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It seems a classic no-brainer: 24 simple words merely stating men and women should be viewed as equal under the law.

Thats it. No big whoop, right?

But adding the Equal Rights Amendment to the U.S. Constitution is a fight thats gone on since it was proposed over a century ago and then passed by Congress in 1972. Its a humane idea that has fallen victim to the culture wars, killed, resuscitated, only to be killed again.

Viewers of the recent Hulu drama Mrs. America watched Cate Blanchett steal every scene as the white-gloved and pugnacious Phyllis Schlafly, who mobilized her supporters to harpoon the ERA. They argued it threatened the very nature of relationships between men and women, indeed the very nature of American life.

The ERA does neither of those things. But it does hold broad implications for such necessary battles as the need for equal pay between the sexes. It would further enshrine into law protections against domestic violence and sexual harassment, as well as workplace discrimination, including that based on pregnancy and motherhood.

Why would this scare anyone?

Now that we have a female vice president-elect and a wave of female Republican candidates who have swept into the House of Representatives in Washington, D.C., perhaps its a good time to revisit the ERA in a bipartisan way.

It seems particularly fitting to examine why we need the ERA during this pandemic, a time in which women are being disproportionately impacted by the coronavirus, from job losses to their unequal shouldering in the balancing of work and family life.

Some history for those who think of the ERA as merely a baseball statistic: The ERA is an amendment to the Constitution, and as such requires ratification of three-quarters of the states, or 38 out of 50.

At first, Congress set a deadline of 1979 for ratification, which was later extended to 1982. Thanks to Schlaflys efforts, only 35 states ratified the rule.

But in 2017, a female Democratic state senator in Nevada, riding the growing #MeToo wave, got her state to ratify the ERA, even though the deadline had passed. Illinois did the same in 2018. Virginia followed suit last January and became the 38th state to ratify.

For the record, Texas yes, Texas ratified the ERA in March of 1972.

However, over the years five states Idaho, Kentucky, Nebraska, South Dakota and Tennessee rescinded their ratifications, which had occurred before 1982. But that sort of takeback ploy has failed in other legal contexts.

A big problem is the deadline. Should it matter? Opponents say yes. Supporters say no. Each side has its own arguments. In February, the U.S. House voted to remove the deadline, with five Republicans supporting the measure and no Democrats opposing it.

But the vote to kill the deadline needed to get through the Senate, where Majority Leader Mitch McConnell has flatly stated hes against the ERA. The Trump administration has labeled the amendment expired.

The fate of the modern-day ERA remains muddled.

What isnt unclear is how the American people view the amendment. A 2016 survey found a whopping 94 percent of respondents approved of adding it to the Constitution. At the same time, 80 percent of Americans thought men and women already enjoy equal protection under the 14th amendment, via the famous cases won by late Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg in the 1970s.

But as wonderful as the 14th amendment may be, it still features gender loopholes one can drive a truck through, gaps in state and federal law that should be closed.

Perhaps the Biden administration will somehow intervene to move the ERA across the finish line. Perhaps the Supreme Court will somehow get involved, as it did last summer, when justices ruled that existing federal law bans job discrimination based on sexual orientation or transgender status.

What the nation needs to do is get past ridiculous arguments that say equal rights for both genders will somehow lead to the elimination of single-sex public bathrooms and other canards.

And those who portray the ERA as unnecessary should consider this question: Why is there such a fight against it?

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Editorial: Nows time to revisit the Equal Rights Amendment - San Antonio Express-News

Loss

Siddharth Dhanvant Shanghvi

HarperCollins 2020,pp 112, Rs 499

What does it mean to lose someone? To answer this timeless question, the bestselling author draws on a string of devastating personal losses of his mother, of his father and of a beloved pet to craft a moving memoir of death and grief.

The Book Of Indian Essays

Arvind KrishnaMehrotra (Ed)

Hachette 2020,pp 462, Rs 699

This assemblage of great Indian short prose within a single volume encompasses a wide range. The reflective essay, the luminous memoir, the essay disguised as a story, the memorable prefatory article, the newspaper column all find a place here.

The Madness Of Crowds

Douglas Murray

Bloomsbury 2020,pp 304, Rs 499

In this book, the author examines the 21st centurys most divisive issues sexuality, gender, technology and race. He reveals the astonishing new culture wars playing out in our societies today.

The Ickabog

J K Rowling

Hachette 2020,pp 288, Rs 1,299

A mythical monster, a kingdom in peril, an adventure that will test two childrens bravery to the limit. An original fairy tale about the power of hope and friendship, this edition carries illustrations by young winners of a global contest.

One Man TwoExecutions

Arjun Rajendran

Westland 2020,pp 140, Rs 499

In his latest poetry collection, the poet begins by resurrecting voices and stories from 18th century Pondicherry; the spectres of the past are given flesh and blood and begin to live again.

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Bookrack For The Week (Nov 22 to Nov 28) - Deccan Herald

In June 2020, Rep. Liz Cheney, R-Wyo., tweeted a photo of her father, former vice president Richard B. Cheney, with the hashtag #realmenwearmasks. Wearing a white cowboy hat and a surgical mask, he presented the familiar tropes of masculinity and of political power, becoming a prop for his daughters efforts to encourage GOP supporters to follow public health recommendations to curb the spread of the coronavirus.

More recently, one of Cheneys newest colleagues, Rep.-elect Marjorie Taylor Greene, R-Ga., also employed a familiar gender trope to express her position regarding face masks. Calling masks oppressive, she appropriated the famous feminist slogan My body, my choice as she tweeted the hashtag #FreeYourFace.

As these tweets and hashtags reveal, masks have become the most visible sign of our current political, cultural and social moment. Wearing a mask is not only a matter of public health, an individual choice or sign of a civic courtesy. Its now the latest chapter in the culture wars over our identity as a nation, our fundamental values and our rights as citizens. Communities across the country are paying the price as case numbers soar.

The current politics around mask-wearing are nothing new. During the 1918 flu pandemic, directives to wear masks turned into a political battle over patriotism, gender and power. Just like today, clear lines marked the pro- and anti-mask camps, although they did not necessarily accord with partisan divisions. Part of it was because of the different political situation in 1918. As the flu pandemic coincided with World War I, Americans were more prone to rally behind their government than to enter a partisan debate. Moreover, President Woodrow Wilsons administration cracking down on all forms of dissent made voicing any criticism much more difficult. Portraying the flu as the common enemy turned the debate over masks into a question of patriotic duty, lessening the chance that the issue would break down along partisan lines.

Yet despite the strong hand of the state during World War I, mask orders in 1918 were not coordinated on the federal level but were left to cities and local authorities.

Shortly after the outbreak of the flu, state officials and city health boards pushed for mask mandates, understanding that they would be useful to combat the pandemic, and save the economy. Indianapolis, for example, issued a mask mandate and school closures, while state officials in Salt Lake City decided to only recommend the wearing of masks not require them.

Some complained it was difficult to breathe in masks, or that they made work impossible. And gender played a significant role in shaping ones attitude toward masks. Despite how cowboys and farmworkers in the West donned face covering, the gauze mask that became popular during the flu pandemic connoted femininity.

State and local authorities tried to appeal to men by portraying mask resisters as slackers, invoking patriotism by alluding to draft evaders. Wearing masks was a civic duty, claimed Oakland Mayor John Davie, arguing that it is sensible and patriotic, no matter what our personal beliefs may be, to safeguard our fellow citizens by joining in this practice. Using similar propaganda tactics as the ones used for war mobilization, ads in newspapers warned that Coughs and Sneezes Spread Diseases, As Dangerous as Poison Gas Shells. By circulating ads and publications that likened the fight against influenza to fighting in the war, authorities attempted to shame those who did not join the war effort against the flu by wearing masks.

Illustrators also poked fun at mask resisters, who they portrayed primarily as men. But some women also refused to wear masks. Several women organized Anti-Mask Leagues, similar to other womens clubs in this period, where they sought to fight state officials and city ordinances through petitions and demonstrations.

Even more surprising, masks in 1918 were never used as a political prop. Unlike 2020, when masks became a blank canvas to express ones views, whether it is supporting Black Lives Matter, calling people to vote or promoting the names of presidential candidates, flu masks were not used to convey a message, but stuck to the conventional white gauze design. Even suffragists, who were known for their savvy use of fashion in their campaigns, did not use masks creatively.

Yet, if in 1918 masks were not used to promote political agendas, they were still imbued with the contemporary politics of the day. Similar to this current moment, masks became a conduit to discuss the limits of government power, as well as if and how much authorities should intervene in individuals lives and the economy in the name of public health.

If today our masks are much more colorful, creative and brazen than those of a century ago, the debate they spur is remarkably familiar. Just like in 1918, masks are the visible symbol of our current political moment, and they will serve as evidence for future historians to understand our present.

Einav Rabinovitch-Fox teaches U.S. and womens and gender history at Case Western Reserve University.

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Commentary: The battle over masks has always been political - Bend Bulletin

Andrew C. Spiropoulos

Conservatives believe that the new U.S. Supreme Court can serve as an effective buffer in the culture wars. An excellent example of a case that may serve as an appropriate vehicle for vindicating the right to religious liberty is Fulton v. City of Philadelphia, a case argued before the court earlier this month.

Catholic Social Services, a foster-care organization associated with the Catholic Archdiocese of Philadelphia, has for many years served the city of Philadelphia by certifying potential foster parents. CSS, because of its Catholic faith, cannot consider certifying either unmarried couples or same-sex married couples. In 2018, the city council ordered its foster care agency to cease making referrals to CSS, despite CSS 100 years of foster care ministry. The city cannot abide any connection with what it believes is rank bigotry.

Under current precedent, the case appears easy. In 1990, the court, in Employment Division v. Smith, held that a government law that does not discriminate against religious people and treats all covered by the law equally must generally be upheld even if the law substantially burdens the free exercise of religion equality before the law requires that religious people be given no special judicial exemptions from neutral, generally applicable laws. The city requires that its contractors do not discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation. If the city wanted to exempt CSS, it could, but since it does not, case closed.

But not so fast. One of the reasons the court took this case is that it wants to consider using it as a vehicle to overrule Smith. What would that mean? Even if the citys law is neutral and generally applicable, if it substantially burdens religious liberty such as ending a century-old foster care ministry that is central to the mission of the Catholic Church the court will not give the citys law any deference. Instead the city will have to meet strict scrutiny, which requires the city to prove it has a compelling interest for its law and that the law is absolutely necessary. While the city doubtless will argue that ending discrimination based on sexual orientation meets the highest possible standard, CSS, pointing to the availability of over two dozen other foster care agencies who are happy to work with same-sex couples, will argue that ending its ministry is not necessary to ensuring same-sex couples access to the foster care system.

The overruling of Smith would have enormous legal and institutional significance. It would signal that the court is ready to explicitly embrace an active role in umpiring the most heated cultural conflicts. These cases, like Fulton itself, are notoriously difficult and close, and the results will go both ways. But, should the court choose to take on this burden, it may encourage our warring parties to catch the spirit of compromise.

Its hard to not root for Smiths overruling when you see whats going on here in Oklahoma. The State Department of Education has crafted rules that will exclude certain religious schools from participating in the Lindsay Nicole Henry Scholarship program because they refuse to sacrifice certain aspects of their religious character. While it appears obvious that SDE has flouted the clear terms of the programs statute, one can imagine a future in which the law does not protect religious liberty. A revitalized First Amendment doctrine might come in handy.

Andrew Spiropoulos is the Robert S. Kerr, Sr. Professor of Constitutional Law at Oklahoma City University and the Milton Friedman Distinguished Fellow at the Oklahoma Council of Public Affairs. The views expressed in this column are those of the author and should not be attributed to either institution.

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Right Thinking: Is Supreme Court ready to umpire heated culture conflicts? - Journal Record

TERRE HAUTE, Ind. A glass case in the history museum on the main street through this city celebrates its curious place in American lore: There's a photo of John F. Kennedy Jr. on the courthouse steps, and Richard Nixon at Terre Haute's little airport. A newsreel playing on a loop describes it as "magic town."

Vigo County, with about 107,000 people on the western edge of Indiana, long had some mysterious mix of quirky politics, demographics, geography, religion, labor and luck so that it had become America's most reliable presidential bellwether.

Since 1888, this exhibit boasts, the county voted in line with the nation in every presidential election but two. It missed in 1908 and 1952, then remained a perfect predictor of the U.S. mood, a rare place to toggle between Republicans and Democrats in harmony with America.

"That's wrong now. We're going to have to change that poster," said Susan Tingley, the executive director of the museum, which is in an old overalls factory that closed long ago, like most of the local factories.

Vigo County's most recent winning streak ended this year, as it did for nearly all the country's reliable bellwethers, most of them blue-collar, overwhelmingly white communities in the Rust Belt. Of the 19 counties that had a perfect record between 1980 and 2016, all but one voted to reelect President Donald Trump, who lost to Joe Biden in both the national popular vote and in nearly every battleground state.

The country's tribalized politics seem to have finally reached these places that used to routinely swing from one party to the other. The only county that maintained its place as a bellwether is Clallam County, in Washington state.

The ones in the middle all crumbled, leaving many here wondering whether this was merely a Trump-fueled fluke or whether the country has cleaved itself so firmly into two opposing camps that these old political standard-bearers are obsolete. Is Vigo County just one more reliably red square in the red middle of America?

"It speaks to an evolution in American politics," said David Niven, a political scientist at the University of Cincinnati who analyzed the state of Ohio's fall from bellwether status this year.

Niven notes these bellwethers were born when political battle lines tended to be drawn more cleanly along economic lines. These middle-class communities were in the center and up for grabs. But as national politics become less about economics and more about culture wars and identity, Democrats have lost their grip in places such as Vigo County that are overwhelmingly white, he said.

Now the places emerging as possible new bellwethers have more racially diverse populations. Delaware's Kent County last missed in 1992. Its population is 60% white and 27% Black. Blaine County in Montana, which last missed in 1988, is more than 50% Native American.

Vigo County doesn't look much like America, and its place as its foremost presidential predictor relied on a certain degree of luck, said Matt Bergbower, a political scientist at Indiana State University. It is not as diverse as the nation, with a population that is 85% white. It is not as wealthy or highly educated, either.

But for generations its conservative tilt on social issues was balanced by left-leaning idiosyncrasies. There are four colleges in Terre Haute, a remarkable number for a city its size. It is the birthplace of Eugene V. Debs, a champion for workers' rights who ran for president as a socialist five times in the early 20th century. The county's blue-collar workforce was heavily organized and union halls dotted the city.

Terre Haute was once so defined by its factories it even smelled of them. Big industrial plants lined the banks of the Wabash River, and the odor of fermentation and chemicals was in the air. People are happy that the smell is gone now. But it drifted away as the plants closed down, and with it went countless good-paying jobs.

The Democratic-leaning ingredients in town diminished, too. Many young people now leave, seeking better jobs in bigger cities. As industry crumbled, union membership declined.

Trump won in Terre Haute by 15 percentage points, holding his margin of victory in 2016. But local political observers on both sides of the aisle marveled at the dramatic spike in straight-ticket Republican ballots: 11,744, more than one-quarter of all the presidential votes cast. The county government, for the first time anyone can remember, will now be controlled almost entirely by Republicans.

"If you would have told me 10 years ago we would have more straight-ticket Republicans in this county than Democrats, I'd have said you're a liar," said Frank Rush, a Republican radio talk show host who voted for Trump.

Rush said Vigo County might be saying goodbye to its bellwether history, but it remains a barometer for the worries and values of the geographic middle of America. People in growing big cities just can't understand life in a place like this, where it feels like the country is moving on without them.

"And Trump, love him or hate him, approve or disapprove, he at least gave the impression that he really cared about these folks that thought they were left behind and ignored," Rush said. "That's why they rallied to his side."

Todd Thacker, business manager of the local International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers, said he's willing to take part of the blame for the way this election turned out. He tried mightily to persuade his members to "vote your paycheck" and elect Democrats who support organized labor. But he watched as many instead aligned themselves based on polarizing wedge issues "God, guns and gays," he derides it.

Thacker is an avid hunter, he has a concealed carry permit and owns many guns. But the polarized political landscape today has, he said, "brainwashed people to think that if you're a Democrat, you can't be a patriotic gun-owning flag-waving American."

Trump managed to stoke that fear and people listened, fueled by misinformation on social media and pundits bellowing all day about how the other side will destroy democracy.

"He's not a politician, he's a scam artist," said Thacker, who tried to remind people that President Barack Obama didn't come take people's guns, President Bill Clinton didn't, either.

His union supported a program called "Unity in the Community," that as a response to the national reckoning on racism tried to bring together the police and the Black community. One of his members accused him of supporting a "Marxist" movement.

Thacker says typically about 35% of his members vote Republican. This year, he thinks it increased.

The Trump supporters in the union include Craig Rudisel, who spent 23 years in the military before joining the electricians' local and has a Trump sign as big as a bathtub on his front lawn.

"I've had conversation with people I work with and they say 'you need to support your brotherhood, you need to support your paycheck,''' said Rudisel, 50. "And I say 'I have to support my conscience.'"

Rudisel is drawn to Trump's position on guns, abortion and taxes. He wears a Make America Great Again cap every day, and was unfazed to receive an anonymous typewritten letter in the mail from someone who described in vulgar terms how much they disapprove of his Trump sign. He likes that Trump upsets people, and he doesn't mind doing it, either.

"He wants to make America great again, and that's what we want," he said. "We are tired of liberal progressive ideals. That's not what our country was founded on and that's not how this county should be going in the future. I want the country that I grew up in for my grandson and granddaughter."

Rudisel is proud of Vigo County's bellwether history. Like many here, he can off the top of his head rattle off the details of the few elections it missed and that is part of why he has clung to the hope that Trump hasn't lost. Trump has claimed there was widespread voter fraud, despite offering no evidence to support that charge.

Rudisel thinks what happened here is proof. Vigo County and the rest of the bellwethers always get it right and opted for Trump, so he must be the rightful winner, Rudisel thinks.

Other Trump supporters also pointed to Vigo's past performance as a sign that the election fight might not be over.

Ken Warner, a stockbroker, said he will accept a Biden presidency but he wonders how so many bellwethers could get it wrong, all at once.

Warner, 64, has toggled between Republicans and Democrats, and wasn't terribly excited about Trump in the 2016 primary. Warner remains uneasy about the president's personality. He cringed when Trump antagonized governors during the pandemic and hurled childish insults at people such as the late Sen. John McCain, R-Ariz.

But he grew more enthusiastic about Trump throughout his presidency. He cheered for Trump's economic policies. He supported the tax cuts, the tariffs and his tough stance on China.

The Trump era hasn't been a boon for Indiana's factory towns. The sector was recovering from the Great Recession when Trump took office, but that began to stall in 2019. Then the coronavirus caused a plunge in factory jobs in the state, which are now down by almost 40,000 from a year ago.

Warner believes if Trump had gotten a second term, things might have improved. He worries the economy will stagnate under a Democratic administration.

"I think his tweets were part of his downfall," Warner said. "But the people that voted for Trump didn't vote for him for his personality. They voted for results."

Joe Etling was certain that the people of Vigo County would punish Trump for his temperament. Every four years, Etling, who has run the county's Democratic Party for 24 years, is asked by pundits and politicians to guess who will win the presidential election. This year he said Biden.

"People in this county are good, decent people. They treat people with respect, they're polite and if you're out and about, people on the streets are going to welcome you. Well, when you hear some of the things that the president says publicly, they're not real friendly, they're not real polite, they're not real courteous," he said. "My sense is if you had Joe Biden and Donald Trump in a room with people in Vigo County, they would have substantially more in common with Joe Biden than they ever would have Donald Trump. And yet."

Etling refuses to accept that his county is fully Republican now.

In 2008, he saw how excited this community was about Obama. When Obama came to town, people packed a school gymnasium and screamed like he was a rock star. The county had from 1960 to 2004 voted within 3 percentage points of the national vote, but it broke that streak to vote overwhelmingly for Obama, who won this county by 16 percentage points. That margin narrowed considerably in 2012, when Obama won Vigo County by just a few hundred votes.

Then it swung wildly rightward, awarding Trump huge margins of victory, twice.

"And you would have to agree that those two gentlemen are about as diametrically opposed as anybody that you could think about. And yet people still did that," Etling said, and so he thinks they can turn it around again.

There was a bright spot for him in 2020. One of the few Democrats elected was Dr. Janie Myers, the new coroner and the first Black woman in history to win countywide office here.

So Etling is already starting to recruit Democratic candidates to run in local races in 2022, and he thinks it can reclaim its bellwether status.

But Tingley, at the county history museum, isn't sure this place or any place can be a bellwether these days.

"It is all politics of fear and passion. It's not about voting for who's right for you. It's about avoiding the candidate that scares you the most," she said. "If it gets back to what's best for the country, what's best for individuals, what's best for communities, I think that's when the bellwether counties all across the country can hit it again."

In the meantime, the city is trying rebrand itself.

The signs leading into town welcome visitors to the birthplace of the Coca-Cola bottle. A glass company here invented Coke's iconic contoured container in 1915.

There's a mural of the bottle painted on the side of the history museum, and around the town are 39 6-foot-tall brightly-painted bottle sculptures. The goal is to promote Terre Haute as a cultural destination, steeped in Americana history.

Tingley would be happy if the city became known for that. It probably would be more reliable than predicting the president every four years.

___

Associated Press writer Josh Boak and Associated Press data journalist Angeliki Kastanis contributed to this report.

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America's bellwethers crumbled in aligning with Trump in '20 - Minneapolis Star Tribune