Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, September 6, 1993 TAG: 9309060058
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: B1 EDITION: HOLIDAY
SOURCE: WARREN FISKE STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: PURCELLVILLE LENGTH: Long
\ Michael P. Farris says he agrees that the Christian right has become a little bit "scary."
"There is fear of the unknown," says the Republican nominee for lieutenant governor, choosing his words carefully. "There is concern that the Christian right is trying to make people believe things that not everyone agrees with.
"That's not me," Farris says. "I've spent my life advocating freedom of expression for all faiths. I believe it's unconstitutional for the government to give any one viewpoint preference."
Such moderation, say Virginia Democrats and other Farris critics, is disingenuous coming from a man who has called public education a "Godless monstrosity," sought to ban a reading book from classrooms and is the nation's foremost advocate of schooling children at home.
Reminded of that history, Farris responds with a look of pain. His hands clasped tightly, knuckles as white as polar caps, he tries to turn the conversation away from his religious beliefs: "There's so much more to me."
Farris, a boyish-looking lawyer and ordained Baptist minister, has become a bit of a national figure since he stormed the state GOP convention in June with thousands of evangelical supporters. National journals such as The New York Times and Wall Street Journal have said his nomination proves that the Christian right has taken over the state party.
Across the nation, liberal groups that track the activities of the Christian right have released thick dossiers on Farris designed to chill the blood of anyone who believes in the separation of church and state.
They describe a crusader who entered public life in 1980 as president of the Rev. Jerry Falwell's Moral Majority in Washington state. There, he urged advertisers to boycott a TV station whose programming he found offensive, railed against sex education and tried to ban "The Learning Tree," a book previously honored by the National Conference of Christians and Jews.
There's an incident in 1981 when Farris was publicly debating a Washington schoolteacher and exclaimed: "As a Unitarian, my opponent practices transcendental meditation, which is also practiced in schools. He should resign from teaching. . . . Why do we only teach evolution - his religion - in schools?"
There's his 1986 declaration: "It is time for every born-again Christian to get their children out of public schools." And there's his 1990 writing: "I would respectfully suggest that those who argue that public education is necessary to the preservation of our democracy are wrong."
Farris now apologizes for those statements, explaining that in younger days he was prone to "hyperbole" in battle. "I have a temper and I would lose it once in a while," he says. "I've matured since them. I'm not real pleased about some of the episodes from my past."
The Michael Farris of today speaks in a soft, almost diffident voice, with self-deprecating humor and a nervous smile. He is a small man with a cherub face who is constantly aware of the clock.
Farris is the father of eight - soon to be nine - children whom he and his wife Vicki teach at their home in Purcellville, a small town 40 miles northwest of Washington. His household watches only news, football and the Disney Channel on television. Farris professes to have never seen an episode of "Cheers."
He has synthesized his love of children, God and law by founding the Home School Legal Defense Fund, a national legal organization that defends the rights of 30,000 parents - mostly born-again Christians - who educate their children at home.
He downplays - in some cases repudiates - his past affiliations with Christian right leaders such as Falwell, Pat Robertson and Jay Grimstead, a California pastor who argues that government must assign priority to Christian beliefs over those of any other faith.
On the stump, Farris rarely mentions God. He portrays himself as a mainstream conservative, railing against taxes, regulation, debt, gun control and abortion.
But another part of his campaign strikes fear in the hearts of his critics. Farris wants to overhaul the public schools, dismissing state bureaucrats and giving total control of educational content to localities. He favors tax credits for parents who send their children to private academies or educate at home.
Rob Jones, president of the 49,000-teacher Virginia Education Association, contends that Farris' real goal is to dismantle public education. "Mike Farris has a 15-year public record of opposing public education, and it's hard to believe he's changed his views now," Jones said. "I'm concerned that he's a stealth candidate who won't reveal himself until he gets into office."
Farris says he supports public education but believes it can improve only if given tougher competition from private and home schools. "How can I be a stealth candidate when every crazy thing I've said over the years is so well-documented?" he asks.
The controversy has put Farris' religious beliefs and background at the center of what is becoming a bitter and personal campaign. When Lt. Gov. Donald Beyer, a Democrat seeking re-election, labeled Farris' views "troubling" this summer, Farris accused him of "opening the veil of religious bigotry."
Robertson is helping Farris raise $1.75 million, pronouncing the race "a campaign not only for political office but for the future of the Republican Party. . . . If Mike loses, Republican candidates will be told that being pro-life is strike one, a conservative is strike two and a Christian is strike three."
\ Explaining his past
So like it or not, Farris is doing a lot of explaining about his past these days.
He was born in a primitive - there was no indoor plumbing - farmhouse in Conway, Ark., and at an early age moved to Kennewick, Wash. There, his father went to work as, of all things, a public-school teacher and eventually a principal.
Farris' parents became born-again Christians that first year in Washington. "Mike and his siblings were pretty tightly reined," recalls Matt Smith, a boyhood friend who is now a physician in Kennewick.
"Mike was a pretty serious kid," Smith says. "He was always conscious of his actions. He was involved in activities like the debate club and the honor society. He was quite a successful student and at times it cost him popularity. He was not someone who toed the line when it came to peer practices.
"He also had a real impish streak to him," Smith adds. "He was always looking for alternative ways to do things."
That search caused Farris to question his religious upbringing late in high school. "I had a foul mouth," Farris says. "I wasn't obeying my parents. I was pretty serious about chasing girls."
It all changed during his freshman year at Whitman College in Walla Walla, Wash., after a friend scolded him: "You may talk like a Christian but you sure don't live like one."
Farris realigned his life. He transferred to Western Washington University, got married in his sophomore year and graduated with honors.
Farris received a law degree from Gonzaga University in Washington and spent four years in a small firm. He left in 1980 to become director of the state's Moral Majority chapter and fulfill an ambition to become a civil rights lawyer for all religious beliefs.
It was then that Farris began defending Christian values against what he sees as a growing assault by government. Essentially, Farris believes that government has bent so far to protect religious neutrality in schools that it is, in effect, promoting atheism, "secular humanism, and New Age religions."
For example, Farris is offended that evolution but not creationism is taught in public schools. He contends both should be given equal footing.
Farris sought to ban "The Learning Tree" from Washington classrooms because the novel about growing up in the South contains a scene in which a drunk calls Jesus Christ "a long-legged, white son-of-a-bitch."
Says Farris, "There's something wrong when you can't call Jesus Christ the son of God in school but you can call him a son-of-a-bitch. That's not religious neutrality."
Farris unsuccessfully sued Planned Parenthood for giving a birth control device to a teen-age girl who became pregnant. As part of an anti-pornography crusade, he attempted to obtain public libraries' records on borrowers of the sex education film "Achieving Sexual Maturity." When the libraries refused, Farris sued them - and lost.
But there were victories, too. Farris successfully lobbied for a state law allowing parents to keep their children out of sex education classes in public schools. Farris says the case explains his basic philosophy. "I wasn't saying that because some parents were offended by the instruction that there should be no instruction at all. All I was saying was that those who are offended should be allowed to opt out."
That became an important distinction in Farris' future work. He left the Moral Majority in 1983 and traveled to the District of Columbia to become a lawyer for the Concerned Women of America, a group of Christian activists. The group trains women to become politically active, has railed against homosexuality and vigorously promoted the "family values" movement.
\ Textbook controversy
Farris drew national headlines when he defended a group of Christian parents in a lawsuit against the public schools in Hawkins County, Tenn. The parents complained that a reading textbook was laced with stories that promoted atheism and the occult and placed other religious beliefs on equal footing with Christianity.
The parents argued, for example, that excerpts from "The Wizard of Oz" espoused witchcraft and that the "Diary of Anne Frank" "promotes a Buddhist philosophy that there are many roads to God."
When the children refused to read the book, they were suspended. Farris did not seek to ban the book, but argued that schools should be required to furnish separate texts and instruction to Christian children who found it offensive.
Farris lost the case when a federal appeals court ruled that "distinctions must be drawn between those governmental actions that interfere with exercise of religion, and those that merely require or result in exposure to attitudes and outlooks at odds with perspectives prompted by religion."
Outside the courthouse, Farris called for Christian parents to abandon public schools and predicted the decision would lead to "social upheaval."
Farris now says that he regrets the comments and simply believed the parents deserved a strong legal defense. "We teach `The Wizard of Oz' and `The Diary of Anne Frank' to our children at home," he says.
What many liberal groups find most threatening about Farris, however, is his membership in the mid-1980s in a network of Christian intellectuals called the Coalition on Revival.
The group published a "manifesto" in 1986 stating that Christian beliefs must be the basis for all law. "We deny that anyone, Jew or Gentile, believer or unbeliever, private person or public official, is exempt from the moral and juridicial obligation before God to submit to Christ's lordship over every aspect of his life, thought, word and deed," it said in part.
The coalition lists Farris among 97 Christian intellectuals who signed the document.
But Farris denies signing it. He said he joined the coalition in 1984 and quit a year later because he disagreed with the group's views. Farris could not produce documents to back his claim, however.
Jay Grimstead, the California pastor who founded the coalition, said last week he was "certain" Farris signed the document in 1986 and later quit the group because of philosophical differences.
But when confronted with Farris' denial, Grimstead changed his story. "If that's what Mike says, that's the way it is," Grimstead said, adding that he could not recall Farris attending a meeting since 1985.
Farris says he does not desire a theocracy and rattles off a list of cases in which he's represented Jews, Buddhists and Jehovah's Witnesses.
"I trust Mike to do the right thing," says Smith, his boyhood friend. "I'm a Democrat and a Unitarian and he's never tried to change me."
Farris says his biblical beliefs are different from those of many in the Christian right. They believe, he says, that Christ will return only after the world has been made perfect.
"I disagree with that," he says, adding that he believes Christ will keep his own schedule. "I believe Christians are supposed to be faithful until Jesus comes. But we're not going to bring the kingdom of Christ by ourselves."
In the meantime, Farris' eyes are set on this year's longshot bid for lieutenant governor and a possible run for governor in 1997. He is calling for lower taxes, an end to state borrowing, a refund to federal retirees of $470 million of erroneously collected taxes and tax credits for parents who send children to private and home schools.
"Where do we get the money? I haven't figured that out," he says. "I think there's a glut of bureaucracy that would be easy to eliminate."
He also calls for legal reforms to discourage frivolous lawsuits and a system of victim restitution he says is inspired by Old Testament law.
The frantic pace of the campaign temporarily ended his role as a girls' softball coach and his children's teacher of math and history. His oldest daughter, Christy, has completed her home studies and is working as a campaign scheduler. Next year, she'll attend college.
Farris says he's not worried about her leaving home. "My purpose has always been to train my children to deal with the secular world," he says. "The question is whether we send them to the outside world with training, logic to analyze what they read, logic to balance freedom and morality, and an understanding of who they are.
"Besides, what could be more secular than dealing with politics and reporters?"
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