Thompson helped immigrants in legal peril

from the December 10, 2007 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1210/p02s01-uspo.html

He intervened twice as a US senator for noncitizens at risk of deportation, records show.

By Ariel Sabar Staff writer of The Christian Science Monitor

KNOXVILLE, Tenn.

Fred Thompson has made the tough enforcement of immigration laws a cornerstone of his presidential campaign platform, running television ads in Iowa titled "No Amnesty" and skewering rivals for their immigration records.

But at least twice as a US senator, Mr. Thompson personally intervened on behalf of immigrants at risk of deportation, according to papers in his Senate archives here and interviews with the immigrants.

In 1999, he pleaded with the US Immigration and Naturalization Service to reinstate a green-card application from a Korean family who became illegal when their visas expired. In 2000, Thompson passed a private law to grant green cards – or permanent residence – to a disabled Bolivian widow and three of her children. Under public law, the family would have had to leave the United States.

The episodes reveal a greater open-mindedness toward immigrants in legal limbo than has been evident from Thompson on the campaign trail.

"I'm very appreciating about what he do," the Bolivian widow, Jacqueline Salinas, of Memphis, Tenn., said in a phone interview last week. "He's a blessing for my family."

She says she became a US citizen this year.

In letters to federal officials and in remarks in the Senate at the time, Thompson said the families deserved special treatment for "humanitarian reasons" and their "extraordinary circumstances." In memos to Thompson, Senate aides also noted the prospect of positive media coverage.

The headline of an August 1999 news release from his Senate office read, "Thompson Introduces Legislation to Assist St. Jude Cancer Patient."

Ms. Salinas and her husband came to the United States in 1996 on tourist visas so their 7-year-old daughter could receive medical care for a rare cancer. About a year later, her husband and a 3-year-old daughter were killed in a car accident that Salinas says left her paralyzed while seven-months pregnant.

The family stayed in the United States by renewing six-month visas. "Because they do not meet the requirements for permanent residence under current immigration law … the Salinas family will be forced to leave the United States following the expiration of their tourist visas," Thompson said in a September 1999 letter asking Sen. Spencer Abraham, then chairman of the immigration subcommittee, to consider his private bill. "It is my hope that we can act soon to prevent another tragic setback for the Salinas family."

The Korean family, Seung and Eun Kyung Lee, came to the United States with their son in 1988 on business and tourist visas, Mr. Lee said in an interview. When the visas expired around 1994, they became "out of status," or illegal, according to Mr. Lee and a September 1999 memo to Thompson from an aide.

In 1994, the family paid a $1,000 penalty that allowed Ms. Lee's father, a US citizen, to sponsor a petition to "adjust" them to legal status. But in May 1999, with the petition still pending, the father died, which would normally trigger an automatic revocation.

A few months later, Thompson wrote to a senior INS official, asking that the petition be reinstated under a humanitarian exception. "To deport this family and send them back to South Korea now because of INS processing delays … would pose an undue hardship on the Lees and their children," he wrote, describing the family as "model citizens in the Nashville community."

The next month, the INS made the exception. A spokeswoman for US Citizenship and Immigration Services said the agency couldn't comment on specific cases because of privacy laws.

The Lees regained legal status in 2000 when their green-card application was approved, Mr. Lee said. "Mr. Thompson stood for my family," he said in a phone interview last week. "We were very, very happy."

Lee and his wife became citizens this year, he said. He owns a home-building firm, and the family lives in a four-bedroom house in the Nashville suburbs. His son graduated this year from Indiana University.

Both cases were causes célèbres in Thompson's home state of Tennessee. The Lees ran a popular market on Nashville's Music Row and enlisted the support of local music-industry figures.

The Salinas family was profiled in People magazine and championed by Marlo Thomas, the actress whose father, Danny Thomas, founded the St. Jude Children's Research Hospital, where Salinas's daughter received pro bono treatment in Memphis.

Among its other merits, a private bill for Salinas and three of her children (a fourth born in the United States was already a citizen) "would likely receive positive media coverage in Tennessee," aides wrote Thompson in a July 1999 memo.

Private bills, unlike public ones, benefit specific individuals and are typically a last resort for people with no other legal recourse. Though Congress once passed dozens a year, in recent years few have succeeded, in part because of the rancorous debate over immigration policy.

Supporters say they're an important safety net. "They're meant to provide relief for people where there's no relief available in the public laws," says Anna Marie Gallagher, an immigration lawyer who wrote a book on the subject.

But critics say they take pressure off Congress to change the system for everyone and are unfair to the untold numbers of other immigrants with similarly compelling stories but no access to lawmakers powerful or willing enough to introduce them. When foreigners are made permanent residents through a private law, it reduces the number of green cards available to other would-be immigrants from the same home countries.

"The role of special legislation seems to come directly out of Animal Farm: that every person is equal, but some people are more equal than others," says Jonathan Turley, a law professor at George Washington University.

Since entering the race for the Republican presidential nomination, Thompson, who left the Senate in 2002, has been one of the GOP field's most outspoken advocates for the strict enforcement of existing immigration laws. Among other things, his immigration proposal calls for a ban on legal status for illegal immigrants and an end to the preference for adult children of US citizens. That preference set the Lees on a path to citizenship.

"What he did then was work with individuals who had entered the country legally and were in extreme humanitarian and family crises," a Thompson spokesman, Jeff Sadosky, said Friday. Asked whether Thompson would help such families in the same way now, Mr. Sadosky said, "Senator Thompson is always willing to do what he can, openly and in complete accordance with the law, for those law-abiding persons who face exceptionally challenging situations."

The campaign did not answer questions about seeming inconsistencies between his actions as a senator and his current policy proposals.

Not every immigrant who sought Thompson's help got results. His Senate archives contain requests for private bills for two illegal immigrants from Mexico. Thompson or his staff met with the immigrants' supporters, but offered no assistance, said a lawyer who represented one of the men and a Roman Catholic church official who represented the other.

Salinas says that thanks to Thompson, she is living the American dream. Her daughter Gabriela, whose cancer is in remission, and son, Alejandro, started college this year, she says. Her younger children, Omar Jr. and Danny Thomas (named after the St. Jude founder), are thriving in Catholic school.

Salinas says she survives on government disability checks, food stamps, and charity. She recently bought a three-bedroom house with the help of a government program and sees a bright future for her children. "All my life changed when we became residents," she says.
She said she invited Thompson to her son and daughter's high school graduation this spring, but that he sent regrets through an aide. "I know he will be a very, very good president because he has a big heart," she says.

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Are big-spending clergy abusing U.S. tax code?

from the December 06, 2007 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1206/p02s01-uspo.html

Tax exemptions for wealthy media-based ministries lead a senator to ask hard questions.

By Gail Russell Chaddock Staff writer of The Christian Science Monitor

Washington

Should Congress care if a minister drives a Bentley, flies private jets, or buys a $23,000 commode?

Yes, says Sen. Charles Grassley (R) of Iowa, if the high-spending ways violate the US tax code – especially a tax exemption for religious organizations.

He's given six televangelist ministries a deadline of this Friday to respond to questions on issues ranging from compensation and housing allowances to personal use of assets and unreported income.

"If tax-exempt organizations, including media-based ministries, thumb their noses at the laws governing their preferential tax treatment, the American public, their contributors, and the Internal Revenue Service have a right to know," says Senator Grassley, the top Republican on the Senate Finance Committee.

In the past five years, Grassley has led probes of nonprofits that unearthed lavish perks at the Smithsonian Institution, conflicts of interest at the Nature Conservancy, and mismanagement at the American Red Cross. Now, he's looking at some of America's largest, media-based ministries.
"Considering tax-exempt media-based ministries today are a billion-dollar industry ... with minimal transparency, it would be irresponsible not to examine this tax-exempt part of our economy," he said in a statement this week.

But church groups and other nonprofits worry that this probe could lead Congress to pass laws that slip into constitutionally protected territory – imposing excessive government oversight on a wide range of churches and other nonprofits.

Last week, National Religious Broadcasters (NRB) wrote to Grassley expressing concern about "the broader implications of this issue, not only for our members, but for all non-profit Christian ministries as well."

The information requested of the six ministries "goes far beyond a mere request for financial records necessary to scrutinize the charitable nature of an organization's operations," said NRB president and CEO Frank Wright in a Dec. 4 statement.

This includes requests for compensation agreements, employment contracts, minutes of board meetings, credit card statements, flight records, plastic surgery expenses, and a detailed account of the personal use of assets.

"There is financial information in an employment contract but also a lot of information that's none of the government's business," says Craig Parshall, NRB senior vice president and general counsel.

While none of the six ministries included in the probe to date is an NRB member, Mr. Parshall says that if abuses are found, Congress may be tempted to move government into the spiritual life of a church.

"There are thousands of Christian ministries engaged in electronic communications who are doing the right things – agonizing about how they are going to use donor dollars. Then you have, perhaps, a handful that have abused the tax laws. That's how bad laws get made," he says.

The six ministries include Without Walls International Church in Tampa, Fla., the World Healing Center Church, Inc. in Grapevine, Tex., Joyce Meyer Ministries in Fenton, Mo., the New Birth Missionary Baptist Church in Lithonia, Ga., World Changers Church International in College Park, Ga., and Kenneth Copeland Ministries in Newark, Tex.

Grassley says that he chose these six ministries because of "disturbing news coverage" and information provided to his staff by interested third parties.

All six are also associated with the so-called prosperity gospel, which says that God wants people to be financially successful and they can get there by giving generously to church.

Some groups say the decision to target these six may signal that lawmakers are picking and choosing among religions in violation of the Constitution.

"Anytime a Congressional committee gets involved in this kind of issue, a red flag goes up," says Brent Walker, executive director of the Baptist Joint Committee in Washington, which advocates for religious liberty.

"A lot of us are not enamored with the prosperity gospel, but this is not a decision for government to make. Government is supposed to enforce the law evenhandedly, not get involved in picking and choosing the best expression of religion," says Mr. Walker.

Americans gave more than $295 billion to charity in 2006, and Congress gives tax breaks to encourage it. Under federal law, churches are exempt from some of the reporting requirements of other tax-exempt organizations, but must ensure that donated funds are used to meet goals of the organization and not be diverted to personal use.

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Bill Richardson: a negotiator's faith in fairness and finding the common good

from the December 06, 2007 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1206/p01s05-uspo.html

The Democratic presidential hopeful, perhaps best known for his success in hostage-rescue missions, says he's motivated by 'a big desire to resolve problems.'

By Jane Lampman Staff writer of The Christian Science Monitor

Des Moines, Iowa

Send in Bill Richardson.

Starting in the 1990s, that became the way to win release of US citizens and others held captive in hostile countries. The energetic negotiator, a congressman back then, brought them home every time – from North Korea, Cuba, Sudan, and Iraq.

His secret weapon: "respect," he says, even for adversaries.

In some ways, Mr. Richardson proved to be particularly suited to the troubleshooting job abroad. Raised in both the United States and Mexico, he'd learned early how to bridge different cultures. And the teachings of his family and his church – to help one's fellow human beings – were a powerful motivator for those rescue missions.

"I have a big desire to resolve problems ... and to help people in need," says Richardson, now a Democratic candidate for president of the United States, during a recent interview on the stump in Iowa. "Coming from two cultures, I appreciate that people have different viewpoints but that everyone should be treated with respect."

One key reason he's running for president now, he says, is to try to bring Americans together to end the current era of intensely polarized politics in the US. Another taps his international credentials: to try to restore America's "moral authority" in the world community, which he sees as severely eroded as a result of the Bush administration's foreign policy.

It may well be Richardson's experience abroad that sets him apart from much of the presidential field. He's currently the popular governor of New Mexico, having won reelection in 2006 with 69 percent of the vote. But he's also served 18 months as United Nations ambassador during the Clinton presidency, run the US Department of Energy, and, before that, pulled off multiple negotiating coups with foreign leaders while a seven-term congressman.

"He really wants America to be a force for peace and democracy, and he understands the need today for interdependence," says long-time friend Mickey Ibarra, who served along with Richardson under Mr. Clinton.

Social justice via Government

The son of an American businessman and a Mexican mother, Richardson cites his family and the Roman Catholic Church as most influential in shaping his convictions and motivations. Catholic social teaching – emphasizing the common good and responsibility for creating a fair society with opportunity for all – is the foundation of his belief that "government exists to help people and be a catalyst for change, but not get in the way by creating barriers," he says.

As governor, he has worked in a coalition with church officials on issues such as eliminating sales tax on food and cracking down on "predatory" lenders to protect low-income borrowers.

"Going to church is an important part of my life and affects a lot of what I do," Richardson says. But in a campaign in which faith has been high-profile, he emphasizes that he does not wear his religion on his sleeve.

The governor also takes a different position from that of his church on abortion. While personally opposed to it, he is on record as saying he believes strongly in individual liberties and medical privacy for women.

Born in Pasadena, Calif., Richardson grew up in Mexico City, where his father headed the Mexican branch of the bank that later became Citibank. In his autobiography, "Between Worlds," Richardson recalls his childhood with passion. His earliest memory, he writes, is of his abuelita (grandma) taking him to church. She saw to it that he said his prayers and went to church – even before the budding star pitcher played a baseball game.

"My grandmother was a big baseball fan, but she regularly cautioned me that I had to stay close to God if I wanted to do well," he writes.

Mano a mano with saddam Hussein

That instruction from his grandmother stood Richardson in good stead during one difficult negotiation in 1995. Indeed, his adherence to religious practice while in Baghdad figured unexpectedly in ending a standoff with none other than Saddam Hussein.

At the time Richardson was on a mission to secure the release of two Americans sentenced to eight years in Abu Graib prison. Working in Kuwaiti oil fields, the pair drove by mistake into Iraq, were captured, and tried as spies.

Conditions were tense. Iraq was under UN sanctions, and the US was dropping bombs on the country.

Richardson and aide Calvin Humphrey sweated out a high-speed drive to Baghdad in 120-degree heat, endured a lengthy meeting with Foreign Minister Tariq Aziz, and, at last, faced Hussein in a room furnished with armed guards. The discussion took an ominous turn, says Mr. Humphrey, when Richardson, crossing his leg, inadvertently showed the Iraqi president the bottom of his shoe – an insult in the Arab world. Hussein stormed from the room. When he returned later, Hussein learned that Richardson had asked to go to Mass with Mr. Aziz, also a Catholic.

"I understand the Mass is much longer in this country," the congressman said.

"Saddam said, 'That's because you Americans don't confess all your sins,' " recalled Humphrey in a phone interview. "Without missing a beat, Richardson replied, 'Mr. President, I thought it was because you Iraqis have so much more to confess.' "

The quick-witted retort actually made Hussein smile. "He obviously had been testing Richardson," Humphrey says. "That kind of broke the ice.... The look was like, 'You got me on that.' " By the end of the discussion, Hussein agreed to release the two American prisoners.
The root of Richardson's success as a negotiator is that "he shows respect to whomever he is negotiating with," says Humphrey, now senior vice president for international operations at RJI Capital Corp. "He's able to connect on an interpersonal level and looks people in the eye, but still holds fast to his principles and positions."

The governor puts it this way: "I keep my eye on the ultimate objective and let my adversary save face."

From ball field to political field

Although wealthy, the Richardson family lived in a middle-class neighborhood in Mexico City, and Bill played with youths of all classes. His father taught him that work had dignity no matter what the work was.

The son describes William Blaine Richardson as "a very strong disciplinarian, a taskmaster" who demanded much. "My father had difficulty telling people they had done a good job; he just pushed them to do even better," the candidate writes in his book. "That's an unfortunate quality I may have developed myself. I put in very long days and sometimes drive my staff nuts."

But the elder Richardson also set an example. "He was very involved in helping poor people, including setting up Little League fields all over Mexico, and telling me it was my responsibility to help the less fortunate," Richardson said during the interview.

His mother, Maria Luisa Lopez-Collada Richardson, he adds, urged him "to try to resolve differences, talk things through, and respect other points of view."

At a tender age, Richardson had occasion to test that approach. For high school, Bill was sent to Middlesex, a prep school in Concord, Mass. There, the Hispanic-American was a fish out of water, struggling to find a sense of identity.

Baseball proved to be his saving grace. He was a star pitcher in Mexico, and when the Middlesex coach saw Bill, he moved him onto the varsity team. Suddenly, the kid tagged "Pancho" was welcome in New England.

"That life experience of traversing two worlds is very much at the core of who Bill Richardson is," says Mr. Ibarra, Clinton's liaison to state and local governments. "He's really figured out how to savor and embrace strengths of both cultures."

Going on to Tufts University in Medford, Mass., Richardson at first dreamed of a pro baseball career, and scouts gave him reason to hope. But his arm gave out and academics took on new luster in his junior year. He got his first taste of politics running for president of his fraternity – and found he was good at it and could make a difference.

The defining moment in his life, he says, came during his graduate year at Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy. During a trip to Washington in 1971, he was galvanized by a talk by Sen. Hubert Humphrey of Minnesota about values and the US role in the world. What struck Richardson most was the senator's passion for public service. "For the first time, I had an inkling of the real potential of political power," Richardson writes in his book. "I felt inspired to make politics and public service my life's work."

The big issues

On the campaign trail, Richardson seems to relish the hard question on the big issue. Take the concern of a woman in Rockwell City, Iowa, who tells him she's worried about illegal immigration.

It could be a touchy issue for a Hispanic-American candidate, but Richardson is ready: He declared a state of emergency in New Mexico in 2005 and deployed the National Guard along the border – the first governor to do so, he says. But a border fence will not do the job, he adds.

He ticks off his plan: Double border agents and keep National Guard units there; crack down on document fraud and create an ID system; fine and punish employers who hire undocumented workers; establish a path to legalization for those already here (background check, learn English, pay back taxes and a fine); allow guest workers based on the needs of the US economy; and prod Mexico to create more jobs and "stop giving out maps on the best places to cross the border!"

On Iraq, he says the US military presence there is a recruiting tool for terrorists and discourages countries in the region from helping to resolve Iraq's problems. US forces should withdraw fully, he says, and a "diplomatic surge" should be undertaken to forge a political compromise, along the lines of the Dayton accords on Bosnia. That would become feasible, he says, once it's clear US forces are exiting.

'Power is good'

By most accounts and by his own admission, Richardson is not shy about wielding political power.

"Power is good if you do the right thing," the governor says. It puts one in a position "to fix problems."

The Albuquerque Journal in February wrote that Richardson has "used his power to ... get change in virtually every corner of New Mexico life, from slashing income taxes to creating pre-kindergarten...."

"He's first and foremost a political animal," Ibarra says. "He loves this stuff!"

Richardson has also been called "ambitious" and "pushy." Critics in New Mexico say he's amassed too much power, including reorganizing public education under his stewardship. The governor counters that state schools ranked poorly and were stuck in the status quo. Via a massive campaign for a constitutional amendment, he persuaded voters to pour $700 million more into public education. He calls the reform "my proudest legislative achievement."

Others credit him for having the energy and fortitude to tackle thorny problems, including managing the Department of Energy. Though warned that DOE was "a snake pit" of problems, Richardson says he was eager to take the helm when Clinton tapped him for the post in 1998. The FBI was already investigating Wen Ho Lee for espionage at a DOE laboratory, and Richardson was berated by a congressional panel looking into loose security at the national labs.
Yet DOE staff say he left a positive legacy.

"He understood leadership and the responsibility to take on difficult problems and try to solve them," says David Michaels, then an assistant secretary. "He called me in and said, 'I've heard from workers in Oak Ridge [National Lab] and other places that their work has made them sick. Go talk with them and see what's going on.' "

After Dr. Michaels delivered his findings, Richardson convinced the president and Congress of the need to compensate lab workers for exposure to hazardous materials. Most thought the legislation "would take years to pull off," Michaels says. But Richardson won bipartisan support, and Congress passed the program in 2000.

In Paducah, Ky., where workers had been exposed to plutonium but not told about it, Richardson apologized on behalf of the president.

Says Michaels, now a research professor at George Washington University: "On many issues top advisers would lay out options, and he'd always ask, 'What's the right thing to do?' He didn't mean the politically right thing, but the morally right thing."

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Senate rejects far-reaching energy bill

from the December 08, 2007 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1207/p25s09-uspo.html

But Congress could still pass a slimmer version mandating more efficient cars and more biofuel use.

By Mark Clayton Staff writer of The Christian Science Monitor

There's still hope the nation may get a nice green-energy law for Christmas – not the big fat one environmentalists wanted, but a slimmed-down version that probably includes fuel economy and biofuel provisions.

That scenario emerged Friday, observers say, after the Senate failed to approve a more far-reaching House energy bill that promised to cut US dependence on imported oil and global warming emissions.

Congress still has the possibility to pass two measures with wide bipartisan support: the first major hike in vehicle fuel-economy standards since the 1970s and an enormous boost for US-made biofuels. But House provisions for a $21 billion repeal of tax cuts for the oil and gas industry and a mandate for electric utilities to begin using renewable fuels to generate some of their electricity now appear dead,

Environmentalists called the Senate's procedural vote a victory for supporters of "big coal and big oil" over the nation's needs.

"We are particularly disappointed that despite overwhelming public support for renewable energy and demand for cars that get better gas mileage, that the Senate has missed this opportunity to enact a Renewable Electricity Standard (RES) and strengthen fuel economy standards," says Anna Aurilio, a congressional analyst for Environment America, a Washington-based environmental group.

Oil industry officials said the impact of the House bill would have harmed energy supplies.
"Our country's energy focus should be on securing American energy supply, not discouraging future American energy production," said Barry Russell, president of the Independent Petroleum Association of America, in a statement. "Unfortunately the House energy bill sends the wrong – and potentially harmful – message."

Some close observers on Wall Street, however, foresee a new energy bill that will be less sweeping.

"We anticipate that the House will send a lean bill to the Senate next week," one that would only include provisions boosting biofuels and vehicle fuel-economy standards, wrote Kevin Book, senior vice president at FBR Capital Markets in Arlington, Va., in a letter to investors.

Wind, solar, and geothermal industry proponents were particularly anxious about the fate of some $10 billion to $16 billion of production and other tax credits, which could determine whether those industries go into recession. Under its pay-as-you-go mandate, the Democrat-controlled Congress had hoped to pay for these credits by effectively boosting the taxes on oil companies by repealing recent tax credits they received. Now, it will have to find the money elsewhere, analysts said.

"We call on Senate leaders to work together to ensure that overwhelmingly popular provisions to promote renewable electricity are not left out in the cold as this effort moves forward," Randall Swisher, executive director of the American Wind Energy Association, said in a statement Friday.

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Romney moves to allay Mormon concerns directly

from the December 07, 2007 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1207/p01s03-uspo.html

The GOP hopeful said no religious test should be applied to become president as is stated in the Constitution.

By Linda Feldmann Staff writer of The Christian Science Monitor

Washington

In an echo of John F. Kennedy's election-eve address on Catholicism 47 years ago, former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney sought to allay concerns Thursday over his Mormon faith before an audience of invited guests at the George Bush Presidential Library in College Station, Texas.

Without delving into the specifics of Mormon doctrine, Mr. Romney invoked the Founding Fathers in asserting the nation's religious underpinnings, called for religious tolerance, and highlighted the "common creed of moral convictions" within the varied theologies of American churches.

And, just as the future President Kennedy promised in 1960 that he would not accept instruction from the pope, Romney promised that as president he would answer to "no one religion."

"When I place my hand on the Bible and take the oath of office, that oath becomes my highest promise to God," Romney said. "If I am fortunate to become your president, I will serve no one religion, no one group, no one cause, and no one interest. A president must serve only the common cause of the people of the United States."

Romney also referenced Article 6 of the Constitution, which states that "no religious test" shall ever be required as a qualification for office.

"There are some who would have a presidential candidate describe and explain his church's distinctive doctrines," Romney said. "To do so would enable the very religious test the founders prohibited in the Constitution. No candidate should become the spokesman for his faith. For if he becomes president he will need the prayers of the people of all faiths."

The speech comes after months of debate within the Romney campaign over the wisdom of such a move. The Republican candidate has faced persistent reservations by a significant portion of the GOP electorate to voting for a Mormon for president.

He had hoped not to have to deliver such a speech, but decided last week that he should.
Romney would have preferred to let his success in business and government, and in turning around the 2002 Olympics, in addition to his picture-perfect family, speak for itself. By waiting until this point in the campaign – less than a month before the first nominating contest, the Jan. 3 Iowa caucuses – he is guaranteed major public attention to his address. But if it backfires, by making Mormonism an even bigger issue, he could damage his political prospects.

Analysts widely assume that the Romney campaign's internal polls indicate that voter resistance to Mormonism was hurting his bid for the GOP nomination, particularly in Iowa, where Evangelicals make up a significant portion of the Republican base. Romney has staked his nomination bid on winning the crucial early contests, first Iowa, then New Hampshire, and has campaigned heavily in both states. For months, polls of likely caucusgoers in Iowa showed Romney winning in Iowa, but in recent weeks, a surge in support for former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee – an ordained Baptist preacher and an Evangelical – has left the race in a dead heat. Romney remains ahead in New Hampshire, which has a small Evangelical population.

Romney has faced questions about his Mormon faith almost from the moment he entered the 2008 presidential race last January. Some major religious groups in America, such as the Southern Baptists, do not consider Mormons to be Christian, because they do not hold to their view of the Holy Trinity and because they have scriptures separate from the Bible, such as the Book of Mormon. During the campaign, some Evangelicals have objected to Romney's use of Christian terminology, such as when Romney refers to Jesus Christ as "my savior" or "the savior of the world."

Mormons reject that argument, noting that the full name of their church – the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints – contains the words "Jesus Christ" for a reason.

"Christ is the center of our theology," says Michael Otterson, spokesman for the church, based in Salt Lake City. "We believe him to be the son of God [and] the redeemer of mankind. We believe he atoned for the sins of all mankind."

On the campaign trail, Romney has shown some exasperation at the persistence of the public – and the press – in questioning him about his Mormon faith, and whether he will give a speech addressing the concern. Polling has long shown the challenge Romney faces as the first Mormon presidential candidate with a genuine shot at winning a major-party nomination.

According to a Pew Research Center survey taken in August, 25 percent of GOP voters nationwide say they are "less likely" to vote for a candidate who is Mormon. The issue of Romney's faith is ironic, particularly in this religion-infused campaign. While some candidates regularly use religious language on the stump, the deeply religious Romney has avoided it, preferring instead to speak of values.

In Romney's sole reference to his Mormon faith in the speech, he addressed critics who he said "would prefer it if I would simply distance myself from my religion, say that it is more a tradition than my personal conviction, or disavow one or another of its precepts."

"That I will not do," he continued. "I believe in my Mormon faith and I endeavor to live by it. My faith is the faith of my fathers – I will be true to them and to my beliefs."

The reference to Romney's forefathers was laden with meaning. Romney is descended from a long line of Mormons, going back to the early days of the church in the 1830s.

Romney's father, former Michigan Gov. George Romney, ran for president in 1968, but dropped out after a verbal gaffe sank his prospects. Still, Mormonism was not an issue in the senior Romney's campaign. Some historians say that in effect, the Kennedy speech a few years earlier had protected Romney from undergoing scrutiny over his faith. In addition, religion was not the major stump issue it is today. And in the 1960s, the Mormon church was much smaller than it is today.

The rapid growth of the Mormon church, with 5 million members in the US and some 13 million worldwide, is cited as a cause of concern for Evangelicals. Both faiths actively seek to convert one another's members, and some Evangelicals have expressed concern that having a Mormon president would aid in the growth of Mormon membership rolls.

Before Thursday's speech, delivered at the library of former President Bush on the campus of Texas A & M University, Romney was introduced by the former president. Mr. Bush made clear that he was not endorsing Romney's campaign, and had made his library available to other presidential candidates. The audience of 300 included Romney family, friends, and advisers, guests of the library, and guests of the former president. One notable attendee was Richard Land, head of the public policy arm of the Southern Baptist Convention and an influential evangelical leader. He has not endorsed Romney, but has been supportive of his candidacy.

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Obama and the 'Oprah Effect': can she sway voters?

from the December 10, 2007 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1210/p01s03-uspo.html

Winfrey hit the stump for the first time this weekend for Barack Obama.

By Alexandra Marks Staff writer of The Christian Science Monitorand Stacey Vanek Smith Contributor to The Christian Science Monitor

DES MOINES, Iowa; and LOS ANGELES

Melanie White wasn't paying much attention to the presidential campaign. But when she heard Oprah Winfrey was coming to Des Moines to campaign for Barack Obama, politics suddenly mattered. She wanted to see Oprah.

Her friend Kim Smith, a committed Obama supporter, told her she could get tickets, but there was a price. "She has to sign her life away to volunteer and caucus for Barack," said Ms. Smith.
Ms. White readily agreed. And so the two 30-something friends sat near the front of a line of more than 18,000 waiting to get into the Hy-Vee Hall in downtown Des Moines, a copy of "O's Guide to Life" and an "Obama '08" bumper sticker between them.

Call it the "Oprah effect," a phenomenon the political world is watching warily. Not because celebrity endorsements are new, but because Ms. Winfrey is more than a celebrity: She's a social icon, an earth mother, a television priestess of sorts whose predominantly female flock takes her words to heart.

"The problem with most celebrity endorsements is that there's no transferability between their talent and real credibility," says Howard Davidowitz, chairman of Davidowitz & Associates, a retail investment banking firm. "Oprah is different. Oprah has an army out there that really listens. She's one of the great marketing machines in history."

Indeed, Winfrey made Spanx girdles a household name, and much to the envy of high school teachers everywhere, she has gotten thousands of people reading Steinbeck and Tolstoy.
But politics isn't soap powder. And as Winfrey rose to the podium in the packed convention hall to stump for a presidential candidate for the first time in her life, the first lady of television made it clear Saturday that she knows the difference.

"Despite all of the talk, the speculation, and the hype, I understand the difference between a book club and free refrigerators ... and this critical moment in our nation's history," she says. "I came out here for, I suspect, the same reason you did: Because I care about this country."

Celebrity endorsements have been a popular political tool for nearly a century. The government, for example, hired Charlie Chaplin to help sell war bonds in 1918, notes Steven Ross, a history professor at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. "Historically, the real power of celebrities in politics has been getting people to show up for events," he says. "Once they're there, they listen to what the candidate has to say."

Some are getting earnestly involved in the political process because of Winfrey's call to action. Jacqueline Pope and her sister-in-law Sandra Pope drove 90 miles from Ottumwa, Iowa, to be at the Des Moines rally. To them, it was a "package deal." They've supported Obama for some time, but now with Winfrey's endorsement, they're determined to go to the caucus on Jan. 3. It's only the second time in the 18 years Jacqueline has lived in Iowa that she will have gone to a caucus. Sandra, who's lived here just as long, will be going to her first caucus.

"He has a vision, and it's about hope for our country that right now is in very serious trouble," says Jacqueline.

The Popes are two of Winfrey's estimated 8.6 million viewers and they represent a crucial demographic, says Ross. Two-thirds of them are women, and nearly half make less than $40,000 a year, according to Nielsen Media Research.

Many of them are probably not registered to vote, Ross says, and Winfrey could very well get them to the polls. "She could tap in to the 50 percent of the population that doesn't vote," he says. "When Oprah says, 'This is somebody I really support,' she has the potential to reach out to voters who never vote."

But not everyone is convinced that the "Oprah effect" will draw in a significant number of new voters. Dennis Goldford is a professor of politics at Drake University in Des Moines. "For a good 40 years now, campaigns have tried to market candidates as if they were soap powder or breakfast cereal," he says. "But I don't think people yet blur the line between citizen and consumer."

Margaret Blair is one such rallygoer. She readily acknowledges she came to see Winfrey, and while she says she will listen to Senator Obama, she's "always leaned" toward former Sen. John Edwards – and she likes Gov. Bill Richardson as well.

"I like Obama, too, but I'm especially here because Oprah came with him," she says. "I haven't really decided yet [whom to support.]"

Political analyst Larry Sabato also doubts that Winfrey's success in selling Steinbeck will translate into getting votes for Obama. "Politics is a one-day sale," says Professor Sabato, director of the University of Virginia's Center for Politics in Charlottesville. "Getting 10,000 people to buy a book is a big deal. Getting 10,000 people to vote doesn't mean anything in a national election. Ultimately, candidates have to make their own sale."

Winfrey has made at least one sure sale for Obama. Melanie White says that come the Jan. 3 caucuses, she'll be standing up for Obama.

But that vote, and others like it, may also cost Winfrey some of her own celebrity. Ross points to Chaplin's film, "The Great Dictator," which carried an antifascist message. "Chaplin was the most famous man in the world, and his career never recovered," says Ross. "People became incredibly angry that he would express his political views."

How the Iowa caucuses work

Iowa’s caucuses for the presidential nomination are meetings that last several hours. County chairs of all 1,784 precincts select the locations for the caucuses – in schools, public buildings, or private homes. Any voter who is a registered Republican or Democrat, and who can prove residency in the state, can attend. At the meetings, participants declare their votes, electing delegates to 99 county conventions, where the delegates for the national convention are selected.

Sources: "Elections A-Z" (CQ), Federal Election Commission, Iowacaucus.org

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Sudan's president pardons 'teddy bear' teacher

posted December 03, 2007 at 1:00 p.m. EST - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1204/p25s05-woaf.html

The British schoolteacher convicted of insulting Islam is expected to return to England Monday.

By Eoin O'Carroll csmonitor.com

Gillian Gibbons, the British schoolteacher jailed in Sudan for allowing her class to name a teddy bear after the prophet "Muhammad," was pardoned Monday by Sudan's president and was under the protection of her country's embassy in Khartoum. Informed sources said she would be flown home to England later in the day.

The pardon came after a meeting between two Muslim members of Britain's House of Lords, Lord Nazir Ahmed and Baroness Sayeeda Warsi, and Sudanese President Omar al-Bashir.
British prime minister Gordon Brown welcomed the news, saying in a press statement that "common sense has prevailed."

Through the course of Ms Gibbons' detention, I was glad to see Muslim support groups across the UK express strong support for her case.

I applaud the particular efforts of Lord Ahmed and Baroness Warsi in securing her freedom. I am also grateful to our officials for all their work behind the scenes.'

The Associated Press reports that Sudan's ambassador to Britain, Khalid al-Mubarak, was "overjoyed" at the news of Gibbons's release.

"She is a teacher who went to teach our children English and she has helped a great deal and I am very grateful," Mubarak said. "What has happened was a cultural misunderstanding, a minor one, and I hope she, her family and the British people won't be affected by what has happened."

Gibbons was arrested last week and sentenced to 15 days in prison after she allowed her class of 6- and 7-year-olds in Khartoum's Unity High School to vote on the name for the toy bear, which each of them had taken home and cared for over a weekend. The class voted overwhelmingly for "Muhammad." While that is one of the world's most common human names – and the second-most-popular in Britain – many Muslims consider it insulting to give the name to an animal. On Friday, armed demonstrators took to the streets in Khartoum to protest what they complained was a light sentence. Under Sudanese law, her crime could have carried a penalty of 40 lashes, a fine, and six months in prison. Some of the same protesters massed in front of the British Embassy Monday after the pardon, saying it had wounded their sensibilities.

During her incarceration Gibbons was held in an anonymous building in Khartoum's suburbs. The Times of London described the conditions there as vastly superior to those under which ordinary Sudanese prisoners live.

She had a bed, which is not normally provided in Sudan's cockroach-ridden jails, and as much food as she wanted, in stark contrast to the rest of the prison system, where relatives must bring in food and water every day. . .

Elteyb Hag Ateya, a director of Khartoum University's peace research institute, said that the government was keen to limit damage from the affair. "Whenever I speak to anyone in government, they say it is a nightmare and they do not want to hear about it again. They do not want any aftermath like the lady going home and holding a press conference complaining about conditions."

The New York Times noted that the teddy bear affair comes at a difficult time for President Bashir, who is seeking to balance the demands of Western governments with those of Muslim hard-liners.

In a way, Mr. Bashir was caught in the middle — or at least the Sudanese government – tried to make it look that way. By letting Ms. Gibbons out early, he risks provoking Muslim hardliners in his country, who are among his key supporters.

But the case hit his desk at a time when United Nations officials and Western governments are increasingly complaining that Sudan is obstructing an expanded peacekeeping force for Darfur, the war-torn region of western Sudan.

Apparently, Mr. Bashir calculated that he didn't need to isolate his government any further.
The incident has already attracted at least one entrepreneur. Online shoppers can purchase a plush bear, Muhammad the Tolerance Teddy, for $20.

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Military chaplains: Prayer and humor hold a combat trauma unit together in Afghanistan

from the December 04, 2007 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1204/p20s01-usmi.html

National Guard First Lt. Kurt Bishop listens to medics letting off steam, nurses coming to terms with death, and doctors showing stress.

By Lee Lawrence Correspondent of The Christian Science Monitor

Forward Operating Base (FOB) Salerno, Afghanistan

Reporter Lee Lawrence spent three months embedded with US military chaplains in Iraq and Afghanistan. This is the last of six weekly print and Web video profiles of them. The series concludes tomorrow with Lawrence's personal reporter-on-the-job entry.

First comes a chirping alarm over the PA system, then a woman's lilting voice wafts over this dusty military camp: "Attention on the FOB, Attention on the FOB. Mustang blue. Mustang blue." The tone belies the seriousness of the matter, which is that casualties are incoming and the Army's 396th Combat Support Hospital team – "the Mustangs" – should be ready. The number of victims are color-coded: red for one, white for two, blue for three, and black for mass casualties.

US medics, nurses, doctors – and a chaplain – converge in interlocking tents that form the hospital, preparing for the arrival of three Afghan National Army soldiers injured when their vehicle rolled over an improvised explosive device.

Faces are serious as the team checks supplies and readies the triage room. Among them, Arizona National Guard First Lt. Kurt Bishop – one of five chaplains at this forward operating base of 1,500 soldiers and contractors. He doesn't look the part of either soldier or cleric. His well-fed torso matches the round softness of his face, and he is more likely to trumpet his allegiance to the Ohio State Buckeyes than proclaim his Baptist faith.

"I'm burning that hat of yours," he fires at a medic who'd been wearing a Michigan cap earlier. The medic's attention is yanked from the business at hand, and he looks up, rolls his eyes in mock despair, and then gets back to work. Chaplain Bishop responds with a goofy grin, then scans the closed expressions of the men and women around him, scouting for opportunities to crack them open, if only for a moment. His jokes aren't always knee-slappers, but his almost childlike delivery breaks the tension the way a Roman candle momentarily dispels darkness.

Yet the moment the first stretcher is rushed in, Bishop is all business. He sinks into the background, his jaw working chewing gum, eyes sweeping the tented space. Noticing that a nurse needs a fresh packet of gauze, he picks one off the shelf and hands it to her. Then he pulls on blue gloves and shuttles bloodied bandages to the trash. As an X-ray machine is wheeled in, a young female medic scurries out of the way. She looks worried.

"The fat sterile guy will protect you from the rays," he says, pulling her behind him. She laughs. Her face relaxes. Mission accomplished, Bishop fades into the background watching, ready to lend a hand, a shoulder, an ear.

In this pressure cooker environment, Bishop offers release and relief, whether by listening to a medic let off steam, helping a nurse come to terms with a death, or expressing concern when a doctor shows stress. As the head of this medical team, Lt. Col. Richard Philips explains that by working together on the edge of life and death teams like the Mustangs bond intensely. But with the camaraderie and support also comes the danger of destructive dynamics such as extramarital affairs or pent-up anger. Having a hands-on chaplain is not only good for individuals; it helps the unit. From Colonel Philips's perspective, Bishop acts as an early detection system. Typically, he says, "we call the chaplain when people are drowning, but a chaplain like Bishop is here all the time. He sees them when they're struggling to swim."

Because Bishop has made himself part of the team, Philips adds, when crises come, "even the most foul mouthed, anti-Christian, I-don't-need-any-help person ... pulls [Bishop] aside and goes, 'You know, I did have a question about something.' I've seen more counseling go on by that little port-o-potty out back." He laughs. "You'd have to be here for a year to understand. We're completely cut off from normal life ... and we become like a family. The chaplain tends to the spiritual side that's intangible, and Bishop does that better than most."

• • •

Bishop is new to the chaplaincy but not the military. His father was an Air Force fighter pilot; his older brother flies Army helicopters, and Bishop himself was an enlisted soldier with the 82nd Airborne from 1987 until 1991. He later joined the National Guard, working as a driver at the Officer Candidate School at Fort Lewis, Wash.

When he talks of being called to the chaplaincy, he means it literally. He was sitting at a Burger King, working through the aftershock of a girlfriend's Dear John letter with two chaplains he'd been chauffeuring. Then and there, he says, "I heard God, just as audibly as we're talking, say, 'This is what you're going to do: You're going to be a chaplain.' "

Last year he was commissioned an active-duty Arizona National Guard chaplain. "The call came in 1996," he says with a grin, "I was just a little slow."

Adapting to hospital duty, however, took him no time. The key to being effective, chaplains say, is building relationships. And for Bishop, the bond here was sealed over a tragedy two weeks into his deployment early this year.

Many Afghans heat with kerosene, often tasking the children to cut it with gasoline. And accidents happen.

"We were just coming out of the really bad [winter] season with a lot of burns," Bishop says, when a 6-year-old came in with burns over 45 percent of his body. But he was stable, and the team agreed he was recovering nicely. Then he suddenly and inexplicably died.

The team was in shock. Immediately, Bishop gathered everyone and, as they talked it over, he listened and watched. He says he'd spent enough time hanging around the crew that "I could tell Cejka wanted to open up, but she wasn't going to do it with everybody around. So I asked her to stay behind."

Sgt. Catie Cejka – an emergency medical technician – had been monitoring the boy, and her face still saddens recalling the event: "That was the only time I really talked about it, and I think that helped more than anything."

Had Cejka approached him at Sunday services or a Bible study, Bishop wouldn't have thought twice about addressing the issue in terms of his Christian faith. But their conversation took place at the hospital and, as a chaplain in a secular institution, he's not allowed to impose his religious views on others. Indeed, proselytizing would hinder efforts to establish the kind of open, trusting relationship that enables Bishop to reach out to soldiers in a time of need, whether to help them through troubles or to provide moral guidance. Like many chaplains, Bishop walks this church-state tightrope by preaching his faith at services and, at other times, letting the cross on his uniform suffice unless a soldier broaches the subject. "I did," Cejka says, "so we went into how this is the way things happen, you can't control them, it's God's plan."

• • •

During the "Mustang blue," Bishop's radar is up. He sidles up to a doctor and, in a low voice, asks about the first patient. The doctor shakes his head. The head wounds are severe, he says;there is no recovery in sight.

"I thought so," Bishop says, then melts back into the bustle. When the patient is declared dead, Bishop helps curtain off an area where nurses will prepare the body for transfer to an Afghani morgue. Inside the curtained cubicle, Bishop then helps clean the Afghan soldier's face and body and wrap it in white sheets. Pulling a card from his pocket, he reads a Muslim prayer that asks God to look over the young man's family.

"They don't share my faith," he later says of the Afghan patients treated in the trauma unit, "but that doesn't mean that I don't need to be praying for them. If the least I can do is to read the emergency Muslim prayer off this card that I have, then I am going to do that."

Once the two survivors and the deceased have been moved to a local hospital, medics clean the floor, tidy shelves, align tables. Off in a corner, a man in jeans and polo shirt sits alone. Bishop has never seen the Afghan translator fall so quiet. Within minutes the chaplain is by his side, hand on his shoulder, speaking softly.

Later, on a slow afternoon, the translator approaches Bishop, smiling shyly. The chaplain recognizes the overture and engages him in a conversation that quickly veers to the tragedy and losses of war. The translator had known the Afghan soldier, and his death had hit hard.

After the translator leaves, Bishop stays on, watching the comings and goings of the medical team. "It is amazing to see them come together and lean on each other," he says. "It strengthens my faith because I know it's not a human thing, I know it's God working in people."

Southern Baptist tradition stresses witnessing, and Bishop has come to believe that "everybody witnesses whether they know it or not, and, here, once it gets into a room it's going to circulate. It can be 'hey can I bring you anything,' or it can be that shoulder to lean on, or that person to talk to when people are having tough times."

And every morning before he heads to the hospital, Bishop says, "I pray, 'God, help me get out of the way so you can use me.' "

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Three months with US military chaplains in Iraq and Afghanistan

from the December 05, 2007 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1205/p20s01-usmi.html

Reporter on the job: Rockets in the shower, gravel in the rollers, and a mouse in the guard tower.

By Lee Lawrence Correspondent of The Christian Science Monitor

Bagram air base, Afghanistan

It was 4 a.m. when my partner, Terry Nickelson, and I landed at Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan last March to begin a three-month embed with the military. We'd spent three nearly sleepless days traveling to Afghanistan from Atlanta via Frankfurt and Kuwait. The Kuwait transit camp had eaten up most of our energy. That was where we first encountered gravel – not the small, friendly kind that crunches delightfully underfoot, but a big, fat species of gravel that the military has imported by the ton to keep down dust and drain away rain. The downside is that even a short walk feels like a workout on a low-budget beach. (First mental note to self: at any future embed, no suitcases with wheels.)

At Bagram outside our quarters – two windowless cells in a one-story building – Terry and I met to plan for the next day. Our proposal to make a documentary on military chaplains had received approval and our access also extended to a series of chaplain profiles I would spin off for The Christian Science Monitor. It was hard to believe, after many months of planning, that we were actually here, staring at the shadowy presence of mountains in the distance.

Suddenly, light bloomed over that dark outline – and we thought we were seeing the war ... until thunder rumbled. Truth is, it was often hard to remember we were in a war zone, especially on big bases like Bagram. The cafeterias served just about everything from chili to surf and turf and hand-dipped ice cream – not to mention a never-ending supply of chunky peanut butter cookies (and my family worried that I would lose weight). Given the plethora of contractors, there seemed to be almost as many people in civilian clothes walking up and down the main drag as there were military. And the buffer zone separating us from the outside was so large that my husband and brother back home knew far more about what was going on in the rest of Afghanistan than we did. (Note to self: Thank them for their news-filled e-mails.) We had not yet found the supply of "Stars & Stripes" newspapers, and though TV screens played CNN and other channels in the cafeterias, the background noise was so high we had to rely on the crawl at the bottom of the screen. The news anchor might have been talking about the war; we were reading about Anna Nicole.

Probably the most surreal incident in that connection was looking up at the TV at lunch one day to find Stephen Colbert arching an eyebrow, his irony garbled by the bad acoustics. The soldier at the end of my table was straining to hear and having better luck than I. But he wasn't laughing.

Even news that directly affected us was sometimes hard to get. Again in Bagram, Air Force personnel at the hospital asked us one day whether we'd heard that the base had come under attack the day before.

Really? Yes, mortars rained down just inside the perimeter for about four hours – or was it six? Accounts varied, and nobody we spoke to could tell fact from rumor because, though we'd all been right there, we hadn't heard or seen a thing.

By contrast, when rockets hit Salerno, a medium-sized FOB (forward operating base) south of Kabul, we all knew it. I'd just spent two days hopping in and out of Black Hawk helicopters, shadowing Air Force Chaplain Gary Linksy as he traveled to seven tiny outposts to say mass. I'd already discovered that the dust, whether whipped up by nature or the whir of rotor blades, acts like those old dry shampoos that absorb the oil in your hair, leaving it technically clean but feeling dull and gritty.

When I got back to Salerno, I headed straight for the shower trailer. I had the place to myself and was all lathered up when I heard the first big boom. It felt like the world had taken a convulsive in-out breath.

People talk about the fight or flight response – my response was freeze and focus. I stood still, water pouring over me. Then my focus narrowed: Rinse off. Get dressed. Gather toiletries. Poke head out of trailer.

I could see the walls of various structures coming in at angles to one another, as deserted and stark as a De Chirico painting. Another boom. Do I leave? Stay put? Someone is speaking over the loudspeaker, but I can't make out the words. Then laughter – guys must be playing cards over in that tent, so how bad can this be? But, wait, that's not a tent. That's a bunker. A bunker. I need to be in that bunker.

The thought propelled my legs, and the next thing I knew I was staring up at a man with an open, kind face and a body so massive the largest size neck armor was too small. I took one look at Sgt. Robert Walker and stuck to him like glue. When the next rocket hit, those of us near the opening of the bunker saw the dust kick up 300 yards away.

"How bad can it be?" one soldier said, "The guys in the guard tower are still there."

Right on cue, the guys in the guard tower charged down the stairs, chins tucked in and backs hunched. I looked at Sergeant Walker. When he headed for a bunker farther inside the FOB, I was right behind him. (About a week later an all-female singing group called Purple Angels performed at the base – and who do you suppose was their designated driver and bodyguard? You know it – Sergeant Walker.)

We sat in the next bunker for about an hour. A soldier told me all about his wife; a civilian contractor explained bluntly that we were basically defenseless – "If a rocket hits the bunker square on, we're gone." And a jolly-looking fellow brought us bottles of water. (It was my introduction to National Guard Chaplain Kurt Bishop, whose operating room ministry I would later profile for the Monitor.) And here I was clutching toiletries instead of my camera. I consoled myself, thinking that maybe a camera would have stifled conversation – but I now doubt it. (Note to self: About the camera – never leave hooch without it.)

Largely, troops were pretty open and happy to talk once we'd hung around for a while, and especially after we'd gone on patrols with them. At one small FOB, Terry literally ran with marines on three consecutive night patrols. .

I spent hours in guard towers, usually late at night when the watch feels the longest. I heard about future plans ("My ambition," one marine said, "is to get a job I can quit, not signing on any dotted line"), girlfriends back home, and the boredom (on one tower, the guys had been feeding a mouse and were a little worried that he hadn't shown up in a day or so; in another camp, marines spun a fantasy of being on an island with just one obstacle between them and freedom; the challenge was devising ever-weirder ways to get around it).

At first I felt like an interloper – a woman their mothers' age coming in from the civilian world, asking questions, filming – but there was something I hadn't counted on: the power of diversion. I was something different. I broke the routine, and Lance Cpl. Chad Travers a few days later told me in a flat Rhode Island accent, "That was the fastest hour of the watch." So maybe I'm not quite as entertaining as a Purple Angel, but still...

In order to get a feel for what chaplains do and how they fit into the military, Terry and I had from the start decided we needed also to document the lives of the troops. We hadn't realized just how much we would appreciate the diversion this, in turn, gave us – especially with units that got out of their vehicles. For once, we could see the world directly without the mediation of a dirty Humvee window.

Still, it wasn't exactly your usual reporting. We were wearing body armor and helmets and arrived with a bevy of heavily armed men.

Surprisingly, this didn't always get in the way. More than once, Iraqi women pulled me in for a chat, whether they were the wives of sheikhs, teachers in a school, or just women in a neighborhood soldiers were patrolling.

On one mission with a Minnesota National Guard unit in Iraq's Anbar Province, we went to Tourist Town, on the banks of Lake Habbaniyah, a huge body of sparkling blue water that came as a shock and relief in this land of tans and browns. It turns out that Saddam Hussein spent some time in a Swiss resort and liked it so much he duplicated it here.

There amid pine trees and pink oleander, a woman wearing a deep blue head scarf and long caftan had just finished baking flat bread in an open oven and mimed the process for me. She and her teenage daughter invited me in for tea.

It felt rude to stomp into their home with boots, but every time I tried to untie them, they shook their heads and stopped me. So I shed the helmet, and the sight of my sweaty head triggered fits of giggles from mother and daughter. I couldn't tell whether it was my foreign brazenness that tickled and perhaps embarrassed them or whether they were laughing at my helmet hair.

While the woman heated the tea on a kerosene burner, we communicated in gestures and facial expressions. I gathered that life is tough with kerosene being so expensive and a husband out of work, that they are Sunni from Baghdad and left when violence erupted, that their future is a blank page onto which the hand of Allah will inscribe their fate – inshallah.

(Note to self: Be grateful.)

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Heard at Mecca: 'Are you single?'

from the December 05, 2007 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1205/p01s01-wome.html

Matchmakers ply their trade within Islam's holiest mosque.

By Rym Ghazal Contributor to The Christian Science Monitor

Mecca, Saudi Arabia

In the midst of overlapping murmurs of prayers in a sea of white-cloaked worshipers, a woman's voice interrupts the collective trance as she asks: "Are you single?"

For hundreds of years, Mecca has been the sacred meeting point of millions of Muslims from across the world. They come to perform the hajj, the annual major pilgrimage, or umrah, a minor pilgrimage that can be performed anytime.

Matchmaking is a profession that's at least as old as Mecca. But until now, say Saudi scholars, it hasn't been practiced at Islam's holiest site.

"These days, practicing Muslim men are having a hard time finding practicing Muslim women," explains Um Mohammad matter-of-factly. She's carrying a tiny blue notebook to jot down personal information about potential brides that she meets inside the Haram Mosque where Muslims circumambulate the holy cubed structure, the Kaaba.

Dressed in a black abaya – including the face covering known as niqab – and sporting black gloves, Um Mohammad (who declined to give her full name) is one of several matchmakers who can be seen approaching "pious" young Muslim women as they pray or perform rituals.

"Devoted Muslims come here, and so there is a better chance of finding a good match," says Um Mohammad, standing no taller than 5 ft. 2 in. She says she makes a minimum of 1,000 riyals ($268) plus gifts, such as perfume, from grateful mothers.

Um Mohammad says she's working for several mothers to find "chaste" wives for their sons in a place that's annually visited by around 3 million people for hajj. This year, the pilgrimage begins Dec. 18.

Aayesh Masri, a 22-year-old Saudi woman who was approached by one of the matchmakers, isn't troubled by the mixing of matchmaking and prayer.

"Why not? It is done under sincere intentions and it is no different than when potential suitors come to your home to meet your family," says Ms. Masri.

Saudi historian Omar Tayeb isn't surprised, either. "Matchmakers are everywhere in Saudi. They find brides in supermarkets, malls, and mosques. Why not near the Kaaba?" he asks.

Modern pilgrims have also grown accustomed to seeing a variety of not-so-sacred activities near the sacred Kaaba, the cube that every Muslim on the planet faces during the five daily prayers.

Worshipers often scramble and push to touch it. Some even rip off a piece of the kiswa – the black silk cloth with gold-embroidered calligraphy covering the rock – as a religious souvenir.
Other Mecca mementos can be obtained more easily. Local entrepreneurs, for example, have long worked the holy marbled white grounds.

"Scissors! Tissue! Prayer book! Only one riyal [about 27 cents]," cries out a boy of 6 struggling in the white sea of pilgrims. One of the rituals of the pilgrimage involves cutting one's hair. Tissues are used for wiping off sweat from the arduous walks between sacred sites.

The vendor's older brother is not far behind, selling Islamic stickers and passing out leaflets for his father's business – Koranic ring tones and customized prayers rugs.

From the corners of the mosque, sheikhs give public lectures, while religious police roam the crowd in search of "indecent conduct" and pickpockets.

Still, some Muslims see the matchmakers as another facet of the spreading commercialization of Mecca, which comes at the expense of its sacredness.

"There is nothing holy about having Pizza Hut right next to the holiest site in Islam," says Mohammed Abdullah Attar, a religious scholar in one of the all-boys' schools in Mecca.

The recent rise in oil prices is creating a new construction boom, funded mainly by members of the Saudi royal family. Some pilgrims comment disparagingly on the new glass-garbed, Vegas-style towers and glitzy five-star hotels encircling the holy site. Several of the towers are part of the Abraj al-Bait Mall (Arabic for "Towers of the House"), referring to the Kaaba's nickname, "the House of God." The mall is a complex of seven 30-story towers, still under construction but already promising to be one of Saudi Arabia's tallest – and most controversial.

"Mecca should be a site of religious contemplation and not a distraction of overpriced materialistic things," says Dr. Attar.

Saudi officials say that the expansion of hotels, stores, and restaurant chains is simply to care for the growing numbers of pilgrims. The city has always had shops and small restaurants, but the numbers were smaller, in part because travel to Mecca was difficult. The roads weren't paved, and there weren't enough hotels.

But after the oil boom of the 1970s, roads were paved, housing expanded, and the influx of pilgrims rose from tens of thousands to millions. Safety figures into the expansion, too, say officials. In some years, hundreds of people have died in stampedes.

"The changes in Mecca are well planned and studied, and are there to cater to the needs of visitors and residents," says a Saudi Interior Ministry official who asked to remain anonymous.
The building boom, notes Mr. Tayeb, is also justified by the spread of Islam. There are more Muslims who must come to Mecca each year.

Non-Muslims are prohibited from entering Mecca, so the commerce still has a distinctive Islamic flair. Koranic verses can be heard playing in some restaurants. And every arriving pilgrim with a cellphone is sent a text message in English and Arabic from the Saudi government: "You are now in Mecca! The dearest place to Allah and his messenger – Peace be upon him – on earth."

Tayeb, the historian, says the traditional Saudi families here in Mecca feel "disappointment" over the modernization, but have accepted it as a reality. And he accepts the presence of matchmakers, as he does the other changes. The Mecca of his childhood is now gone, he says, adding: "The only thing that remains the same is the Kaaba."

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'Tis the season when generosity visits an 'invisible world'

from the December 05, 2007 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1205/p15s01-lign.html

Newspaper charity drives continue to help families who cannot afford Christmas gifts.

By Marilyn Gardner Columnist

Some of the most heart-tugging stories every December can be found in the charitable appeals various newspapers make to collect money for needy families. Without such donations, the papers say, many children would have no gifts to open.

The names of the funds hint at the need: In Boston, Globe Santa hopes to aid more than 20,000 impoverished families. Operation Jingle Bells, sponsored by the Elgin, Ill., Courier News, pays one major bill for families in need. The Hope Fund at the Albany Times Union in upstate New York helps poor children. At the Worcester Telegram & Gazette, the Santa Fund gives toys and books to children in Massachusetts. And the Houston Chronicle's Goodfellows charity provides toys for those between ages 2 and 10.

As one measure of readers' generosity, The New York Times Neediest Cases Fund received $7.6 million from more than 10,000 donors last year.

Day after day in December, these columns tell of families challenged by divorce, widowhood, or poor health. Others can't pay the rent or soaring heating bills. Still others are headed by grandparents who never expected to be raising another generation.

Whatever the situation, the urgent message is: Please give.

These funds serve as useful reminders of a world that remains invisible to millions of Christmas shoppers with money in the bank and credit cards in hand. The parents writing plaintive letters to newspapers seeking gifts for their children aren't the ones pushing gift-laden carts at Toys "R" Us or clutching long grocery lists at Stop & Shop to prepare for a bountiful Christmas meal.
The Yuletide merriment goes on without them, even as Washington reminds the rest of us that it's our duty to spend more than we did last year to keep the economy chugging along.

That's also the indirect reminder publicists keep giving journalists this time of year as they besiege us with press releases that urge us to write about the coolest toys, the newest electronics, even the latest personalized gifts for Fido and Muffy.

But sandwiched among these commercial pitches for gifts are more sobering messages. A new study by Demos finds that one-fifth of middle-class families are living paycheck to paycheck, with little margin of security.

Sometimes the disconnect between the visible world of plenty and the invisible world of need shows up surprisingly close to home.

For a number of years our suburban church has taken part in two charitable efforts to help families in our town who are struggling. The first, in October, is a food drive to stock the local food pantry. A flier posted on the church bulletin board lists preferred foods, while a blue collection bin nearby stands ready for donations. In November and December, the local Community Council appeals for warm scarves, gloves, and mittens, to be given as holiday gifts to those in need.

Tuna and cereal. Mittens and scarves. These primary needs seem out of place in a comfortable suburb. But layoffs and economic reversals, however temporary, can occur anywhere, regardless of ZIP codes and leafy addresses.

One of the most poignant holiday experiences of my childhood dates back to a mid-December Saturday in fourth or fifth grade. Our Girl Scout troop invited girls from the local Children's Home to join us for a pre-Christmas outing downtown. We began with breakfast at Bishop's Cafeteria. Then we gave each girl a dollar – the equivalent of about $7 today – and went to a nearby Woolworth's so they could shop.

When we returned to the Children's Home, they gave us a tour, including their dormitory-style bedrooms and the space where they stored their few belongings. We said our goodbyes, then headed back to the security of our two-parent families and our middle-class homes with a wreath on the door, a Christmas tree in the living room, and presents under the tree.

It was my first encounter with those whose lives were radically different from mine, and it made a profound impression. Nearly every Christmas since then I've thought about those girls, who were so much like us yet whose situations were so different. I can only hope that they have carved out satisfying lives, with families – and Christmas trees and gifts – of their own.

It's a hope that extends to every letter writer asking for holiday help from charity drives. Who knows what lasting memories donors' gifts might bring?

One recipient of Globe Santa's largesse, Leslie Ahern, was 8 in 1957 when her widowed mother asked for help. Decades later, she expressed her gratitude to the paper. "We were no longer alone and scared," she wrote. "There were people out there ... who had never even met us, but who cared about us. That was the very gift we needed most that Christmas. At 8, I learned that people do care and can make a wonderful difference in the lives of other people."

That anonymous generosity, bridging two worlds, could be one of the best presents for givers and recipients alike.

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Sufism may be powerful antidote to Islamic extremism

from the December 05, 2007 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1205/p13s02-lire.html

With its spiritual tradition, 'the Sufi way' is an age-old alternative for radicals and modernists alike.

By Jane Lampman Staff writer of The Christian Science Monitor

Images of Islam have pervaded the news media in recent years, but one aspect of the faith has gotten little attention – Islamic spirituality. Yet thousands in America and millions in the Muslim world have embarked on the spiritual path called Sufism, or the Sufi way. Some see its appeal as the most promising hope for countering the rise of extremism in Islam.

In recent weeks, celebrations in cities on several continents have marked the "International Year of Rumi." Sept. 30 was the 800th anniversary of the birth of Muslim mystic Jelaluddin Rumi, who is a towering figure in Sufi literature and, paradoxically, the bestselling poet in the United States over the past decade.

In the West, Sufism has appealed to seekers attracted by its disciplined spiritual practices as well as its respect for all faiths and emphasis on universal love.

"I was searching, and the writings struck me – particularly the poetry," says Llew Smith, a TV producer in Boston who has joined a Sufi order. "It's direct and consistent about turning you away from the self, but also being connected deeply to the Divine and to other people."

Across the Muslim world, Sufism has been an influential force throughout Islamic history, though it has frequently come under attack by more orthodox Muslims. Some consider it an Islamic heresy because Sufis go beyond the faith's basic tenets and pursue a direct union with God.

Many Muslims today, however, see the spiritual tradition as the potential answer to the extremism that has hijacked the faith and misrepresented it to the world.

"In the Islamic world, Sufism is the most powerful antidote to the religious radicalism called fundamentalism as well as the most important source for responding to the challenges posed by modernism," says Seyyed Hossein Nasr, professor of Islamic studies at George Washington University in Washington, D.C.

Dr. Nasr has written a new book, "The Garden of Truth," to present Sufi teaching in contemporary language.

"Its influence is immense," Nasr adds. "Sufism has kept alive the inner quality of ethics and spiritual virtues, rather than a rigid morality ... and it provides access to knowledge of the divine reality," which affects all other aspects of one's life.

But Sufi practice faces intense pressures in Islam's internal struggle. "What the Western world is not seeing," says Akbar Ahmed, a renowned Pakistani anthropologist who teaches at American University in Washington, "is that there are three distinct models in play in the Muslim world: modernism, which reflects globalization, materialism, and a consumer society; the literalists, who are reacting, sometimes violently, against the West and globalization; and the Sufis, who reject the search for power and wealth" in favor of a more spiritual path.

Feeling under siege, the average Muslim today is in turmoil, Dr. Ahmed says. To which of these answers will he or she turn? He believes that the spiritual hunger is deep and resonates widely.

Puritanical reformers revile it

While Sufism has been persecuted in Saudi Arabia, it is thriving in such places as Iran, Pakistan, and India outside the modernist cities, says Ahmed, who traveled throughout the Muslim world in 2006. During a visit to the Sufi shrine at Ajmer, India, he encountered a throng of thousands worshiping there.

"Just last week, when former Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif returned to Pakistan, where did he go? To the Sufi shrine in Lahore," he adds.

But can Sufism influence or counter the political rise of the radicals? Puritanical reformers call Sufis heretics. And modernizers have often denigrated them. Kemal Ataturk, the founder of modern secular Turkey, for instance, closed down the Sufi orders, including Rumi's Mevlevi order.

Yet, according to a survey Ahmed took of some young people in Turkey last year, their top choice as a role model is a Sufi intellectual, Fetullah Gulen, who has built a large system of schools and is known for his promotion of interfaith dialogue.

Sufis lead reform movements

Historically, Sufism has had greater impact in the Muslim world than have Jewish and Christian mysticism in their communities, says Marcia Hermansen, an expert on Sufism at Loyola University in Chicago.

Not only has it pervaded Islamic art, literature, music, and architecture, but in the realm of political life, several Sufi orders became ruling dynasties, reshaping the map of the Muslim world.

"Some of the greatest reform movements in the 19th century were carried out by Sufis," says Nasr. "Amir Abd al-Kader, the national hero of Algeria, was a Sufi master."

No reliable statistics exist for numbers of Sufis practicing today, as both Sunni and Shiite Muslims may also be Sufis. But many Sufi orders, in which serious students follow a master teacher, have become international in scope. (In the US, Sufi movements vary considerably, and a few have taken on New Age elements and are not directly related to Islam.)

Llew Smith joined the Nima­tul­lahi Order, which has 10 houses of Sufism in the US, but whose teacher – Dr. Javad Nubakhsh – resides in London. Muhammad Nooraee, one of his students, came to the US from Iran 30 years ago and now acts as a spiritual counselor in the house in Boston's South End neighborhood. The local group gathers for meditation twice a week, which sometimes involves music or poetry.

The only requirement for an initiate is that he be a sincere seeker, to "feel thirsty for God," he says during an interview. "In Sufism, we call it 'pain of seeking.' "

The initiate makes the confession of faith to Islam, "submitting your heart to God," but no other rules are required. "The seeker now becomes a disciple, and the teacher walks him or her through the path, what we call tariqah," Mr. Nooraee says. It is a path toward the truth through love, and involves techniques to get close to God.

"One technique involves how to meditate," he says, "focusing attentively on the names of God and negating your ego; the second is service, how to provide selfless service for others without any expectation of return. Once the disciple does both, then he or she starts to experience God. From then on, you see God with the inner eyes of the heart."

Contemplative dimension

Mr. Smith came to this order because he was moved by one of Dr. Nubakhsh's books, and has stayed with it for 20 years. Growing up in a very religious African-American family, he says he might have stayed with Christianity had he found such a deep contemplative dimension that enabled him to work with a teacher. He has visited and corresponds with the master. Meditating with the group in Boston, he finds "a lot of energy of support for the interior spiritual work we are striving to do."

Of course, the real work begins when you go out into the world and live it, and fail, and have to correct yourself, he says, with a laugh. But it has changed his life.

"It's made me recognize how much of a veil the ego is, and how important it is to set it aside," says the TV producer. "And when I get panicked about the world, it has helped me find greater faith in humanity as a manifestation of God."

A brief look at what Sufism teaches

In a new book, "The Garden of Truth," Seyyed Hossein Nasr presents the teachings of Sufism in contemporary language, drawing on his experience of more than 50 years of practice. The Sufi tradition, he says, contains "a vast metaphysical and cosmological set of doctrines elaborated over a long period...." Sufi metaphysics teach the Unity of God and the oneness of being.
Some excerpts:

"Not only were we created by God, but we have the root of our existence here and now in Him."
"In classical Sufism, the answer to the question what does it mean to be human is contained fully in the doctrine of what is usually translated as the Universal or Perfect Man ... [who] is like a mirror before God, reflecting all His Names and Qualities, and is able to contemplate ... God's creation through God's eyes."

Creation is renewed at every instant, according to Sufism's teaching, and "the whole of the material universe, no matter how extended its physical dimensions might be, is like a speck of dust before the grandeur of the world of the Spirit."

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Huckabee rocks the GOP candidate image

from the November 29, 2007 edition - http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/1129/p20s01-uspo.html

Where aw-shucks meets off-kilter: A 50-something preacher-turned-presidential-contender can be cool.

By Ariel Sabar Staff writer of The Christian Science Monitor

Moville, Iowa

When aides to former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee told the high school here that he wanted to play bass guitar with its band during a recent campaign stop, Mark Cripps grew uneasy.

As the longtime band teacher, Mr. Cripps knows how many rehearsals it takes for the teen musicians in this tiny west Iowa town to nail a song. Now a stranger of dubious musical talent – a GOP presidential hopeful no less – wanted to sit in on a couple of numbers with no run-through.

Cripps, a stocky man with the world-weary look of band instructors everywhere, wasn't taking any chances.

"I've got my bass player standing in the wings," he said, pacing nervously in the Woodbury Central High auditorium, as his students tuned up, awaiting the arrival of the Huckabee entourage that October morning. "I instructed the kids: No matter what happens, hang with the job."

Then Huckabee bounded on stage in boots and jeans, grabbed an electric bass, and bowled through "C Jam Blues," a song he'd never played before. His performance was more bravado than finesse. He bent back mid-song to consult with the 12th-grade bass player, who was standing behind him looking ill at ease. But there were no dropped beats, no goofed chords, and Cripps looked genuinely surprised.

"He knew how to ... I don't want to say 'fake it,' but 'survive it,' " Cripps said, as the news crews packed up. Cripps thought he might have even glimpsed politics in the governor's guitar shtick. "He was coming to show you, 'I can do this, I can take charge.'

•••

As Huckabee tells it, his cash-strapped parents bought his first electric guitar from a J.C. Penney catalog for Christmas 1966, after "months of begging." Huckabee was 11. (What is it about Hope, Ark., that inspires would-be presidents to pick up an instrument?)

"The young man played until his fingers almost bled," Huckabee blogged last year, referring to himself in the third person. His teenage bands played sock hops, talent shows, and Saturday night "country music jamborees," and went by names like The Misfits and The Sanction.

"Perhaps you expect that he went on to become a famous and successful musician, gracing the album covers of Grammy-winning recordings," Huckabee blogged. "Not quite."

Huckabee says there is one reason his band, Capitol Offense, made up of wonky former staffers from the governor's office, has opened for the likes of Grand Funk Railroad, Percy Sledge, and Willie Nelson: "If you're the only governor in America with a rock-and-roll band, you get invited to some pretty good gigs."

Performing, he says, helped him overcome stage fright and prepared him for the fishbowl of politics. "For sure, I would have never made it to the Governor's Mansion without music."

Now he's hoping to ride rock 'n' roll to the White House. Huckabee may be known to diehard supporters as the former Southern Baptist minister who sees economic salvation in the abolition of the income tax. But his guitar-plucking has helped cast a popular image as the GOP candidate of "Main Street" – that, together with his diet book ("Quit Digging Your Grave with a Knife and Fork") and his appearances on "The Colbert Report" and "The Daily Show with Jon
Stewart." [Editor's note: The original version mischaracterized Huckabee's stance on taxes. He supports the abolition of income tax and the establishment of a flat sales tax.]

Huckabee suggests that a candidate's agility in pop culture is as good a test as any of presidential mettle. "Stephen Colbert gave me the Colbert bump, and that's why I'm doing really well right now in the polls," he told the students, only half-jokingly, of his appearances on the show. "I think you learn more about people by watching how they handle things like 'The Colbert Show' than something that's very tightly scripted."

With his comb-over and dimpled grin, Huckabee is less hipster than cool older guy. He's your favorite uncle, the one with the Eric Clapton concert T-shirt and a gift for one-liners, eager to show that not long ago he was a kid, too. Were there a spectrum of Hollywood wholesome, he'd fall between Jimmy Stewart and Kevin Spacey: a place where aw-shucks meets off-kilter.

Watching Huckabee cycle between social conservative and freewheeling rock 'n' roller makes for some jarring juxtapositions. One night he was in suit and tie talking Social Security with seniors in Sioux City. The next morning he was playing bass in bluejeans with the school band here.

"There's a great way to live life," he said delivering an antidrug message after the jam session, "and that's keep your mind free and clear." But then in another zigzag, he segued into a meditation on 1970s rock when a junior, Jacob Polkinghorn, asked about illegal immigration.

"My views on illegal immigration? By the way, I like your shirt," Huckabee interrupted himself, gesturing at Jacob's T-shirt, with the rainbow-prism cover art from Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" album.

Jacob grinned broadly.

"Favorite Pink Floyd song?" Huckabee quizzed him. "Mother," Jacob replied, naming a track from the 1979 album "The Wall," a rock opera linked in popular lore with the hallucinogenic drug culture.

Around the time "The Wall" was released, Huckabee explained later in a phone interview, "I was working for a Christian evangelical organization in Texas doing communications."

"I was never a druggie," he added. "I'm probably one of the few people my age that's never even tasted beer."

Those details didn't come up at the high school. Instead, he told Jacob, "When I saw your shirt, I just had to tell you ... it really excites me that guys who are students now love the music that I listened to."

Like your favorite uncle, Huckabee can at times seem to be trying too hard.

•••

The big show was later that October night, across the state, at the Surf Ballroom, in Clear Lake. The venue is a pop landmark: The last place Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and J.P. Richardson (The Big Bopper) played before their plane crashed in 1959. Posters on the doors beckoned Iowans to Huckabee's "2007–2008 Road to the White House Tour."

October had been a good month. His campaign had raised $800,000 in the first three weeks. And though still in fifth place in most national polls of GOP voters, in Iowa he'd inched into a tie for second. (Now in late November, he is a solid second – even tied for first in some polls.)

"Are you guys ready to have a little fun tonight?" Huckabee roared to a crowd of 400 as his band swept on stage. "We want to show that conservatives, Republicans, Christian believers can have as much fun as anybody else in the whole world."

Capitol Offense, which doesn't play original music, launched into a set of classic rock covers, the sort in any roadhouse jukebox: "Born to be Wild," "Mustang Sally," "Wonderful Tonight."
Huckabee doesn't sing. But he bobbed to the beat, his shimmering electric bass slung from an American-flag strap.

At a table behind the dance floor with his wife and toddler daughter, Justin Herrick said he'd always liked Huckabee's opposition to abortion and gay marriage. But when he read that the candidate had a band, his reaction was, "Wow." So he and his wife drove two hours from Wartburg College, a Lutheran school they attend.

"Usually most ministers would be against the rock 'n' roll thing, but here he is playing it," said Mr. Herrick. "It shows what he's really like on the weekends."

Hanging back in the shadows and scrutinizing Huckabee's technique was Randy Hudson, a bassist in a band he described as "a gospel Hootie & the Blowfish meets Billy Joel."

"At first I thought, 'Is this a gimmick?' " said Mr. Hudson, a college student and former cable-TV installer. But after hearing Huckabee play, Hudson decided otherwise. "By not looking like a politician, you run the risk of people not seeing you as a politician. But he's betting on the fact that people are sick of politicians."

Turning to watch the former governor, Hudson smiled. "He's kind of like Bruce Springsteen running for president, except a nicer guy."

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