Gran was D, Mom was R, but we got along
It’s been a long, bruising political season that won’t end with Tuesday’s municipal elections, though that would be great. Negative politics can stifle voter participation, according to a library shelf’s worth of nonpartisan studies. By slinging mud, calling names and misbehaving, some people who are rude with their politics succeed only in driving others away from the polls.
This is a bad system that feeds on itself. The meaner we get, the less engaged become some voters, and a less engaged citizenry means a less representative democracy. Even without negative campaigning, that’s the way it usually goes during most municipal election years — unless you live in a town such as Guilford, which on Election Day saw upward of half of its eligible voters go to the polls. In most towns, though, mudslinging moves people to stay away in droves, to the peril of the rest of us.
We are, at some point, going to have to knock this off and come together. It won’t be pretty, and it won’t be easy, but I know it can happen because I’ve seen it.
In what was then a mostly Democratic state, my parents were Republicans, but that wasn’t the half of it. In 1968, my mother may have joined the more-than-a-handful of Missouri voters who cast a ballot for George Wallace. That year, Wallace broke away from the Democratic Party because it was leaving behind some of its more racist tendencies, while Wallace was still hoisting the Confederate battle flag.
My mother only hinted that Wallace got her vote that year, and I don’t blame her. If you voted for Wallace in 1968, a secret ballot helped hide your shame. Wallace the man may have seen the light as he drew closer to his eternal reward, but in 1968, Wallace the candidate was still willing to stand in a door — any door — to defend segregation.
My grandparents — my mother’s parents — were Democrats, of the Harry S. Truman variety. During the Depression, they credited the Democratic Party for bringing electricity to their corner of Arkansas.
The ability to flip a switch and turn night into day earned their lifelong political gratitude.
My grandparents believed that Democrats were for the working people — particularly the working poor, a category into which my family fit neatly. My parents believed the Republican Party would lead this country to greatness. Their political conversations were loud and lusty and not terribly wellsourced, though they were all wellread. In a world stripped of folderol, voting was their holy rite.
A half-year shy of my 18th birthday, I wore a “The Grin Will Win” button to school on Election Day. I’d been listening to the back and forth my entire life, and I studied the magazines that came to our house. Jimmy Carter, a fellow evangelical, looked like my candidate, or he would have been had I been old enough to vote. I thought everyone at my high school would agree with me, so imagine my confusion when first period was spent arguing the merits of Gerald Ford — who seemed like a nice man, but he’d let Nixon go free, and as Grandpa said, Nixon was crooked as a dog’s hind leg, so no. Some of my more Republican classmates had done their homework, and by lunchtime, I was exhausted — exhilarated, but exhausted from the discussions.
The difference from today, of course, is that my high school classmates and my mother and her parents didn’t then go home to fire volleys at one another on social media. We ate together and spent time in one another’s homes. We disagreed over various candidates’ merits, yet we still pulled over to give each other rides on cold mornings. We saw no reason to hate or demonize one another. Two generations later, my brother and I cheerfully remain political opposites, and our discussions generally devolve thus:
“You’re stupid.”
“No, you’re stupid.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Let’s eat.”
See what happens there? We argue — still well-read and still shamefully free of sources — but we do not question each other’s humanity. Instead, we’ve spent time getting to know how we each came to our respective politics. We may not agree with the other’s destination, but we appreciate the journey.
That level of trust only happens when you spend time IRL — in real life, away from the keyboard and the swill of online lies, which is not easy to do. As Facebook whistle-blower Frances Haugen recently said, “It’s easier to inspire people to anger than it is to other emotions.” We slide down the greased pole of the outrage machine and let loose the hounds, with nary a thought as to how that hurts democracy.
And here is where I should insert a meme of a cute toddler waving an American flag. U.S. Rep. Adam Kinzinger is a Republican from Illinois who voted to impeach the former president. He recently announced he won’t seek another term. I disagree with him politically, but I appreciate his integrity. Should he seek national office — and it’s rumored he will — I won’t vote for him, but I won’t call him names, either. I doubt he’ll notice, but there you are. I’m exhausted, but no longer exhilarated by the discussions.
So, on Tuesday, I voted because I want my little town to succeed, and by succeed, I mean I want affordable housing, good schools, paved streets and opportunities for all. I want a healthy economy. I want things to be fair. Maybe you do, too.