Sherry Chandler

On December 10, 1948, in response to the tragedies of World War II the United Nations adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

You will find the full text here.

From this morning’s NYTimes:

Life was different in Unit E at the state prison outside Newton, Iowa.

The toilets and sinks — white porcelain ones, like at home — were in a separate bathroom with partitions for privacy. In many Iowa prisons, metal toilet-and-sink combinations squat beside the bunks, to be used without privacy, a few feet from cellmates.

The cells in Unit E had real wooden doors and doorknobs, with locks. More books and computers were available, and inmates were kept busy with classes, chores, music practice and discussions. There were occasional movies and events with live bands and real-world food, like pizza or sandwiches from Subway. Best of all, there were opportunities to see loved ones in an environment quieter and more intimate than the typical visiting rooms.

But the only way an inmate could qualify for this kinder mutation of prison life was to enter an intensely religious rehabilitation program and satisfy the evangelical Christians running it that he was making acceptable spiritual progress. The program — which grew from a project started in 1997 at a Texas prison with the support of George W. Bush, who was governor at the time — says on its Web site that it seeks “to ‘cure’ prisoners by identifying sin as the root of their problems” and showing inmates “how God can heal them permanently, if they turn from their sinful past.”

This is not, of course, indoctrination or brainwashing but (ahem) a legitimate faith-based initiative, one of dozens like it in the nation, paid for by tax dollars.

I seem to remember when George W. Bush started his faith-based initiative sixish years ago, that we were promised there would be a careful accounting to make sure there’d be no mandatory proselytizing. Well, this isn’t mandatory. Or is it?

In ruling on that case, Judge Pratt noted that the born-again Christian staff was the sole judge of an inmate’s spiritual transformation. If an inmate did not join in the religious activities that were part of his “treatment,” the staff could write up disciplinary reports, generating demerits the inmate’s parole board might see. Or they could expel the inmate.

And while the program was supposedly open to all, in practice its content was “a substantial disincentive” for inmates of other faiths to join, the judge noted. Although the ministry itself does not condone hostility toward Catholics, Roman Catholic inmates heard their faith criticized by staff members and volunteers from local evangelical churches, the judge found. And Jews and Muslims in the program would have been required to participate in Christian worship services even if that deeply offended their own religious beliefs.

I think redemption is always possible, though I don’t necessarily count religious conversion as redemption. Nor do I think programs like this achieve redemption. At worst, it seems to me, they add another level of dysfunction to an already dysfunctional society. And they are rife with misuse. Take for example, this little paragraph about a government-financed abstinence program:

The federal judge said the grants were so poorly monitored that the state missed other clear signs of unconstitutional activity — as when one Catholic diocese sent monthly reports showing that it had used federal money “to support prayer at abortion clinics, pro-life marches and pro-life rallies.” Gail Dignam, director of the abstinence program, said that state contracts now emphasize more clearly that no grant money may be used for religious activities.

I am not reassured by knowing that Charles W. Colson is one of the founders of this prison program. Colson may have found redemption himself since the days when he was Richard Nixon’s “evil genius,” but I’m still not sure I would trust his methods.

If Kentucky-born actors have a defining characteristic it may well be quirkiness. Consider, if you will, the whimsical roles played by Harry Dean Stanton, George Clooney, Johnny Depp, and even Ashley Judd. If you doubt Ashley’s quirkiness, consider her role as Tina Modotti in Frida, consider her tango with Salma Hayek.

Quirkiest of all perhaps, Warren Oates (a Muhlenberg County boy). It was Oates’s role as “Holly’s father” that made me want to see Terrence Malick’s Badlands. It is, in fact, a very brief and shadowy role, marked mostly by an intimidating reflection in a mirror, the silhouette of a man on a bridge throwing a dog into the water. He doesn’t have half a dozen lines and he is murdered about fifteen minutes in. But while he’s there, he’s as electric as the young buff Martin Sheen, a “scene-stealing cameo” says Richard Luck.

Believe me, this is saying something because Martin Sheen is wonderful to watch in this movie. I’ve never thought of Sheen as a physical actor but as Kit, a sort of warped Peter Pan crossed with Tarzan, he is as physically impressive as, well, say the James Dean he is channeling. (Check out IMDb’s photo gallery for Badlands.) Sheen has supposedly said this was his best film.

This pre-Carrie Sissy Spacek is also an impressive physical presence. The part of Holly was her first major role.

In fact, Badlands is another one of those movies that is just plain beautiful to watch. The score deserves mention, too. My favorite scene is one in which these two deadly Lost Children, living in a tree in the Badlands of North Dakota, dance — Sissy in boney-elegant bare feet, Sheen in his James-Dean-snakeskin cowboy boots — to Mickey & Sylvia’s “Love Is Strange.”

Badlands gets a 100% Fresh rating at Rotten Tomatoes and a 7.9 at Internet Movie Database.

As for Oates, consider this statement by Luck in his article Brown Dirt Cowboy:

As great a talent as he was, Warren Oates’ appeal and importance cannot be measured simply in terms of acting. As a thug or a bully, cowhand or hired gun, bank robber or cockfighter, Warren Oates gave the American movie-going public a chance to look at itself, to see what it had become in the years between Korea and Grenada. Tragically, introspection has never been one of America’s nor Hollywood’s finest qualities and so Oates’ importance wasn’t fully appreciated until years after his death.

Possibly trivial coincidence: In Badlands, Warren Oates plays a sign painter and in one scene confronts Kit/Sheen while painting a billboard. In Paris, Texas, Dean Stockwell plays a billboard designer and in one scene confronts Travis/Stanton while putting up a billboard.