent, twenty years my senior. As I greeted him and introduced myself, he made an odd comment I didn't comprehend about "the toilet."
I spoke first, and gave a reasoned presentation on the folly of restricting offensive speech within the very words of our Constitution. I gave slippery slope examples, and talked about past dark battles over free speech. My comments were well received, I thought, but I remembered that I offered only one side of the issue.
My opponent, spoke nothing about the Constitution, offered no stirring defense of the flag. Instead, he accused the A.C.L.U. of coddling the worst of society: abortionists, pornographers, murderers. His entire presentation was an indictment of the organization I came to represent. I was confused and embarrassed. I had been eager for a spirited, eye-opening debate, and instead, got personally attacked.
The moderator seemed to sense that the spirit of debate had been sabotaged. She opened the floor to questions. Many hands went up. The first question came: "We learned in our debate class about ad hominem attacks. You didn't talk at all about why banning flag burning is a good thing, you just personally attacked the other guy..."
The guy from The Heritage Foundation offered no response to the point, reiterating the wickedness of the A.C.L.U.
The next question, to him, pointed out that he hadn't responded to the first kid's point. When he refused to answer, I took the floor:
I grew up in a house that took the rights of individuals very seriously. I came to the A.C.L.U. to learn more about civil liberties and how our government takes liberties with our liberties, sometimes in the name of special interests. I know very little about The Heritage Foundation, but I am now convinced that I need to learn more about it, and so should you, because my debate opponent has shown his stripes. When he began to attack the organization I represent, I felt embarrassed. Now, I'm embarrassed only for this man, who seems intent on denying you what you came here for.
The Heritage Foundation guy packed up his stuff and left without a word, and left me to my audience. The kids were great; enthusiastic about the same issues that had brought me to D.C. in the first place. I spoke about the city, and my experiences in it, but reminded them that I had had my two most memorable epiphanies about politics and government on that very day: first, when my debate opponent went rogue, and second, when the kids called him on it. It was cynicism supplanted by faith. God bless the future of America, I thought.
And, now, free speech unencumbered, I finally exclaim: "HEY, HERITAGE FOUNDATION GUY, GO FUCK YOURSELF."
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