While I waited for Mr. Grant to finish editing the remarks I had written for him, my eyes wandered once again to the plaque that occupied a minor spot on the wall behind his mahogany desk. The small object was easily lost among an impressive display of photographs, awards and other mementos that chronicled a long career in politics. Its smooth surface was covered in a thick lacquer. The maple wood grain was prominent but did not obscure the engraved lettering.
In simple bold font, the plaque read: “The colonization of space will be the fulfillment of humankind’s Obligation to the Earth.”
Mr. Grant looked up unexpectedly and caught the direction of my gaze. He paused for an instant as our eyes met. He grunted a weak smile and returned to his editing.
I was on the job a week or so when I first noticed the plaque. I didn’t think much of it or the inscribed words, but I soon found myself preoccupied about its meaning and what relevance it had to Mr. Grant. When I asked other staffers they had nothing particular to say about it. I could find no one who shared my curiosity for the object.
I made up my mind that I would take the opportunity to ask Mr. Grant about the plaque during that meeting. What harm could it do? If nothing else, it was a chance to bond with the congressman on a personal level, which I’d been wanting to do anyway for some time.
I sat silently in the straight back armchair next to his desk as he read through the draft statement I had written for him to read during an appropriations subcommittee hearing on the 1992 NASA budget. The draft offered praise and support for the President’s proposed agenda for NASA, and suggested some modest changes that Mr. Grant felt would help NASA better fulfill its mission.
I thought about the statement and how it compared to the inscription on the plaque. Both had to do with outer space. That much was true. Yet, the distance between the capabilities of the American space program at that time and the fanciful vision of space colonies engraved on the plaque were eons apart.
Congressman Harrison B. Grant, a Democrat representing the 38st District of California, was a bear of a man. His massive hands swallowed the fountain pen he used to edit my draft. Though his suit was of quality wool and well tailored it rumpled quickly under the stress of his brawny frame. Despite his thirty years in public office, he still looked more suited to pitching bales of hay on the Inland Empire family farm where he grew up than crafting national space policy.
I had come to work for Mr. Grant four months earlier, just out of grad school. My plan was to accrue a few years of practical Washington experience before applying to law school. National space policy was one of five broad issue areas that I staffed for the congressman though I had no particular background in the subject other than a degree in political science. I also covered health care, taxation, agriculture and energy. I was eager to learn as much as I could and welcomed the heavy workload that came with the Hill job.
When he finished his task he handed me the marked pages, “Not bad. Make these changes and we’ll be all set.”
As I gathered my materials, I prepared to casually ask about the plaque, but he spoke first. “Are you up to speed on the Weinstein amendment?”
“Yes,” I answered after taking a moment to recall the topic. “Mr. Weinstein wants to zero out funding for the space station. I understand he’s tried that before without getting much traction. Committee staff says he’s not expected to be any more successful this year.”
“Really? I’ve heard otherwise. In fact, I hear he has a damn good chance of success this time around.” I squirmed, knowing my own information was probably a week old.
“A larger effort is building this year to cancel the space station altogether and I’m already feeling pressure to take sides. Weinstein and his coalition think they have a real shot this time. With NASA having already spent, or ‘wasted’ as they say, $10 billion on the program with little to show for it so far, they certainly have a point. Let’s keep on top of that, alright?”
“Yes, of course.”
Instead getting up to leave, I took the moment as planned and ask, “That plaque, Mr. Grant? I’ve been wondering for a while now…” I froze in mid-sentence as his face shifted from a flat expression to one of intense interest.
After a beat I continued, “…I’ve been wondering, what is the meaning of the saying on that small wood plaque in the corner there?” He did not turn to see where I pointed, but merely stared at me for an agonizing ten seconds without saying a word. I wanted to fill the silence, but had no facility to speak. He studied me as if he never before noticed my existence. I panicked that I had made a major blunder.
Then with a shrug he turned to another folder on his desk and sniffing dismissively said, “It’s a gift I received once.” He seemed to be about to add something, but only said, “I’ll need those edits as soon as you can get them to me.”
I should have obediently gotten up and gone about the task of updating the paper, but something held me back. Something in the way Mr. Grant stared at me for so long, as though he was sizing me up in some way. I almost felt he was deciding whether or not I was worthy to receive an explanation about the plaque, and had decided I wasn’t.
Despite my better judgment, I pressed him again. “I’ll get right to that, Mr. Grant. But, about the plaque. There’s something very unusual about it. What is it referencing?”
With uncharacteristic intensity he glared at me. “And, why does it matter to you? It’s just another quotation like thousands you see everywhere.” He was impatient with me, but not angry. “Does this speak to you in some way?”
I was taken by his challenge. I stammered as he waited for my reply. “I…It doesn’t particularly speak to me, but…at the same time I can’t help feeling there is something familiar about the quote. I think I must have heard it before somewhere.”
He studied me again as he did a moment before. “Well, forget it. It’s nothing worth your remembering.” He was less gruff, but still wanted to end the conversation.
I wanted to press him further, but he wouldn’t allow it, saying only, “Can you have those remarks back to me in an hour?”
I assured him I would and left. Rather than satisfying my curiosity, Mr. Grant’s reaction only heightened my interest in the plaque.
***
The amendment to cancel the space station proved to be a serious challenge. It was only two days later that a delegation of about a dozen members from the Coalition for Responsible Federal Spending, the CRFS, crowded into Mr. Grant’s office to make their case. There were not enough seats for everyone to sit, so a few of the junior lobbyists and I stood along the wall.
“Every year the VA benefits get cut more and more. Brave men and women give everything for this country, and instead of taking care of their medical needs when they come home, we are spending billions on joy rides into space.” Bill Hogan, a wheelchair-bound Vietnam War veteran, got right to the point. He leaned forward with a white-knuckle hold on the arms of his chair, his face flush with emotion. Mr. Grant told Bill about his own military service and how he fought in the Battle of the Bulge in WWII. Bill respected that, and his grip relaxed.
In the eight years since Ronald Reagan had announced the space-station project, it had become what many considered an albatross around NASA’s neck as costs rose and schedules slipped. It was an easy target for critics of all stripes. The best organized of the groups calling for an end to the space station was the CRFS.
“I have to tell these poor people there is no place for you. And it breaks your heart. And all we get from Washington is more cuts. How are these folks supposed to get their life back together if we can’t give them a helping hand up?” Janet Bennett, a social worker from a public housing agency pleaded her cause. Mr. Grant reassured her that he would always be a strong advocate for affordable housing as he always had been.
Mr. Grant was an eager and empathetic listener as each citizen activist said their piece. The CRFS was a collection of unlikely allies united in the notion that the money the U.S. government had committed to the space station could be much better spent supporting their respective programs and agencies. The delegation was mostly grassroots activists who lived in, worked in, or had close connections to Mr. Grant’s congressional district. In other words, they had real influence on his voting constituency.
“What will become of this country if we don’t invest in education?” argued a fifth-grade school teacher. Two scientists from University of California at Riverside in Mr. Grant’s district, a neurobiologist and a geologist, explained big budget projects like the space station were actually causing the U.S. to fall behind in basic research. There were also a conservationist and an environmental-hazard activist.
And then there was Tara Bingham, a young legislative affairs staffer with the World Conservancy Alliance. She stood out among the lobbyists as much for her attractive looks as for her intelligent input. “EPA has already reported that its current budget can only support a third of its pending investigations, delaying indefinitely many environmental cleanup operations that should be going on right now.” She offered me a quick smile when our eyes met.
It was CRFS’s Executive Director Kyle McAllister, in a pale blue seersucker suit and bow tie over his skinny frame, who summed up the issue. Tara Bingham handed a CRFS folder to Mr. Grant and one to me as McAllister spoke. “Mr. Grant, in the packet is a copy of the amendment Congressman Weinstein will offer to the HUD-IA Appropriations bill when it comes to the floor in a few weeks. We already have more than two dozen members who have co-signed this initiative. Senator Miller is preparing a similar measure in the Senate.”
Mr. Grant was a statue of focused attention. HUD-IA was shorthand for Veteran Administration, Housing and Urban Development and Independent Agencies Appropriations Act. It was the catchall spending bill that Congress must pass each year in order for a range of agencies to receive funding in the coming fiscal year. The measure included funding for the National Science Foundation, the Environmental Protection Agency, as well as NASA.
McAllister continued, “With so many priorities facing our nation, many of your colleagues agree that it is time to call it quits on the space station.” The assembled murmured their agreement. “We have spent over ten billion dollars on the space station and NASA does not have a single piece of flight-ready hardware to show for it. By any calculation, if we follow through with this program, we will be committing taxpayers to spending over a hundred billion dollars before this project is done. Let’s be honest, this project represents a cash cow for the military-industrial complex. It’s time to recognize the folly of this expense, and put the resources where they can do the most good for this country. That’s what the Weinstein amendment would do, and we need your support.” The group was energized by McAllister’s words. “Mr. Grant, we have an obligation to spend taxpayers' money as responsibly as possible.”
Obligation. My eyes went to the plaque that hung on the wall in plain sight, and for a few moments the dialogue in the room faded as people chimed in to reinforce McAllister’s statement.
“The colonization of space will be the fulfillment of humankind’s Obligation to the Earth.”
I wondered if anyone had noticed the inscribed message whose stated goal was in such contrast to the purpose of the CRFS. The obligation McAllister spoke of was an obligation that government had to its people, or on a more basic level, it was an obligation people had to each other. That kind of obligation I could understand. The plaque had certainly become an annoying fascination, and one whose meaning I was eager to comprehend.
When I broke my gaze from the plaque I saw Mr. Grant looking directly at me. His expression showed no disapproval at my lapse of attention. I felt he knew where my mind had wandered to.
Kyle’s forceful voice brought Mr. Grant’s and my full attention back to the moment. “Federal support for the constituencies we represent have been eroding shamelessly. Your voting record has been very positive on these issues over the years. That’s why it would be an enormous help to our respective causes if you would join us and oppose continuation of this wasteful program.”
Mr. Grant rubbed his chin and cheek, “Well, Kyle, as you know, I am and will continue to be an aggressive advocate for your causes.” At this he scanned the room making eye contact with each person, his searching sincerity defusing any tension.
“This is one of those decisions that I dread making, but it is the very reason I am here in Washington. As much as I will support full funding in each of your priorities, and as much as I agree that the space station project has been poorly managed up this point, this is an important vote. I will need to spend more time discussing this amendment with other Members in the House and Senate, as well as other constituents, before I can commit one way or the other. And I must add that you have all done a marvelous job of making your case, and for that I am very thankful.”
He paused, looked at me and said, “And now I am being signaled that I am already late for my next appointment.” I had given no such signal.
Kyle attempted to keep the conversation going, but all Mr. Grant did was nod politely as he excused himself from the room, saying before he walked out the door, “John is my lead staff on space policy. Please direct any questions or comments to him for his very capable response.” As the gathering turned and blinked in my direction, Mr. Grant slipped from the room through the side door.
***
It was after seven that evening when I went into Mr. Grant’s empty office to leave a memo brief on his desk for his review. It had gotten to a point where I could not enter his office without being drawn to the plaque. On that evening however, the plaque was not there. It had been removed from the wall. A quick scan of the area revealed that the plaque sat face down on the short cabinet. After depositing the brief into Mr. Grant’s in-box, I slipped behind his desk and carefully lifted the wooden object of my curiosity for a closer examination. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it. I was certain that over the years Mr. Grant had received enough awards and plaques to fill the wall behind his desk ten times over. So why, I wondered, did he select this particular item to showcase? And why now did he choose to take it down?
Without warning, the door that led directly to the corridor opened with a loud clatter. Mr. Grant stood there startled by my presence behind his desk with plaque in hand. He relaxed once he sized up the moment while I remained in a state of mortification. I fumbled to quickly replace the object to its position on the cabinet where I found it. Mr. Grant just chuckled.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Grant. I was just…”
“Don’t worry about it, John. Have a seat. Let’s chat for a moment.” I wanted only to leave for all my embarrassment, but dutifully sat down.
While he studied me, I tried to explain myself. “I’m sorry. I’m just curious what the quote is referencing. Maybe if I knew the author…”
“The author… yes. I suppose that would help. I am not sure who that is, unfortunately. The plaque was a gift from a friend. I’ve always found it… inspiring.”
“Yes, I agree.” In truth, I was neither inspired nor uninspired. Just unusually curious. “But, I don’t quite understand what the quote is trying to convey. In what way is space colonization an obligation that humanity owes to Earth? It doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Hmm. I can see where that notion would be confusing. And I don’t know if I can give you a meaningful answer at the moment, particularly with it being so late.”
Another surge of embarrassment ran through me. “Yes, of course. I wasn’t expecting a lengthy explanation… Maybe another time. It’s not important. I was just curious, is all…”
I started to get up, but Mr. Grant stopped me. “Now just a minute. Don’t rush off. Believe it or not, this actually is important—very important. I’m impressed that you have taken an interest in the plaque, but I can’t quite tell if giving you a full answer would be worth the effort.” He leaned forward. “The question is: how much do you care to know its full meaning?...Would you say that you need to know the answer?”
Maybe it was the way he asked the question, but in that moment, I felt something shift inside, and became a bit light headed. I sensed a strange combination of exhilaration and dread in this question. I opened my mouth slightly in preparation of forming a response, but Mr. Grant cut me off.
“Don’t answer now. Think about it. If you’re still interested, ask me again and we’ll see where we go from there.” He smiled broadly as I puzzled for a response.
“Now, if you don’t mind, John, I have a few calls to make.”
“Yes, Mr. Grant.”
***
It was always the same. I felt myself falling from an extremely high altitude though there was no sensation of rushing air. Only silence. The topography spread out far below. I looked to the horizon at the pronounced curvature. The sun blazed just above the horizon, but otherwise the sky was black. I could make out stars and the moon that looked so close I could almost touch them.
It was only after I awoke that I could consciously tell myself that I had dreamt about flying in orbit around the Earth. In the dream, however, there were no such labels, only the experience and the sheer wonderment of it. It was so peaceful. I regretted in those first few moments after waking that it was only a dream. I was ten years old the first time the dream invaded my sleep.
The dream was always the same until the night Mr. Grant asked if I needed to know about the plaque. That night I was once again immersed in the bliss of orbiting the Earth. Sun shining. Moon in full view. Then the words came, like a strong breeze in my mind, “The colonization of space will be the fulfillment of humankind’s obligation to the Earth.” The words acted like a catapult, propelling me higher and higher. I was moving with increasing speed away from the Earth and past the moon. Speeding out of the solar system and among the rushing stars which became denser in number until I finally came to rest, as odd as it sounds, enmeshed in the very fabric of the galaxy itself. I could see the stars sparkling on and in my translucent hands and arms. My body was just an indistinct outline, seeming at the same time to be part of the galaxy and the galaxy itself.
I sat up in bed for a long while recalling the details and vividness. In that moment I became acutely aware that I had heard those words in my orbital dream many times before. That’s why they were so familiar to me.