Jeffrey Epstein and the President
In America today, politics is downstream from the vultures
To be clear, we will not be having a halaqa about Jeffrey Epstein and the President. At least, so long as we do our jobs as dads, parents, families and communities. For some years now, America has had an important, complex conversation about masculinity, from alleged absence to proposed toxicity, but there’s a big chapter that seems to be missing… Maybe because it’s too awkward for us to admit.
But given how important this missing bit of content is, you’d think we’d have spent more time on it.
Today’s post begins with an an Instagram reel that bounced through my feed a few days ago (and which, predictably, I cannot find again).
“Being a dad,” the big bold superimposed text said over an image of a dad watching a game, “is preparing people you can’t live without to live without you.” Doesn’t that just about sum it up? I’ve gotten to spend time with my dad over the past few days and cherished the time, even if there’s still so many ways we’re so distinct.
If I’m so different from him, after all, it’s because he (and my mother, may God give her paradise), chose to raise my brother and I in a very different world. They left everyone they knew to give their kids a better life.
Did they know that that’d also mean having kids with such a different life—from different reference points to different contexts and concepts?
Well, only in some ways. One of the things that strikes me still: Even though he’s four decades older than me, my dad’s often worried about me. This is a default mode. He’ll even apologize for it. “I can’t explain it,” he’ll say, somewhat bafflingly and endearingly, as if caring about your child well into your ninth decade were somehow odd, “but I just want to make sure you are okay.” He used to insist I study hard; he was convinced that education was the road to success. He wanted me to be secure.
Every dad I know is similarly focused, terrified he’ll leave the world having somehow failed to keep his family secure or prepare them for what is coming. At least, every good dad, and though their specific approach and temperament might be different, we’re all mostly worried about the same things. That’s the truth of the reel: We want kids to be more than okay because we’re mortal. We won’t be there one day. We want them to be able to make sure the people who’ll depend on them will be okay.
Yesterday morning, I sat down with a dad in another state (yes, I travel a lot) who talked about what he wanted for his kids (he and I go way back and I mean way back). He explained that character mattered more than anything. He considered that the principal mark of success. I’m sure most parents would agree.
Yesterday evening, I sat down with another dad, also an old friend. He told me how he moved to Dubai in part to give his kids some exposure to the wider world before returning back to the US. I understood the underlying impulse. We can’t know what exactly will be the best skillsets and strengths to offer our kids, but there’s common foci, which go back to resilience, courage, curiosity, ambition—and, especially for sons, the desire and ability to defend, protect and grow for themselves and others.
What can this possibly have to do with Donald Trump and Jeffrey Epstein?
Fool Me Once, Rule Us Twice
Others have written at length about Epstein and Trump, the politics, and the implications. I’m more focused on the reaction of so many Americans to the apparent discovery that our President may not have been entirely honest with us, a reaction that is suffused with shock, betrayal, anger and dismay. Is that not itself concerning? Because these are adults.
Many of my friends tell me that, the first time they take their kids to the Muslim-majority world, sometimes they’re shocked that Muslims are like people everywhere, that there’s good and bad out there, that you can’t just assume that because someone carries a tasbih, speaks Arabic, or says salam, that they are by that fact alone a good person. But those are kids, maybe outside their country and context for the first time.
Incidentally, it is not just good for your kids to know that. It is vital. If they did not, they would be taken advantage of in ways small or significant.
Whatever Donald Trump specifically did or did not do, or did or did not know, is almost beside the point, or so far after the point that it’s remarkable we are even still having this conversation.
There should come in every decent young man’s life a point when he has enough of a confidence in his gut instinct to be able to perceive who’s reputable and reliable, and act accordingly. How can anyone have watched Donald Trump all these years and not realized what kind of person he is? Why would he say and do things so venal if he did not mean them?
And if he just did them just because, as if nothing mattered, as if how we present ourselves were separable from who we are, then why would you — but I repeat myself — trust him? If you saw this behavior in a coach, or a teacher, or a prospective employer, would you trust them? And if you wouldn’t trust that kind of person with family, or friends, or job, why would you trust our country with them?
Of course, this isn’t just about masculinity—it’s about individuality, about moral agency, but if I’m specifically focusing on men and masculinity, well, isn’t it obvious? If men are supposed to protect, and use their strength for good, what in the world kind of definition of masculinity and patriotism puts its trust, its faith and its identity in a man who’s so obviously insincere?
Men Have Consequences
In a civilized, responsible, faithful democracy, there’s a kind of social code, encouraging mature adults to take on responsibility, build out family and community, and if some of us take longer to get there than others, and make mistakes along the way, I mean, we’re still all trying to get there, moving in a particular direction. This applies to our goals for ourselves as well as our expectations of each other.
Which is perhaps the point of
“Adulthood in the Zone.” In that—a goal, or a norm, or an expectation, no longer holds.But how did we get here?
Don’t tell me this is about education or income—most people aren’t the product of sophisticated education and are often decent, thoughtful and compassionate in their immediate lives.
Meanwhile, many well-to-do people support heinous policies; many accomplished elites endorse conflict and mayhem. Education, in other words, is not moral formation or, at least, is not sufficient for moral formation.
I confess I want to know for myself—because I owe it to myself and we owe it to the next generation. But I have an idea about where to start.
In about a month, the middle school halaqa will resume. These seventh and eighth grade boys will be reading The Autobiography of Malcolm X and I’m realizing how much in this book speaks to what we and especially we as men need right now. Because some of the most formative, impactful moments of Malcolm’s life not only come when he realizes he’s been lied to — but how he responds in turn.
That’s what makes Malcolm Malcolm, may God give him paradise. Not just that some terrible things happened to him. But how he came out of those.
What does it mean to have courage? What does it mean to stand up for those who have no one to represent them? How do we create a healthy culture except by making sure it’s full of people who are able to think critically, stand up, push back, who want to seek collaboration, but who are meaningful contributors, not following along without independence of thought or sharpness of judgment?
It’s one thing to ask who we become if we — God forbid — realize we’ve been had. But it’s also necessary for every educator to ask: How do we help our kids develop the ability to imagine dishonesty, detect insincerity, and continue to uphold what is right and decent? To not be had? And to know, in advance, the lines they can’t cross, the guardrails and the third rails…
A few days ago, I wrote about Superman, which you should watch. In part because it’s so clearly about Palestine. But equally because, if politics is downstream from culture, then what’s culture downstream of (hint: the Source, God, or that space where God belongs—if we cannot perceive the Source)?
Because in a different America, we would’ve never seen the kinds of politicians who reign today even get past the starting gate, let alone amass unchecked power.
Served by apparent simulacra of men who stand upright without spines.
We would’ve revolted, collectively, as people of decency and determination. Because determination alone isn’t enough! But neither is decency by itself! If we’re going to fix this, we should spend comparatively less time on politics—and more on culture. If we’re going to revive the culture, spend comparatively less time on culture—and more on whether our deepest existential purpose is reflected in us, by us, and around us.
That doesn’t mean politics isn’t important: of course it is! But what’s politically possible is very much a function of what’s culturally plausible. And where a culture goes, and doesn’t go, comes down to what we believe and how strongly we believe that. In short: Do our educational institutions teach young people agency? Capacity? And a shared commitment to values that transcend each and all of us?