I just cried over a TV program and I'm glad

I actually had real tears running down my face and I am still surprised--the tears caught me by surprise.  I think I am beyond beyond feeling anything most of the time.  I have been manipulated so many times by so many things, I am just numb.

So I am glad I cried, it means I am not as numb as I think.  That I can still care about principles with empathy and cry.  I cried over Boston Legal, which I watch because you never know what they are going to do.  Currently, it is my number one TV show and tonight they just uped the ante by ten.

The character I cried over was a black man who has been to trial for three weeks.  First, he was tried for murder.  For killing an older white rich woman whose husband was a rich white attorney.  She wanted a divorce and to break out of her straight jacket societal living.  But the break was so traumatizing and paralizing that only her black gardner saw and understood.
The husband saw them and investigates the gardner and finds out he was imprisoned for rape as a 17 year old and is now a registered sex offender.
So he waits and watches and believes no one will believe that his wife would have consensual sex with a low class black man. The strange people of Boston Legal believe him and develope a defense that proves the husband was the murderer.  Then the black guy is hired as a driver by an old person in a small almost universally catholic town.  Since he is still a sex offender when he registers, the town passes a law making it illegal for him to work there the night before his arrival.  He is arrested and charged with assault and battery and resisting arrest.  Boston Legal gets him released and somewhat proves that he is innocent, but the town with everyone in apparent accord, still asks him to leave.  So Boston Legal goes back to the original trial and town where he was convicted as a 17 year old for raping a 15 year old.  The girl admits it was consensual sex and she lied because she feared punishment from her father.  Seeing the consequences of this guy serving six years in prison, being tried as a murderer, and in effect, unemployable she recants in front the judge and the conviction or rape and the required sex offender registration is removed.  The town still wants him to leave even though they know he is essentially an innocent man for the good of the town.  Someone beats him to death.  Boston Legal goes to the town service and prays for the rest of his soul in a more enlightened place.  The final part of the prayer is that there are two million people in prison in the US with 750,000 being released every year, where will they go and what will they find?

As I read the diaries this week, I was struck by one that mentioned the death of kindness and one on the ramped uped divisiveness that surrounds us every day in every way.  The angst and frustration that spills out in mean smack downs to what should be our friends in this virtual community instead of supporting us continues to divide. And I kind of freeze my feelings about almost every thing.

When I think of all the presidents of this country that are considered good what they share is their ability to connect with most of the people of the country, connect the people to each other, connect the country to the world.  They talked and wrote and shared experience with the people and gave the country vision and an elevating path to continue to believe in ourselves and our country's direction.

I grew up watching Judgment at Nuremberg on Playhouse Ninety and then the 196l movie which won oscars for script and best actor.  I never doubted that was my heritage as an American citizen and that is what Americans were willing to give the world.

We stood before the world and said we stand for truth, justice, and the value of the life of a single individual.  I was told that was the heritage of two hundred years.  Now I am supposed to support torture, the shredding of the bill of rights, and a department of justice that says openly they do not know what torture is.  

This truly makes me sick, depressed, helpless, and usually hopeless.  But when I found tonight that I could still cry for a character that represents all that we do in our weakness and indifference;  I could feel I still care.  I thought I was so overcome by rage fatigue that there was nothing left.  Turns out the tears feel stronger with the more hope than the rage.