Man. You leave the country for a couple of weeks in India (BTW, a nation that happens to be the world’s largest democracy) and suddenly the center no longer holds!

I’m referring to the whole dust-up at Brigham Young University and beyond over the school’s invitation to Vice Prez Dick Cheney to keynote spring commencement. While it took a few days to track back the genesis of the invitation, it finally turns out that the White House started the ball rolling by offering Cheney’s services to BYU. The school, via the LDS Church First Presidency, then issued a formal invitation.

First observation: Things are either alarmingly slow at the veep’s D.C. communications office (What? Harvard and Stanford were already booked?), or Cheney is showing the Bush Administration’s growing desperation with its plummeting popularity and needs the biggest fawning audience available to shore him up.

Uh, I think it’s more likely the latter, don’t you?

Main observation: It appears the march-in-lockstep image of BYU is crumbling just the tiniest bit. The College Democrats chapter is planning at least one protest of Cheney’s appearance. A handful of progressive faculty members has stepped up to publicly challenge the invitation. One professor pointed out the Y’s longstanding history of inviting conservative speakers to the exclusion of liberals — an obvious effort to prevent the clashing of ideas and free speech that most universities welcome and nurture.

Some students and profs are even trying for petition drives on campus (which requires official permission) to block Cheney’s visit.

Wow. It feels something like a pro wrestling match breaking out in heaven.

Now I certainly know a few truths. BYU is a private, religious institution. It accepts no taxpayers’ money and thus can do anything it likes. And as history shows — think periodic purges of free-thinking faculty members — it generally does exactly as it wants. Also, it’s absurd to think that the students, faculty, alumni and community members who oppose Cheney’s speech are even close to critical mass. (Interviews with students on the issue revealed the response typical of BYU’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers world: “We should welcome him,” said one male student. “He’s a great leader.”)

And yet, you’ve gotta admire Diane Bailey, president of the College Demos. She’s smart, articulate, and on point. Cheney, she has explained, with his war-mongering ways and endorsement of torture, is no role model for thousands of young graduates about to make their mark on the world.

One last thought: I’ve spent some time in Utah County in the past few years, and it’s a mistake to paint the place as completely right-wing. In fact, the political spirit of the minority party is loud and lively. The Democrats there work like honeybees to stay involved in the process. They have to yell like hell to be heard. This is just the latest example of their activism.

And ain’t the First Amendment grand?

Even if you’ve never had the good fortune of visiting the World Wonder Taj Mahal in Agra, India, you may know the story behind it.

The Taj

Seventeenth-century Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan built the Taj as a mausoleum for the remains of his favorite wife, reportedly the greatest love of his life, and mother to 14 (!!) of his children. Not too surprisingly, Empress Mumtaz Mahal died in childbirth.

Some 20 years after her death, the Persian-inspired wonder was completed, with marble cut from the hardest limestone in the world. And then there are the thousands of precious and semi-precious stones inlaid in intricate detail within the stone. No human vocabulary can every properly describe this edifice — a breathtaking testament to eternal love.

Taj Mahal detail

So, here’s the “promise” I was able to extract from my dream husband and best friend, Ted, as we sat on a bench admiring the Taj from a humbling distance:

Me: “Tell me something. Do you love me enough to build me a Taj Mahal when I’m gone?”
Ted: “Absolutely.”
Me: “You would do that for me, wouldn’t you?”
Ted: “Absolutely.”
Me: “I can count on that?”
Ted: “Yes. Even if I have to get a paper route to help pay for it.”
Me: “That’s what a woman wants to hear.”

We are home. Since 1 a.m. Monday. I’m sliding past jet lag, and battling “Delhi belly” (interestingly, I had no trouble until I got home to America’s ever-so-safe food and water supply).

I can provide you with a simple travel diary of 18 days in India — places visited, train schedules, a day at Parliament when members of the the ruling party rushed the well (speaker’s podium) and nearly led a brawl over a move to increase funds to a university they opposed. Oh, and there is my all-time favorite Indian meal, which I found myself eating in some form at every restaurant and home: dal (cooked black or yellow lentils delightfully spiced; a staple of the Indian table) and nan (bread). I like the combination at Indian restaurants in the U.S. but nothing, no way, can match the Indians’ preparation: utterly simple, yet complex enough in its spices to taste slightly different every time.

I’ll save some of that. Better today, as an introduction, I give you the eyes of Kotwara.

Two boys, dressed for their U. of U. guests:

A mother waits for medical attention from volunteers:

School children welcome their visitors with song:

Tyler wows the kids with digital:

Kotwara sits some 250 miles southeast of New Delhi, approachable either by astoundingly terrible Indian roads or by Northern Railway, which was our choice. Even then, after an all-night train ride from Delhi to Shajahanpur (named for the 17th-century mogul Shajahan, who built the Taj Mahal), it’s a two-hour bus ride to Kotwara.

The village sits among vast fields of sugar cane and wheat. The final approach is along a road bordered by dense forest, populated with small herds of spotted deer. The bus then rattles through the gate to the home of filmmaker, artist, and Sufi poet Muzaffar Ali,and his gifted wife, Meera, a fashion and textile designer and keen business woman.

Magnificent Muzaffar:

Lovely Meera:

Kotwara, a Muslim village, is Muzaffar’s ancestral home. His father, a prince, once reigned over the place. The government of India eventually came along, sliced up the land and left the Ali family 16 acres. On that land stands the Ali’s lovely home, lush gardens filled with rose bushes, cosmos and lavender, and towering mango trees. The village is 50 yards away.

In rural Mexico, Muzaffar would be known as the patron. In Kotwara, he employs dozens of villagers on his property and oversees an ongoing effort to educate their children at a small but sturdy stucco school, built over eight years time by University of Utah students as a service project over their school breaks.

We spent four days in Kotwara, and the stop couldn’t have been timed better. Our 21 students had been on a shopping frenzy, bartering with merchants in New Delhi’s colorful open air markets. It was grand, picking through silk scarves and jewel-toned saris, running our hands through stacks of Kashmiri pashminas and sampling masalas and mo mos from food booths. But a point comes when the noise, the infinite traffic jams, the bad air, the kitsch hawkers swarming the tourist havens take their toll. We needed a break. Most importantly, we needed to stop the take-take and start giving something to others.

That day came when the U. students walked into the village with scissors, water colors and paintbrushes, books describing flags of the world and the solar system, and even a lesson that included simulated snow. They taught wide-eyed children simple lessons. They led them in games of hokey-pokey and musical chairs (to the sounds of Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” on an iPod with a speaker attached).

When education major Tracy Healey offered the grand finale — making polyethelyne “snow” with water mixed in a bucket — the kids went wild. They squealed, they stampeded. One kid even ate a mouthful.

Two days later Dr. Tom Byrne, a family practice physician from Nashua, New Hampshire, led the distribution of $2500 worth of vitamins to the children. Tom’s daughter, Elizabeth, is a U. of U. freshman. The two of them have made trips together on medical missions to Nicaragua. When Liz mentioned the trip to Tom, he signed on right away.

Dr. Tom Byrne, left, with Ted Wilson waiting in New Delhi for the train to Shajahanpur:

While discussing types of aid we might deliver, Tom suggested vitamins would make the greatest difference over a year in the children’s lives. The villagers’ diet consists mostly of rice, nan and lentils. Sorely lacking in protein, especially, the kids have in common stunted growth and chronic malnutrition. So each child took a 365-day supply home, with instructions in Hindi from Meera, our translator.

We had our worries. First, would the vitamins even make it home? Would the parents, busy scratching out a life each day and maybe suspicious of these Americans’ motives, even follow through with the regimen? Would the vitamins end up on the black market, fetching precious income for families subsisting a few rupees a day?

Ted, who has led seven trips to this region and oversaw the construction of the school with his former wife, Kathy, put the anxieties to rest.

“We do what we can,” he said. “We hope for the best.”

One final word before leaving for India.

Web master Joey is a brilliant technogeek. While I am abroad, he will take no prisoners in slamming the spam that has crept — no, steamrolled — its way into Mullentown. My little cyber-hamlet may be a democracy, but I’m going to fight the spread of this unique form of cancer on my blog with every tool at my disposal.

With hope, I will return March 26 to the death of spam.

Also: Not to worry about any of us in India. Ted is making his 13th trip to the country. I’d venture to say the old ex-mayor knows the territory almost as well as the Salt Lake City and County Building! We are in good shape.

Namaste.

Ted and I leave tomorrow for 18 days in India. I’ve never been there. I’m thrilled.

Tonight I’m finishing up packing little Ziploc bags with travel-sized toiletries to carry on the plane. Bleepin’ TSA! Bleepin’ would-be terrorists!

We’re flying to New Delhi by way of Los Angeles and Kuala Lampur. With two layovers in both cities totaling 16 hours, our flying time on arrival at Indira Ghandi International will be something like 39 hours. Oh. Ted just muttered from his place beside me on the living room couch: “Could be even longer.”

What’s the old adage? That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger? All I know is we leave Salt Lake City on Thursday afternoon and arrive in New Delhi late Saturday night.

Good thing we’re going as leaders for 22 University of Utah students as part of the school’s International Travel Center. I’m counting on seeing the country in large part through their youthful perspectives. We’ll add three more students to our ranks once we get there. They are working as university interns in India this semester.

Here is a brief itinerary: Delhi, four days. Then to Agra (home of the Taj Mahal), two days. Then to Kotwara, 200 miles southeast of New Delhi, five days. We’ll visit a nature preserve on that leg of the trip. Then Varanasi, holy city of the Ganges, three days. Then back to New Delhi for two days.

Yes, the typical tourist stuff awaits us. The Taj, the Red Fort, a camel ride. But more. In Kotwara, the students will work with a village of young children who attend a school earlier groups of U. of U. students built over several years time. We’ll spend a day touring a slum and with the help of Winnie Singh, a longtime friend of Ted’s who is well-connected with various social and political reform movements in India, we may take a trip into New Delhi’s sex trade district. Winnie has also been active in recent years with HIV-AIDS education and prevention in the country; I’m anxious to pick her brain and perhaps accompany her in some of her work if time permits.

I’m hoping to visit a New Delhi newsroom and chat with journalists. Indians love their newspapers. There are dozens of them in New Delhi alone. I’m very excited about it.

But again, much of this personal agenda in flux. I’m going with the flow, people, believe me, and my first job will be to assist with the students.

We have met with the students three times in the past few months. Much of the pre-trip discussion has focused on handling the predictable culture shock when a group of middle and upper-middle class college kids (several blonds in the bunch!) meet crushing poverty; an exploding population; strange food; that first visit to an Indian commode; streetwise survivors of polio, leprosy and serious birth defects; and plenty of dirt.

And yet, we are all expecting a grand adventure and to return home as changed beings. How could we not be?

I am leaving my laptop at home, but will try to file some posts from the bigger cities. Photos, too.

Namaste! Back March 26!

… reads GUILTY!

V.P. Dick Cheney’s aide Lewis “Scooter” Libby has just been found guilty in four of five counts in his federal perjury trial.

The jury acquitted him on one count of lying to the FBI. Obstruction of justice and other counts of lying to federal authorities stand.

This is a proud moment in American justice.

I’ve never served on jury. I’ve been called a few times but have never moved far enough in the process to be empaneled. I have, however, watched countless trials and reported on them as a newspaper journalist over many years. Observing a jury is one of the most fascinating pieces of any trial — even counting the antics of lawyers, witnesses’ odd behavior, or occasional clever jokes from a judge.

Why are juries so interesting? Certainly because the outcome of a defendant’s future depends on the jury’s decision. That’s the most obvious. But there is more. Throwing together 12 strangers in a small room, then relying on their intelligence, emotions, reason, hormone levels and mental health for a unanimous verdict strikes me — always — as nothing short of amazing.

I’ve written several times at the end of a particularly notable trial about the jury. I’ve written about jury selection, too, because the way common people come to court and try to serve their fellow human beings (or not) is always fascinating. The excuses people offer, the justifications for trying to skip jury duty can be humorous. The whole process can be enraging, too.

If I were ever on trial for murder, or kidnapping, or obstruction of justice in leaking the secret name of a CIA operative, I’d want the best and brightest jurors I could find. I’d hope to do the same for them, if the tables were turned. That sense of serving each other, and in turn serving our democracy — that is the underpinning of the whole jury process, right?

In coming days, as the press and handsomely paid pundits for cable networks dissect this verdict you can expect plenty of dissing on the jury. I can’t wait, for instance, to hear what those spare parts FOX hires as “legal experts” will have to say. I can hear it now: They couldn’t handle the pile of evidence against the man; too much minutia to get through, too complex. Or this: It was 15 minutes of fame for a bunch of common citizens suddenly thrust on the national stage. They were on the public’s radar for months, and especially the past 10 days during deliberations. The power trip sidetracked them from their work.

Libby’s lawyer, Ted Wells, is on network news at this moment, promising to file a motion for a whole new trial. If he doesn’t get that, he’ll file for an immediate appeal. So be it. This is another beauty of the American system. Exhaust every appeal for your sorry client, sir. Go for it.

These jurors did their job. Their duty. And they did it well. In the Libby case, the American jury system was one of the remaining protections citizens have against a presidential administration that has run amok with its executive power at the expense of individual civil rights. Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, et al have thought they could use the press for their purposes, and in many cases (can you say “embedded reporters in Iraq?”) they were right. In the case Valerie Plame case, they almost got away with their hubris. One haunting component of the Libby trial for me came early in the process, when Cheney aides testified how they sorted through the Washington press corps for the most malleable and sympathetic reporters with which to plant their tips and stories.

I know that is the way it works in the adversarial relationship between government and the press, but it’s an ugly indictment against reporters. If nothing else, this is another warning to people in my profession at every level to re-examine their reasons for doing journalism. It’s not for fame, or for Sunday TV talk shows, or to land another book deal.

Our job remains to find the truth — or the closest to it we can come. If that sounds melodramatic, fine. It’s the nearest I can come to patriotism. And I can’t come up with a better definition of a free press.

What an outcome today. What a day for freedom, justice, and free information.

The world’s finest webmaster, Joey Wilson (yes he’s a relative, but some facts simply must be trumpeted), suggested last week I open up “Mullentown” to everyone. That is, I manage the site in such a way that people can post comments without having to register and log in. Sounded good to me. Very democratic. Grass roots stuff. Unfiltered.

I had the idea that more people would feel freer to comment if they didn’t have to somehow go on the record. It’s especially good for folks who feel a little anxious or even threatened by blog etiquette and technology. Typically I disagree with the whole notion of anonymous posts and e-mails, but I’m attempting to go along with the unique qualities of the blogosphere and see what shakes out.

Today, I am back to requiring registration for comments. When I changed the rules last week I got slammed by spam. The usual Viagra, Cialis, Xanex, Oxycontin garbage — and my own latest favorite: Mormon ringtones. Penile enlargers and breast enhancement creams can’t be far behind.

So I’m asking those of you who might be intimidated by registering on this site to go ahead and sign up. Try it, you’ll like it.

This way, we can all slice right through the spam.

It happens less often now that I’ve dropped off the map of legitimate, real-world newspaper journalism, but I’m frequently asked why I don’t run for political office.

I mean, the characteristics are all there: I am positively wonky for process and how the wheels of government turn. I believe in the power of change. I’m tenacious. I am an incurable optimist. Oh, and I’m smart as your average Shih Tzu, too.

But the main reason I’ve remained a paid observer and critic of politics/politicians is this: I’m too honest. I don’t mean in some high-horse, pious way — as in those people who believe all would be perfect in the world if we just structured everything around The Ten Commandments. What I mean is, I’m too mouthy, too unpolished. I’m basically a walking rough draft, a personality with a workable theme but spattered with typos and awkward prose. If I were to enter the political arena, I’d need a helluva rewrite.

I bring this up because three days after the 2007 state Legislature ends, I’m still perplexed over the outcome of a bill to allow EnergySolutions (ES) the freedom to grow its radioactive landfill in Utah’s west desert without the government’s permission. The bill to give ES a pass on local, legislative or executive oversight went to Huntsman this week for a signature or veto. And with all the spine of an amoeba, our guv decided to let it sit on his desk.

Which means the measure becomes law, which means thousands of Utahns (far more than the usual number of anti-nuke activists) are either enormously irked or deeply confused.

They are confused because Huntsman has been been outspoken since his 2004 campaign that he would not allow Utah to become the nation’s radioactive Dumpster. He has also vowed not to allow bills to simple evolve into law without his yes or no. The spin coming out of the executive office is dizzying: Huntsman says he’ll rely on the Northwest Compact, which is the federally designated oversight panel for the ES site, to limit the volume of waste the company can store to current levels.

Expansion at the facility (about an hour from Salt Lake City) will have to stay within the present mile-square boundary, and cannot include hotter waste than the low-level radioactive waste now accepted.

Suddenly, the image that Grantsville, Utah resident and environmentalist Chip Ward drew for me makes great sense. As Senate Bill 155 was being finessed last fall, Chip told me to expect at the least, a “giant pyramid” of waste going up at the ES facility in the next few years. But more likely, he said, “it will be a skyscraper.” If the company is restricted from storing more waste “out,” then why not up? And up?

What I fail to understand here is Huntsman’s sudden shrink into the background. He is enjoying a wildly high public approval rating. His numbers hover between 70 percent and 80 percent. What could he have possibly lost by standing up, speaking out against a bill that cracks open the door just a little wider for EnergySolutions?

The man is the face of the state of Utah, for pity’s sake. When this bill was working its way through the Legislature, looking more like a sure thing, why didn’t Huntsman call a press conference to reiterate his stand and put lawmakers on notice to expect a veto if they crossed him? At times, Huntsman has made this sound like an issue worth fighting for. Perhaps not.

Huntsman has been collecting political capital like its an armful of daisies, but he doesn’t use it. Meanwhile, the Legislature grows increasingly powerful and haughty. Sure, leadership made certain the guv got his education and highway spending requests. With a fat budget surplus to fall back on, those items never looked especially risky to begin with. But taking a stand against lobbying powerhouse EnergySolutions? Now that’s where you separate the men from the boys.

This is exactly why I can’t be a politician. I have no sense of gamesmanship, and I lack tact. I fear I would bulldoze into an issue, when a dainty little skip would serve me better. Best to stay on the outside looking in. And to remain deeply confused.

Too much going on today to merely land on one topic.

I’m calling this post “Friday Hash” because it contains bits of the most appetizing stuff I can round up. Hope it goes down easy for you.

First, a big high-five for sheer chutzpah goes to the Honorable Rocky Anderson, globetrotting Salt Lake City mayor. Anderson yesterday called for the impeachment of President George W. Bush before a state senate committee in Olympia, Washington. Yeah, that’s right — the state, not the D.C.

After the hearing, a bystander urged Anderson to run for president. Of the whole bleepin’ United States! Anderson told Salt Lake Tribune reporter Heather May, who flew to Olympia to cover the big event, he frequently hears that request in his forays around the country.

Here’s the best quote of the day, from Heather’s story:

“I’m not really inclined to do it right now,” [Anderson] said of a presidential bid. Instead of being flattered, he said it is “disturbing to me [that] there’s so little leadership.”

Oh dear. Why am I feeling we may have another ego-crazed Dennis Kucinich on our hands?

For more on Rocky “Ferris” Anderson’s Day Off, go here.

Next, Howard Kurtz, media writer for The Washington Post, writes today about a memo that top Post editors distributed to the staff calling for shorter stories.

It’s quite a document. The edict came with specific story lengths and the categories to which the lengths should apply. Kurtz didn’t include any threats of punishment managers may mete out to violators of the new guidelines. So, if the Post runs like most American newsrooms, the memo should carry about as much punch as George W. Bush’s squeaky “I am the decider” pronouncement.

These memos come around about every two years in the average newsroom. The staff gets huffy, backs go all up, and people start challenging their editors’ urges to stomp all over their creative spirit.

(I know this because I’ve held more news writing jobs and editing posts than I can reasonably fit anymore on a resume. Which is rather stunning when I think about it, but true.)

Anyway, the point here — as Kurtz illustrates with quotes from other journalists — is that most writing in newspapers IS too long. It’s boring, too. I used to think everything I composed was platinum, until I became a newspaper columnist and was restricted to 600 words. On a good day, when I thought I could sneak one past my editor, I might creep up to 650 words. A better day was under 550. I could frequently include at least three sources, make a fairly salient point, and wrap the sucker up in 600 words.

No reporter wants to admit that. In rare cases, thousands of words must tell a story. Not often. Apparently, even the venerable Post knows this.

Finally , I gotta cheer and turn a cartwheel for the state of Virginia, whose governor just signed legislation mandating all sixth-grade girls receive the vaccination against HPV, the highly contagious, sexually transmitted virus that causes genital warts, a precursor of cervical cancer.

Now Gov. Timothy M. Kaine joins Texas Gov. Rick Perry as the latest state leader to see the light on this vital medical development in saving women’s lives. Kaine is a Democrat; Perry is a Republican. Both represent southern states that can’t be considered remotely progressive. But there they stand, firm in their decisions to do right by millions of young women in this country.

Just like the few political leaders in our own beloved Utah who tried to raise the HPV vaccine issue at the 2007 Legislature, these two men have been knocked about by reactionary, anti-science, anti-intellectual forces who argue that requiring the shots is a license for pubescent promiscuity.

The science on this drug is clear, and for greatest benefit it must be administered BEFORE a woman becomes sexually active. Marketed under the trade name Gardasil, the vaccine is nearly 100 percent effective in preventing human papillomavirus-caused genital warts that can eventually lead to cancer.

In Utah, the Legislature nearly killed a bill sponsored by Democratic Rep. Karen Morgan to fund a public information campaign about HPV, cervical cancer and the vaccine through the state Health Department. In the end, lawmakers doled out $25,000 for the initiative. And they amended Morgan’s bill to include the finger-wagging gesture that always accompanies sex ed legislation: The campaign must include the admonition that abstinence before marriage and sexual fidelity during marriage are the surest ways to prevent the spread of STDs.

Um, OK. Gotcha. No argument there. Now can we go on?

Thank the stars above for any politicians — of any political stripe — who side with the science of saving lives.

Right about now, the deep-pocketed Republicans lunching at the Salt Lake City home of Simmons Media boss David Simmons must be cutting into their lightly sauced salmon (or whatever might be the latest trend in fund raising menus).

GOP presidential candidate John McCain is the guest of honor. He’ll be stumping in Utah today and part of tomorrow, scurrying for money. McCain certainly can’t beat rival Mitt Romney’s credentials as a card-carrying member of the [LDS] tribe, but at least I expect he won’t be flipping on every hot-button issue as Mitt has (see abortion, gun control, gay rights).

Broadcast media chatter throughout the morning fell to speculation — again — over why Utah’s leading political father and son duo, Jon Huntsman Sr. and Jr., have split their allegiances between Romney and McCain, respectively. Said speculation began last fall, when the two Jons made their decisions public. Pundits were predictably scandalized when Junior fell short of endorsing fellow Mormon, fellow son of another famous business icon, and fellow square-jawed Republican Romney.

Mike Mower, spokesman for Gov. Jon Huntsman Jr., said back then that Junior made his own decision, free and separate of his powerful dad. It had nothing to do with the guv nursing a grudge because Romney got the job the guv coveted some six years ago — savior of the scandal-torn 2002 Salt Lake Winter Olympics.

Mower told reporters last year that the Huntsman men’s divergent views were all about political diversity, which is the bedrock of our electoral system and democracy.

I hadn’t given the father-son schism much thought until the blabber surrounding McCain’s Utah visit started up again. But recently, a source very close to the Romney campaign told me what might be the most fascinating explanation yet for Jon Jr.’s decision to forgo Mitt for John: Bad telephone etiquette.

This source said that early in his exploratory campaign, Romney (or at the very least, a designated hitter) failed to return several of Jon Jr.’s phone calls from Utah. Some e-mails were ignored, as well.

That’s it? Surely it had to do with greater issues, like maybe, Romney refusing Junior a future cabinet seat?

Nope. Romney’s people, the source told me, either didn’t know the weight of the Huntsman name and reputation or simply didn’t care. At any rate, the phone calls weren’t returned and Junior got more than a bit torqued. That brings us to today, with Junior and McCain sharing white grape juice spritzers and lively conversation at the Simmons home.

The lesson here: Listen to those voice mails and return them promptly!