Cop Under Fire

by David Clarke

  Turns out, God’s place in the Democratic Party was tenuous at best because after this “victory,” the unbelievable happened. The crowd booed God on national television. It was one of those images that you can never unsee. The Democratic Party elites were sending a loud and clear message to America that there is no room for God in their ranks.

  It has become a pattern. Four years later, candidate Mrs. Bill Clinton attended a campaign rally in Blackwood, New Jersey. Camden County Board of Freeholders member Susan Shin Angulo introduced her to the crowd. Angulo said that Mrs. Bill Clinton could create a nation “filled with promise and opportunity and not of fear, demagoguery, or radicalism.” Then, she added that Clinton could bring us “together, as one nation u-uhh … indivisible with liberty and justice for all.” The unspoken words—under God—hung in the air like a ghost. Clinton laughed and nodded in approval at the omission.

  But an antifaith movement is not a new development for the Democratic Party. When Bill Clinton was running against George H. W. Bush, remember how the liberal media and Democrats (oh, but I repeat myself) mocked Dan Quayle for advocating for “family values”?

  The Value of Families

  If you have forgotten, here’s precisely what Quayle said: “Bearing babies irresponsibly is simply wrong. Failing to support children one has fathered is wrong. We must be unequivocal about this,” he said in a speech to the Commonwealth Club of California.

  “It doesn’t help matters when prime-time TV has Murphy Brown, a character who supposedly epitomizes today’s intelligent, highly paid professional woman, mocking the importance of fathers by bearing a child alone and calling it just another lifestyle choice.”

  I never saw Murphy Brown. There’s not enough time in the world to make me sit down and waste my life in front of a screen playing that drivel. I don’t watch television unless it’s to catch South Park, a Dallas Cowboys game, or Fox News. But evidently, the main character of this show, played by Candice Bergen, believed having a kid without a father in the picture was just fine. Quayle’s speech about “family values” created a huge controversy back in ’92. But reading this quote now makes you wonder what the big deal was. His words seem like basic common sense, or maybe they are even prophetic.

  Since Quayle had the temerity to point out the need for fathers, the number of single parents in America has skyrocketed. For the first time in the history of the United States, fewer than 60 percent of first-born US babies were brought into this world with a married mother and father. More than one in five first-born children now have parents who are shacking up.1 Some researchers describe these “fragile families” as only strong enough to create children, but not strong enough to support them. Frequently, these couples break apart after the babies are born.

  Do you think this has devastated wealthy forty-something white women like the fictional Murphy Brown? No. Wealthier Americans have a bigger cushion. If they end up with a child out of wedlock, they have high enough salaries and family support that they can usually make it. But poorer people living on a shoestring can’t survive high gas prices, much less absorb the expense and complication of another human being. That’s the thing about the philosophies that white liberals so casually try to shove down the culture’s throat. When they proudly stand up and demand that marriage comes in many different flavors—or, more accurately, that it doesn’t matter at all—they’re promoting an idea that creates higher risks for poverty, lower educational attainment, and family instability. They are actually hurting poor people, not themselves. Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why college-educated folks are the only demographic left in America that still has children within the benefit of marriage? It’s better for the children, for the parents, and for society.

  This answer is so obvious that even a liberal buffoon at CNN can see it. After the acquittal of George Zimmerman, Don Lemon went on air with recommendations about how black people can get their acts together. The first one was a doozy:

  Black people … Just because you can have a baby, it doesn’t mean you should. Especially without planning for one or getting married first. More than 72 percent of children in the African-American community are born out of wedlock. That means absent fathers. And the studies show that lack of a male role model is an express train right to prison and the cycle continues.2

  His comments were even more pointed than those of Dan Quayle, and a black man uttered them. Apparently, Lemon didn’t get the memo: liberals don’t want black people thinking for themselves. When his speech went viral, other liberals scolded him for “not understanding the plight of black people.” But the first thing that happens to a black person when you say anything that doesn’t align with Democratic talking points is that your “black card” is revoked. I lost mine a long time ago, and—believe me, Don—it’s not worth the price to keep it. An MSNBC host called him a “turncoat.” It didn’t get better for him. Here are some reprintable versions of tweets3 he received:

  Don Lemon feels that he’s THE exception. That’s perfectly fine. He’ll see eventually how he’s viewed by his white counterparts.

  @DonLemonCNN must be real THIRSTY for him to try to speak for all AA’s and throw our black men under the bus. Are his ratings that bad?

  If you follow Don Lemon’s 5-step anti-Hip-Hop plan racism magically ends?

  I was tired of @donlemoncnn when he was tweeting those wack prosperity sermons every Sunday. Not surprised by this.

  Next racial draft we’re giving @DonLemonCNN to the whites. I don’t even wanna trade him for anyone. Just give him away.

  Isn’t that a rather strong reaction toward someone who suggested that kids should have moms and dads? Especially when the facts bear out the undeniable truth? A stark difference exists between children raised with both parents and those from a broken home.

  One in eight children with two married parents lives below the poverty line, compared to five in ten who are living with a single mom.

  Regardless of income, children raised by two parents will have fewer behavioral problems, will be less likely to be hungry or have asthma, and will be more likely to achieve academically.

  The principles of faith prevent poverty. Let’s face it. God knows a thing or two about the way that humans interact—or the ways they ideally should interact. Though the Bible is not a self-help book, people would be better off if they lived according to the words written on the pages. Proverbs 3:5–6 (ESV) explains how life is made easier by trusting God instead of your emotions: “Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”

  Believe me. In all of my years of law enforcement, the people I’ve encountered would benefit from listening to biblical wisdom, especially as it pertains to marriage.

  But you don’t have to be a scholar to understand that getting married and staying married lift children and families from poverty. In a New York Times article, Annie Lowrey wrote,

  Economists have done studies showing that if you snapped your fingers and suddenly all the country’s poor, unmarried partners were hitched … the poverty rate would drop. With social trends pushing partners apart, why shouldn’t the government push them together—and help end poverty and improve the lot of children while we’re at it? It’s a rare policy solution that data-crunching geeks and Bible-thumping crusaders can agree on—albeit for very different reasons. Unfortunately, there might not be much that Washington can actually do about it.4

  Precisely. When the government inserts its nose into a problem, the problem rarely gets better. This is especially true about marriage. Can you imagine a worse Cupid than the federal government?

  But it’s also true about poverty.

  War on Poverty

  The Heritage Foundation described the complete and abysmal failure of Lyndon B. Johnson’s War on Poverty over the past fifty years:

  U.S. taxpayers have spent over $22 trillion on anti-poverty programs. Adjusted for inflation, this
spending (which does not include Social Security or Medicare) is three times the cost of all U.S. military wars since the American Revolution. Yet progress against poverty, as measured by the U.S. Census Bureau, has been minimal, and in terms of President Johnson’s main goal of reducing the “causes” rather than the mere “consequences” of poverty, the War on Poverty has failed completely. In fact, a significant portion of the population is now less capable of self-sufficiency than it was when the War on Poverty began.5

  You can’t undo the truth. The Bible is clear: “The one who is unwilling to work shall not eat” (2 Thessalonians 3:10 NIV). But Uncle Sam tries to protect people from the consequences of their own action, or, more honorably, to protect the children of lazy people from their parents’ inaction. It makes sense to provide assistance to the infirm. But able-bodied, nonelderly adults should be working or seriously looking for a job before getting a dime of benefits. The Heritage Foundation pointed out what is wrong with giving people something for nothing: “By breaking down the habits and norms that lead to self-reliance, welfare generates a pattern of increasing intergenerational dependence.” The writers also pointed out that “by undermining productive social norms, welfare creates a need for even greater assistance in the future.”

  There are some commonsense ways that the federal government can incentivize marriage and help welfare be distributed to those with an actual need instead of just being lazy. But the government can’t fix what is wrong with us as human beings. We need a spiritual solution. As poor, less-educated Americans turn their backs on faith at a far greater rate than wealthy, educated Americans, the culture is splitting wide open. In this nation, those who work hard, finish school, get married, and stay married are very rarely poor. Food stamps, Medicaid, soup kitchens, and good intentions—or even hundreds of billions of government dollars—cannot alone raise people out of poverty.

  It’s time politicians acknowledged the limitations of government and the role of religion. It’s also time we recognize people like Canon Benoît Jayr who faithfully serve God and their communities, one person at a time. They’re the real heroes of our nation, even if they wear robes or a clerical collar instead of a cowboy hat, and even if they’d be more likely to pour water over other people’s feet than put boots on their own.

  Stay Put or Go Home

  Most Americans have seen Roots, the Alex Haley miniseries aired during the 1970s that detailed the plight of African slave Kunta Kinte. But one scene contains a powerful visual that should speak to us today. Social activist Roland Warren described the scene:

  One day, while Kunta was putting the horses away, he heard a drumbeat that sounded very familiar. So, he followed the beat, and it led him to an old slave. Turns out that this old man was from a tribe in Africa that lived close to Kunta’s people. In any case, this man told Kunta to listen for the drumbeat again because it would signal an upcoming escape attempt.

  An excited Kunta rushed home to share the news about the drumbeat and the escape with his wife Bell. However, she became very afraid. Her first husband had tried to escape, and he was killed. She said that she did not want to lose Kunta, too. Then, she put his hand on her stomach to feel a baby growing inside of her. Kunta understood and promised not to escape.

  When the baby was born, Kunta wanted to dedicate his daughter in the same way his father did for him. One night, he took his swaddled little one outside for the special ceremony. But, as he lifted her into the night sky, he was interrupted by a familiar sound. It was the drumbeats. They were calling to him. He quickly bundled up his little girl and ran toward home. Bell, who was clearly panicked, rushed to meet him. She had heard the drumbeats, too. She approached him quickly and said, “The drums.… You ain’t gonna run, is you? This is our home.” Kunta said defiantly, “This is not my home.” Bell’s legs buckled as she burst into tears. But then, Kunta steadied his wife, pulled her close as he wrapped his arms around her and said, “But, this is my child, and we are a family!” And, they walked back into their home.6

  Why am I reminding you of an episode of an old miniseries? Because that scene has a lot of truth in it. As a national figure, I’m frequently asked about how to save this nation. The question, often asked in a public forum, might have a sense of desperation underlying it. As much as I would love to talk about proposals to cut back on entitlements or the Convention of States’ plan to restrain the federal government, I know that the answer is much simpler.

  I said simpler. Not easy.

  As the end of the Roots episode described above, Kunta named his daughter Kizzy, which means “stay put” in his native tongue. Warren wrote, “Now, consider what happened here. Kunta Kinte was a married father with no economic rights, no civil rights or rights of any kind. But he had one power that no master’s whip could take away. He had the power to stay put, despite the obstacles, risks and challenges, and do everything that he could to provide for and protect his family.”

  Modern black men have this power too—much more power than this fictional slave had. We live in the greatest nation ever created, with more opportunities than any people group who have ever lived. No matter what you think about our politicians or Black LIES Matter or so-called police brutality, you have the power to improve your life dramatically when you simply “stay put.”

  Sadly, fathers these days can’t even obey this two-word command. They’ve already left their kids and families. They’re out there searching for a better gig, looking for approval in places where it can’t be found, trying to find a more interesting path than the boring old domestic life with a wife and kids. But sometimes—almost always—what’s boring is the solution. It’s called hard work. Personal responsibility.

  I was walking down the street one day when a young black man approached me.

  “You’re Sheriff Clarke, right?” he asked. “I just got out of jail, and I can’t get a job.”

  He then went on to explain the many ways he’d been trying to find employment. It sounded hard. I admit it. Because I have such a close relationship with the criminals in Milwaukee, I’m frequently presented opportunities to speak into their lives. Often, it comes down to a choice between pity and responsibility. I never choose pity. I always choose responsibility. Maybe, more accurately, I always choose the truth. As Martin Luther King Jr. said in his speech “The Other America,”

  I want to discuss the race problem tonight and I want to discuss it very honestly. I still believe that freedom is the bonus you receive for telling the truth. Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free. And I do not see how we will ever solve the turbulent problem of race confronting our nation until there is an honest confrontation with it and a willing search for the truth and a willingness to admit the truth when we discover it.7

  This guy didn’t need anyone to help him wallow in self-pity. And the truth usually has something to do with people taking responsibility for their lives. Right there on the street, I laid some truth on him. Perhaps it was the first time in his life someone made him face reality.

  “How many kids do you have?” I asked.

  “Three.”

  “Well, there’s your job,” I said. “Go home and be a great dad so your kids don’t end up like you did. You made some lifestyle choices that you are paying for now. Keep working at it, and if you stay determined, something will break for you. But for now, go home and be a good dad to your kids.”

  He was dumbfounded. “I never looked at it that way,” he said. Then after a short conversation, he extended his hand and said, in a softer voice, “Thanks, Sheriff.”

  Some things can’t be done by the government, no matter how well-meaning. All of us are at a critical moment in America’s history—blacks, whites, and everyone else. We have the opportunity to choose to be better than the culture demands of us. While the media and politicians will bend over backward to avoid the word responsibility, we have to turn from their constant drumbeat of mediocrity and choose another path.

  It’s a path that many hav
e traveled before. It’s a path described most eloquently in the most famous parable in the Bible. The story of the prodigal son tells the story of a young man who asked for his inheritance even before his father died. He left home and partied, slept around, and ended up poor, destitute, lonely, and wondering where his next meal would come from. That’s where many are today. But the prodigal son realized he didn’t want to be where he was. So he got up and walked home.

  Just the word home evokes many feelings. I think of being with Julie in our house, where she created a man cave for me in the basement. That’s where I can sit and think, dream, and plot my next steps in life. The word also reminds me of that small, well-kept house at 39th and Kaul Avenue, where my mother put food on the table, and we sat down together to eat. It’s also the place where my dad stole my shoes at night to make sure I didn’t try to sneak out and get into trouble.

  Do you see the pattern?

  All of us have a tendency to want to sneak away from home and get into trouble. But we also have the opportunity—the moral responsibility—to come back home. Ever hear the phrase “You can’t go home again?” Well, that’s a lie. Recently, when I was just beginning the process of writing this book, I went back to my old neighborhood to look at the home I’d lived in as a kid. Believe it or not, I couldn’t easily locate the house. Maybe it was because I’d never driven to it as a child, or maybe it’s because too many years had passed. When my eyes finally settled on that old house, I didn’t see the faded, small home that sat next to dozens just like it. In my mind’s eye, I saw a place of love, restrictions, discipline, and frustration. A place where I bristled under my dad’s constant supervision and the rules I thought were so onerous at the time.

  It’s true that I couldn’t very well pull up to that house and ask the owner to let me in. And even if I did, my toys wouldn’t be there; my room wouldn’t be the same. My mother’s meals wouldn’t be on the stove, the wonderful scent beckoning me to come to the table.