A nation in decline?

By Bill O'Reilly

Earlier last week on my television program, we broke the story of Jesse Jackson criticizing Barack Obama for "talking down" to black Americans. In Chicago, Jackson was speaking to Dr. Reed Tuckson, a health care official, when a microphone picked up the reverend saying in part:

"See, Barack been talkin' down to black people on this faith based (situation). I want to cut his (body part) out. He's talking down to black people."

Pretty rough. So what exactly is this all about?

Recently, Sen. Obama came out in favor of the federal government continuing to help private religious organizations assist the poor with tax dollars. President Bush's program of faith-based federal assistance has angered ACLU types who see it as a violation of church and state separation. But since Reverend Jackson's non-profit organizations benefit greatly from government-mandated tax breaks, you would think he would be pleased with Obama's position.

Apparently not.

Soon after the story broke, Jackson issued a statement saying that even though he disparaged Obama, he still supports his campaign. However, Jackson has avoided specifically stating what his beef with the senator really is. Was there condescension toward black people in Obama's faith-based charity statements? Not that I can see.

In his statement, Jackson mentions the "moral responsibility of black males." That indicates that he didn't much like Sen. Obama recently calling out black fathers who abandon their children. Jackson writes that the government is also responsible for the intense abandonment problem in the black community, a position he's held for years.

Some political pundits believe that Jesse Jackson and other committed social activists are fearful that if Obama is elected president, the "victimization" industry will be damaged. After all, if Americans vote for a black man to lead the nation, it will be hard to continue labeling the country as prone to racism.

That, of course, is simply an opinion. If Jesse Jackson says he wants Obama to be president, there's no reason we shouldn't believe him.

But it is also apparent that Jackson has some "issues" with the senator from Illinois, and the reverend should put them on the table, not make snide behind-the-back remarks. That's not charitable and not fair. If Jackson has a beef, he should tell the folks exactly what it is.

Come November, black voters will overwhelmingly support Sen. Obama, of that there is no doubt. But it is also apparent that some liberal blacks like Jackson do not like the senator's message of personal responsibility and support of faith-based government-funded charities.

Debate on those issues is healthy. Might be good for Jesse Jackson to man up on this one. 

The evil eye

By Susan Estrich

I grew up with the evil eye lurking. In my mother's experience, doom was at the end of every rainbow. And the worst thing you could do was call attention to your blessings, a surefire way to attract the evil eye. A compliment required not a thank you, but a "kinnehora, tut tut tut" -- the verbal equivalent of spitting three times after you tell the evil eye to look elsewhere.

The very idea of buying baby furniture before my eldest daughter was actually born unleashed as many kinnehoras as I ever had heard in my life. You can't do that, my mother said. You're inviting the evil eye. Imagine how you'll feel if something goes wrong and you don't bring a baby home. I tried to explain to my mother that if something went wrong, I would be devastated about the baby, not the furniture, that living life with an eye out for lurking disaster takes most of the joy from the moment, and besides, the baby would need a place to sleep. She was unconvinced; kinnehora was bred in her bones.

And mine, too, I'm afraid.

Two days ago, I wrote about my night life with my youngest dog, Irving, who sleeps with me every night, soundly, effortlessly. I wrote about his ability simply to close his eyes and be asleep, free from the all the emotions, the worries and regrets that stand between me and the sleep I so need. Such a blessing. If only I could learn.

How could I be so stupid?

Two hours later, he came home in my baby sitter's arms, having collapsed at the dog park, where he plays every day.
It was my fault. I knew that instantly. I never should have written that column. It may not have made it to print yet, but clearly the evil eye had seen it. Kinnehora, I muttered, tut tut tut. How dumb could I be?

It wasn't a particularly hot day. He had been running, true, but Irving loves to eat and hates to diet. (He is, after all, my son -- and a pug.) The vet had recommended exercise. Usually, he watches his two sisters chase the ball at the park, but on Tuesday, with his 11-year-old cousin Hershey the cocker spaniel joining the chase, Irving raced off. And ran until he couldn't breathe.

Another dog mother at the park blew air into his mouth and checked to make sure there was nothing blocking his airways. Then she told Rosie, my dog-loving baby sitter, to take him right home or to the vet. When she walked in the door with the limp puppy in her arms and tears in her eyes, the column still was sitting open on my computer screen. My son read it, crying, as he waited for a call from the vet.

Over the course of the next eight hours, Irving threw up over and over -- in my car, on my son's bed, in his lap and finally at the animal hospital. He had two bloody stools, which I carefully checked. He also had blood work, a chest X-ray and an abdominal scan. Loving an animal, as we do, is expensive and scary. The money is the least of it, although animal care doesn't come cheap. The fear is the worst. I named Irving for my father, who died at 54. I have hated hospitals ever since.

Sitting at the dog hospital, waiting for the doctors to advise me about the health of the newest Irving Estrich, brought me back to a place I try to forget.

I never had a pet when I was a kid. Why tempt the evil eye? My mother's theory was that we would fall in love with a pet, and then the pet would die, and we would be heartbroken. Better to avoid the heartbreak. Better not to have loved and lost.

At midnight, my daughter and I picked up Irv at the animal hospital. He was still groggy from the ordeal and from the shots and the tests. My daughter carried him in and carefully laid him down in my bed. I put my arm around him, and he closed his eyes and went to sleep. I watched him sleep, full of gratitude for the gift of joy that he brings to our lives. Kinnehora. Tut tut tut.