The Debates Begin

"What are you going to do to Ms. X, Senator Bellardi? Arrest her for having an abortion? Put her in prison and throw away the key? Juanita Dunsmuir's defiant questions opened her rebuttal and iced the auditorium crowd to sudden silence. Stevie's eyes widened in amazement at the woman's cutting words and tone. Dunsmuir had unleashed the first brutal blow of the debates.

 Senator Bellardi's opening statement had been nothing short of eloquent, swelling Stevie with pride. He poured the foundation for his argument by stating his intent to do only what was right for North California. Then he hammered each of the platform planks firmly into place on the issues to be covered in the debates. Finally he enumerated proposed guidelines for transitioning North California from the "abyss of moral relativism into a safe, secure, and peaceful haven of traditional values."

Everybody Is Right

The words popped out of Shawna's mouth before she could stop them. "How can everybody's beliefs be right? I mean, what about Adolf Hitler?" Ms. Carmona and two of the other girls at the table laughed lightly at Shawna's obvious naivete. She felt her face flush warm. "That's just the point, Shawna," the teacher responded. "Adolf Hitler had the right to believe whatever he wanted. But by imposing his beliefs on others, he displayed his intolerance and paid for it with his life. Decent people saw through the German dictator's intolerance and put an end to it—and to him—by defeating his country in the Second World War." The other girls at the table nodded knowingly.

 Another question popped into Shawna's head. It seemed odd to her that the beliefs of Adolf Hitler—whom Terilyn equated with Daniel Bellardi—qualified as intolerance while the beliefs of the "decent people" who defeated him were seen as right. If all truths and beliefs and lifestyles are equal, why were we right and the Nazis wrong? The things Hitler did were wrong, but our side also killed a lot of people in the name of what we believed. What's the difference? But this time Shawna kept her lips zipped. She already felt stupid for exposing her ignorance. Ms. Carmona obviously knows what she's talking about, so there must be a logical explanation. All I need to do is keep quiet and listen. It will all make sense to me eventually—especially if I find out more about these "higher powers" that Ms. Carmona says can help me.

My Truth, Your Truth

Ms. Carmona's explanationthat all people and lifestyles are equal sounded reasonable to Shawna and yet, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, something about it nagged at her. Although she had learned in church that all individuals have great worth because they are made in the image of God, the church did not teach that all lifestyles are equal and, therefore, acceptable. Rather, Shawna had been taught that right and wrong are determined by God and expressed in the Bible. However, she found it hard to argue with the logic that every individual
is special and has the right to do what is best for himself or herself. In spite of her doubts, Shawna was eager to hear more.

"In its purest sense," Ms. Carmona continued, "tolerance is simply the kindness to accept and to praise people for the lifestyles they have chosen. Tolerance says, 'I'm OK with what I believe and how I live, and you're OK with what you believe and how you live.' That's just where the narrow-minded bigots screw things up. They say, 'I'm OK, but I'm not so sure about you.' They say, 'I accept you as a person, but I can't accept your lifestyle.' What right does anyone have to question
your lifestyle? None, because everyone is created equal. Anyone who says, 'My truth is right and yours is wrong' is setting up a hierarchy of truth. Because everyone is created equal, all beliefs, values, and lifestyles should be equal. The most loving thing your friends, teachers, and parents can do for you is to accept your lifestyle. If they don't, they are intolerant. And no one is more
selfish or arrogant than someone who is intolerant."

The Rationale for Tolerance (continued)

Ms. Carmona continued to explain tolerance. "If all persons are equal, then all lifestyles are equal. You are a person of value, so however you choose to live your life is OK. Nobody can tell you what's right for you or what's wrong for you. That's something everyone must decide for herself. Whatever you decide is right for you is right. Whatever you decide is wrong for you is wrong. Of course," she said, "if you have trouble deciding just what's right for you and what
isn't, there are higher powers available to help us in those decisions."

Shawna wondered if it was mere coincidence that Ms. Carmona's gaze seemed to rest longer on her than on the others—maybe trying to "connect," as her friends called it. Shawna sensed an electricity in that brief moment that reminded her of some of her past escapades—smoking pot, leaving camp to meet boys, and others.

Ridiculous, she told herself. Ms. Carmona and my old friends are not at all alike. My old friends were always trying to lead me into trouble. Ms. Carmona only wants to help me, to teach me how to understand myself better and how to be more tolerant of others. What could be wrong with that?

What Is Tolerance?

Ms. Lisa Carmona, the faculty advisor and chaperone, was the main reason Shawna wanted to attend the weekend conference. She was enthralled by the woman's strong personality, self-confidence, and worldly wisdom. While eating, Ms. Carmona took advantage of a teachable moment. A sophomore Shawna had met in the van on the drive down, commented that she was confused when she heard people talking about tolerance. It seemed to have two different meanings.

"Tolerance is the highest of all virtues because it acknowledges and celebrates the personal rights and values of every individual. It is misunderstood because fundamentalists and bigots in our culture have improperly defined it" said Ms Carmona. "So what's the right definition?" the sophomore asked. "The virtue of tolerance is based on the reality that everyone is equal in value. Nobody at this table is any better than anyone else, right?" The girls nodded on cue.
"That's right. We're different from each other in a lot of ways, but we're all equal in value."

Shawna could not argue with Ms. Carmona so far. She had heard the same thing in Sunday school and youth group for years: Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world. (To Be Continued)

The First Debate

The four o'clock meeting in Senator Bellardi's suite at the Best Western was like a high-level military briefing prior to a critical battle that was destined to turn the war. All of the senator's key people were there including his personal bodyguards and two plainclothes officers from the California Highway Patrol.

Everyone in the room seemed on edge. Polls released today showed the senator to be only five points ahead of Juanita Dunsmuir, with up to 11 percent of the population yet undecided. Stevie was confident that the debates would turn the war solidly in Bellardi's favor.

Stevie was the on-site wordsmith, a walking dictionary, thesaurus, and grammarian. She would be called upon if the debate team needed to clarify a key statement. She had played a significant role in the crafting of Senator Bellardi's opening statements. Delivered with the senator's characteristic passion, this fifteen-minute address would doubtless send the Dunsmuir camp reeling. Truth and righteousness would prevail. It would be a first-round knockout.

The rest of the Friday and Saturday evening sessions would focus on nine specific issues: abortion, assisted suicide, gay rights, legalized drugs, crime and punishment—including capital punishment—church and state, values in education, pornography, and tolerance. Stevie had helped the debate team polish each position statement and Senator Bellardi would be free to use the prepared materials or speak from his own thoughts. Either way, Stevie was confident that he would blow the opposition away.

Work and Pleasure

Robert entered the suite; Stevie assumed it was Rhoda returning with her iced tea. She looked up from the monitor to find Robert standing over her, holding a thirty-two-ounce cup and a straw in one hand, a small cup of coffee in the other. "I ran into Rhoda in the coffee shop," he said. "She sent this up for you. Extra large with lemon." The man's slacks, shirt, and tie were perfectly coordinated—as always—and his expression was winsome and friendly. Sometimes Stevie wished he weren't quite so perfect. "Yes?" she said, hoping he couldn't hear the loud thumping of her heart as she gazed up into his questioning eyes.

"Stevie," he said, "I know I came on a little strong and my timing wasn't the best when I asked you out to dinner before, but I was hoping you'd give me another chance. Is this a better time?" Her throat felt frozen. She knew, if she opened her mouth, not one word would come out. But how long could she sit there, speechless, while he waited for an answer? "Yes," she said, nodding her head in affirmation. "Yes, this is a much better time." Robert's relief was evident. "Wonderful," he said, smiling broadly. "So, how about tonight? We could combine business with pleasure, get to know each other while we finalize those statements before delivering them to the senator."

The proper response came to mind immediately: Thank you, Robert, but this is my last night at home before leaving for the weekend. I need to do laundry and pack. Maybe some other time. It was a direct, kind, and reasonable refusal. But when she opened her mouth, those were not the words that came out. "I'd like that," she heard herself say.

Debating Abortion

The first debate in the race to be governor of North California would take place the next day, and Robert was counting on Stevie to streamline and polish the senator's opening remarks in time for him to memorize them. The debate team had hammered out the basic concepts; Stevie's responsibility was to make the message sing, convict, and captivate. Unlike her previous assignments, she had a large personal stake in the copy writing she did for the senator. She had two very dear reasons at home to make it the best work of her career.

Ladies and gentlemen of North California, the unconscionable act of terminating the life of a human fetus is dead wrong. Abortion is dead wrong physically because it stops a human heart. Abortion is dead wrong morally because it violates a person's right to live. Abortion is dead wrong spiritually because it usurps God's authority over life and death. As your governor, I will do what is right for North California. I will oppose every movement, every law, and every individual that supports abortion, because abortion is dead wrong.

Promotion

Greatly flattered at being invited to breakfast with Senator Bellardi the morning of the firebombing, Stevie had accepted the role of debate team writer the moment it was offered. She had discovered almost immediately that her "promotion" came with a significant amount of baggage she had not foreseen. For openers, the senator expected Stevie to continue to supervise Prayer Fax and Fax-O-Gram, with Wes taking over more of the writing. Apart from the pressure of added responsibility, Stevie was pleased to retain oversight of the bulletins and her
young protege.

Stevie's two roles in the campaign—debate team and communications— would require at least thirty hours a week until the conclusion of the debate series. She would have to burn the midnight oil just to keep her advertising business afloat. Another large challenge accompanying the promotion was working under Robert. So far, he had not revisited the invitation to dinner. Half of her wished he would. Half of her prayed that he would not.

Since Stevie had agreed to serve as a debate-team writer, Robert treated her like a member of the campaign's inner circle. Though flattered by Robert's trust, Stevie realized that privileged status brought added emotional pressure.

Fire Power

The vandal struck Bellardi campaign headquarters again 13 days after setting the offices on fire with Molotov cocktails. This time the culprit used a high-powered hunting rifle, shattering the front windows and perforating new computers and office furniture. Detectives later determined that the shots had been fired from a rooftop two blocks away in the dead of night, probably with the aid of night-vision opticals.

The attacker signed all his communications to Senator Bellardi—including the ones taking credit for the firebombing and the shooting—"AntiCrist," thought to be a novice's attempt at "antichrist." Due to the amateurish nature of the attack by the seemingly simpleminded attacker, authorities had not been overly concerned. The attacker briefly and straightforwardly urged the senator to pull out of the race and leave North California alone.

The strongest reaction to AntiCrist's two attacks came from Patricia Bellardi. Though the general public and most of the campaign staff never learned about it, the senator's usually serene and confident wife suffered a mild breakdown in the face of such overt violence directed at her husband. A shooting two weeks later pushed her even farther over the edge. She begged Daniel to pull out of the race. The senator had listened and understood, but he did not yield. Every security precaution would be employed, he assured her, but he could not turn back now. Patricia was not
pleased.

Arson

Stevie's plan for a couple of quiet,crack-of-dawn hours at her headquarters computer evaporated as soon as she saw the fire trucks, police cars, and television vehicles. "Stevie, over here," Rhoda was beckoning her and other volunteers. "It happened about three-thirty," Rhoda began, her round face drawn with disbelief. "Arson, they said. Somebody smashed the window and threw in a couple of firebombs. No one was hurt, thank God. The main floor looks like a total loss.
The senator and his wife were in Sacramento last night. The TV people are circling like vultures to get his reaction to the damage. He doesn't need something like this just two weeks before the debates."

After commiserating over the tragedy for several minutes, Rhoda and Stevie agreed to meet at the city library later in the morning to discuss backup plans for the two fax bulletins. As the discussion concluded, Stevie turned to see Wes Bellardi standing alone in the street, staring at the fire-damaged building. “Wes, did you just hear the news?" Stevie asked, approaching him. "The cop at the house woke me up about twenty minutes ago," Wes answered. "Are you OK with ... all of this?" she asked cautiously motioning toward the fire-damaged building. "You mean, am I concerned for my dad?" "Yes, exactly." Wes shrugged. "Sure. But I suppose
I don't need to be. He always seems to land on his feet somehow."

"I guess this means no faxing on Friday," Wes said. "Not necessarily. Everything is on disk. We're not going to let some amateur pyromaniac derail the Bellardi Express." "Amateur?" Wes asked. "Of course. If the guy really wanted to burn the place down, he—or she—would have used something more potent than a couple of Molotov cocktails.