If you paid attention to the news in any amount whatsoever during the Republican national convention, you are probably aware that on the third night (July 20), Ted Cruz gave a speech where not only did he decline to formally endorse Donald Trump, but implicitly told voters not to vote for him if it violated their conscience.
Not surprisingly, this speech prompted much outrage from the party.
He was booed offstage.
Former allies such as Sarah Palin said that his career was over.
Rick Perry and Dan Patrick (the lieutenant governor of Texas) have been mentioned as possible primary opponents against Cruz when he runs for re-election in the Senate in 2018.
Donald Trump is reportedly so embittered that not only does he not want Cruz’s endorsement should he change his mind, and has talked about funding SuperPACs against him and John Kasich, who also refused to endorse, in future elections they run in.
Ted Cruz himself has since explained his reasoning behind his decision to not endorse Trump, saying that he is “not in the habit of supporting someone who attacks my wife and attacks my father.”
That, in his opinion, invalidated the pledge that all the candidates signed to support the eventual nominee back in September.
Or did it?
I am a Republican who supported Ted Cruz for the nomination prior to him dropping out on May 3.
As I saw many of my fellow Cruz supporters turn into former supporters over his decision not to endorse, I struggled to figure out whether I should do the same.
I sympathized with the content of his speech (so much, that the Trump-sponsored vicious reaction to his statements, which included emphasis on the importance of preserving the Constitution and the idea that voters must vote according to what they believe is best for our freedoms, prompted me to decide to vote third party even though I’m a registered Republican), but I wondered whether he should be judged for apparently failing to keep his word.
I eventually decided that he should not be judged regarding the so-called “pledge.” Why? Because the pledge was invalidated into non-existence in deed. Not by Cruz, but by Reince Priebus, the chairman of the Republican Party.
As I thought about how to respond, I remembered an event that took place on March 29, 2015, when Donald Trump also renounced the pledge at the CNN Town Hall event that evening.
According to Time, Trump’s decision to renounce the pledge violated the terms that would have made him eligible to be on the ballots in states that required a loyalty pledge.
This could have caused him to forfeit his delegates in such states that had already voted at the time, such as South Carolina.
That didn’t happen, and the question is, why?
Why didn’t Reince Priebus follow through with his own rules, especially considering that as a leader of the GOP establishment, Trump’s downfall perhaps would have benefited him?
I can’t say for sure, but I would not rule out the idea Priebus’ decision not to penalize Trump was related to his belief that Trump can make deals.
After all, he and Trump had no problem making deals (abeit, indirectly via a coalition of Trump supporters and establishment figures in the Republican National Committee) that threw out proposed amendments to the convention rules that would have limited the power of the party chair, and redistributed it in the hands of lower-ranking members who could have affected the outcome of the development of the party platform, if not the convention itself.
Regardless of Priebus’ motivations, his actions do not reflect kindly on the reputation of the party, which, based on them, has been attacking Cruz based on a false premise.
A pledge that is not enforced is not a pledge. It is a joke.
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Cover Photo Credit: Gage Skidmore/ Flickr (CC By 2.0)
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Muhammad Ali And The Gold Medal
If you have been paying attention to the news in the slightest over the last three days or so, you are aware that the professional boxing legend Muhammad Ali has died.
Earlier today, as I was looking through the comment sections of news stories about his death, I read a comment about how he threw his Olympic gold medal into the Hudson River. It seemed like a silly claim. This prompted me to do a little research on the subject.
Here is what I found.
The following is a passage from Ali’s 2004 autobiography, The Soul of a Butterfly:
“There comes a time in every person’s life when he has to choose the course his life will take. On my journey I have found that the path to self-discovery is the most liberating choice of all.
My Olympic gold medal meant so much to me. It was a symbol of what I had accomplished for myself and for my country. Although I still experienced some of the same racial discrimination that I always had, my spirits were so high that I thought all of that would change.
A Kentucky newspaper wrote that my gold medal was the greatest prize any Black boy ever brought home to Louisville. I was proud, but I remember thinking at the time, if any White boy ever brought back anything greater, I sure didn’t hear about it. It seemed that I had become Louisville’s Black “Great White Hope.” I expected my gold medal to achieve something greater for me. During my first few days home, it seemed to accomplish exactly what I hoped, but soon I had a rude awakening.
I was sure they were finally going to let me eat downtown. In those days almost every restaurant, hotel, and movie theater in Louisville and the entire South was either closed to Blacks, or had segregated sections. But I thought that my medal would open them up to me.
One day my friend Ronnie and I were riding our motor bikes around downtown Louisville, when it began to rain. We parked and walked into a little restaurant, where we sat down and ordered two cheeseburgers and two vanilla milk shakes.
I was so proud, sitting there with my gold medal around my neck. (I wore it everywhere in those days.) The waitress looked at both of us and said, “We don’t serve Negroes.”
I politely replied, “Well, we don’t eat them either.”
I told her I was Cassius Clay, the Olympic Champion. Ronnie pointed to my gold medal.
Then the waitress looked me over again and went to the back, to speak with the manager. Ronnie and I could see them huddled over, talking and looking back at us.
We were sure that now that they knew who I was we would be able to stay and eat, but when the waitress came back, she said that she was sorry, but we had to leave.
As Ronnie and I stood up and walked out of the door, my heart was pounding. I wanted my medal to mean something-the mayor had said it was the key to Louisville. It was supposed to mean freedom and equality. I wanted to tell them all that they should be ashamed. I wanted to tell them that this was supposed to be the land of the free. As I got up and walked out of that restaurant, I didn’t say anything, but I was thinking that
I just wanted America to be America.
I had won the gold medal for America, but I still couldn’t eat in this restaurant in my hometown, the town where they all knew my name, where I was born in General Hospital only a few blocks away. I couldn’t eat in the town where I was raised, where I went to church and led a Christian life. I still couldn’t eat in a restaurant in the town where I went to school and helped the nuns clean the school. Now I had won the gold medal.
But it didn’t mean anything, because I didn’t have the right color skin.
Ronnie wanted me to call one of the millionaires from my sponsoring group and tell them what happened, and I almost did, but more than anything, I wanted that medal to mean that I was my own man and would be respected and treated like any other human being. Then I realized that even if it had been my “Key to the City,” if it could get only me into the “White only” place, then what good was it? What about other Black people?
Later I realized that it was part of God’s plan for me that they wouldn’t serve me that day. Before I was kicked out of the restaurant, I was thinking what the medal could mean for me. The more I thought about it, the more I began to see that if that medal didn’t mean equality for all, it didn’t mean anything at all.
What I remember most about 1960 was the first time I took my gold medal off. From that moment on, I have never placed great value on material things. What really matters is how you feel about yourself. If I had kept that medal I would have lost my pride.
Over the years I have told some people I had lost it, but no one ever found it. That’s because I lost it on purpose. The world should know the truth-it’s somewhere at the bottom of the Ohio River.”
There is dispute as to whether or not this story was merely apocryphal, as some reports claim that during his lifetime, Ali privately claimed to friends that the medal had merely been misplaced. This claim has been backed up by friends such as fellow boxer Bundini Brown, as well as Ali biographer Thomas Hauser.
Which story is true? We may never know. But you can be the judge. Do your own homework, and feel free to comment below!
RISE NEWS is a grassroots journalism news organization that is working to change the way young people become informed and engaged in public affairs. You can write for us.
Cover Photo Credit: Thomas Leuthard/ Flickr (CC By 2.0)
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Greenpeace Is Invading Downtown Miami This Weekend
IF YOU GO:
Date: November 11th and 12th from 10 AM- 5 PM.
Location: Museum Park, 1075 Biscayne Blvd
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This weekend, people in South Florida will have a rare opportunity to come aboard a Greenpeace ship.
But don’t worry- you won’t have to fight off whalers during your time on ship.
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The Cruel Reality Of Finding Love While Studying Abroad
By Caitlin Roberts
Our love was easy.
Our love was what both of us had always been searching for, and when I left him in the Paris Metro station that day, I really believed that the two of us would survive a year apart, but it was not that cut and dry.
It soon became this messy cluster of depression, missed phone calls, and living in this constant state of missing each other.
It destroyed us from the inside out and it led to him saying to me, “I think that we may have run our course.”
What I ultimately learned over this past year and some change, is that a long-distance relationship, with an ocean standing between the two of us, could be one of the worst decisions either of us have ever made, yet neither of us regret any of it.
Almost every girl dreams about going abroad and having the cliché, tall, dark and handsome man sweep them off their feet, but I never thought it would actually happen to me.
Something like that only happens in dreams, right?
So, when I arrived in London to spend a semester abroad, the last thing I thought would happen was to meet the love of my life.
When I met him, I had only been in the city for six days.
Hell, I had only gone to one class.
I just kept asking myself, “How is this happening to me?”
Our first conversation was about drinking tea and discussing history like we were invited by Catherine the Great of Russia to one of her salons in the 1700s.
That just completely knocked the wind out of me.
Not only did I meet a handsome English boy six days into my trip, I met one that loved history as much as I did and wanted to discuss it with me over tea.
I thought I had died and gone to heaven and that was only the beginning of the best, and simultaneously the worst, thing that has ever occurred in my life.
Just when I thought things could not get any better, January 24, 2015 happened.We spent the whole day shopping, eating lunch, flirting and just enjoying each other’s company.
It was that day when I realized that I was in love with him.
I was head over heels, for lack of a better term, in love with him.
Only two weeks had gone by and we were almost inseparable and I honestly thought I was crazy for feeling this way.
How could I know for sure after only two weeks?
Later that night, after we had way too much to drink with his friends and I was successful in having them all yell “Roll Tide” when we took tequila shots at a bar in Clapham, we were standing out in the cold air drunkenly goofing off waiting for our Uber to arrive.
I had said something completely ridiculous and he responded with a jovial laugh and said, “This is why I love you,” and pulled me closer to him.
Without hesitation, I responded by laughing and saying, “I love you too.”
For the first week after that night, we were very noncommittal with “I love you,” because we were both wary about saying it too soon, but it felt right so finally we said it.
We both put it out there, even though we were not sure who actually said it first on the street a few nights before or whether that one counted.
We said it sober instead of just texting the uncertain “I <3 you” and decided to embark on the greatest and most fulfilling relationship either of us had ever had.
The next three months were filled with too much netflix, The Simpsons, debating over whether or not putting Nesquik in milk was considered a milkshake, and going on dates to places like the Churchill War Rooms.
I felt so alive.
A Creperie in London. Photo Credit: Davide D’Amico/ Flickr (CC by 2.0)
I felt so safe and sure of myself.
Being with him gave me so much confidence to just be me and go after what I wanted.
He supported me and was genuinely interested in everything I had to say, even if I did talk about my love for Kate Middleton too much.
He loved me for me and wasn’t asking me to change a thing.
I didn’t feel like I needed to be someone I wasn’t, just to make him stick around.
My friends back home quickly noticed my change in demeanor.
I would light up whenever I would talk about him.
I was not trying to find faults that would allow me a way out, like I had done with every other guy I had ever been romantically involved with in the past.
This time was different and I really thought that this one was going to stick.
Fast forward to May of 2015, and my friends had arrived for our month long trip through Europe.
We checked off our eight days in London and the next stop was Paris.
He joined us for the last three of our five days and when I had to say goodbye to him on the afternoon of May 14, you could have thought that one of us was dying or that we were never going to see each other again.
The second thought could have honestly not been too far off.
We had only spent four months together, which has never seemed like a lot in retrospect, yet we both felt as if we were losing someone we had known for years.
We felt like we were losing a part of us and we didn’t know if we were ever going to get it back.
We stood there in the metro station, holding each other while constant waves of tears rolled down the shapes of our faces.
For me, no one else was there.
It was just the two of us, cherishing the last time we would physically feel our love for each other for half a year.
Then, it was over.
We both went our separate ways and embarked on the dreaded long-distance relationship that so many people avoid at all costs.
“I have searched so long for the perfect girl for me,” he said. “And now that I have found her, I’m never letting you go.”The next six months were awful in the sense that I was alone most of the time even though I was surrounded by friends who were constantly trying to cheer me up.
None of it seemed to work.
My body was constantly bogged down with an overwhelming sadness and I sunk into a state of depression that I had seen in others, but never experienced myself.
Facetime sessions, phone calls, and texts that read “I miss you,” and “I love you,” were becoming too much.
I was not only sad, but I was angry.
I couldn’t understand how I could find someone that I thought was perfect for me and I wasn’t able to be with them.
I was becoming bitter and angry because I was just so sick and tired of missing him.
Things on his end, 4,300 miles away, were just about the same.
We wanted so badly to make this thing that both of us had searched for, for so long work, but it seemed like it was only getting harder everyday.
November 14 is when he left Alabama after coming to visit me for two weeks.
After that date, nothing seemed to be going right.
Sweet, loving conversations turned into screaming matches over things that did not matter and times when both of us would spend half of our day angry at one another because we were six hours apart in time.
We began to rip apart what was left of this, piece by piece like animals.
Then, my visit in March, marked the end.
Something had been off for a really long time and it had driven a wedge between us.
Our Titanic hit the iceberg and started going down fast, but unlike the original, there were only two casualties this time.
Now, I have to ask myself, “How will I manage to get over him?,” because I never imagined that this would be the outcome.
I imagined it lasting for much longer, and possibly forever, but now I am seeing that some things are not meant to last, no matter how much you want them to.
I still love him with every inch of me and I can’t say I regret us, because I would be lying.
Part of me hopes that when I move to London later this month, our timing will be right this time.
Maybe in this version of the Titanic, Jack and Rose survive the turmoil and overcome everything that is thrown at them, but I absolutely cannot throw my life away by putting all that I have onto a sinking ship.
RISE NEWS is a grassroots journalism news organization that is working to change the way young people become informed and engaged in the world. You can write for us.
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