The Obligatory Politics Post

For the first 17 years of my life, I lived in what might possibly be one of the most conservative small towns in the country. At the time that I lived there, I believe it held the honor of "Most Churches Per Capita;" for sure, there literally IS one on every corner of the downtown and I didn't personally know anyone who didn't attend weekly. There were mostly blond, Dutch people. There was exactly one black family, and then another family who had adopted some African-American children. Also, one family who had adopted some Korean children. That was the diversity, in toto. Also living in this town was, as far as I could tell, one Democrat. She was my high school Spanish teacher, and people referred to her as "Crazy Jo Bird" because she was pretty much the only one who ever wrote liberal-leaning letters to the editor during election seasons. (Plus, she frequently wore large, chili-pepper earrings and said, "Yowsa!" a lot, so she maybe was a tiny bit crazy, for real.) Until last year, absolutely no alcohol was ever sold in the city limits. My parents still live there, and when I've been back recently, the yard signs go: McCain, McCain, McCain, McCain, McCain.

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After graduating from Hope and marrying the love of my life at the ripe old age of 21, we moved to Ann Arbor. Even though it's just on the other side of the state, a little over 2 hours away, it was like a different world. Our next door neighbors hailed from San Francisco. He was Jewish, she was Unitarian. They were grad students getting their MBA and MSW, respectively. She kept her last name. In walking distance from our house, there was a People's Food Co-op, a huge farmer's market, a vegan/organic bakery, stores that sold bongs, my yoga studio, and The University of Michigan. There is a huge Art Fair there every year. I was often the only blond person in the room. People biked to work. People were vegetarians. People were, generally speaking, NOT Republicans. When we visited a few weeks ago for the Homecoming football game, the yard signs went: Obama, Obama, Obama, Obama, Obama, Obama.

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While I'm not claiming to have traveled the world or anything here, I think it's safe to say that I've seen a pretty broad spectrum of political opinions. And while I really can tolerate a pretty wide variety of those opinions, what I can't take is a lot of the scorn and hostility that sometimes gets wrapped up in the message. Just this week, I've read a blog post entitled, "Why No One With a Uterus Should Vote for John McCain" and received a e-mail forward from a family member that ended by comparing Obama to Hitler back in 1932. And I'm like, REALLY? NO ONE with a uterus? You can't understand how, maybe, someone's worldview might lead them to agree with the majority of his platforms? Also: A Hitler/Obama comparison? Words fail me, there.

I try to read a variety of sources, watch the debates first-hand, and go into conversations with an open mind, because my mind really HAS been changed on some things in the last 10-15 years. I went to an Obama party last month, which was very positive and which I loved; I watched a Catholic Vote video just this week. And one thing I've read recently has stuck with me - not a Newsweek article or a blog or a Daily Show interview, but a "teaching" from our priest, of all things. In in, he writes about each human being's right to have life, and to have life to the fullest, and how it pertains to this election. He challenges Catholics who are Democrats to be working within their party and their government to recognize the right to life of all citizens; he challenges Catholics who are Republicans to be working within their party and their government to promote the rights of those citizens to have life to the fullest. (He does not, happily, inform Catholics who have ever voted for a politician who has voted pro-choice that they will automatically be going to hell, like one letter I once received from a helpful family member did, because: AWESOME. THANKS.)

And then he says:

Stay clear of rhetoric that is filled with loathing of anyone – public official or private citizen – or of any party or group. Withdraw from any conversation in which one of the participants spews bitter resentment, unreasoned disdain, rancor or hatred of anyone or anything. When political conversations touch upon issues of importance to someone or upon concerns of great moral value, these conversations will seldom be without passion. But there is a difference between passion and rancor, between animated disagreement and loathing. You do not need to become an angry, resentful person to participate in political debate or to exercise your responsibilities as a citizen, but you will if you don’t distance yourself from those who foment it. In this same regard, examine the broadcast personages and programs you listen to.

This is a struggle for me, too, because I hate conflict and confrontation. It's hard for me to stay rational, because I get upset. But I'm going to try to do it sensitively - today, this week, indefinitely, because I think it's a skill and a grace I'd like to model for my children, and because I think that family and friends can disagree and still be kind. One week from now, we'll be on the eve of the election I've been the most passionate about, ever. And in between now and then, I anticipate getting more than a few e-mails, website links, and forwards from a variety of family and friends. All I'm saying is, Be Nice. Otherwise, I'll be tying on my Nikes to get my heart rate back down, running in the dark on the wet leaves, noticing how the yard signs here go: Obama, McCain, Obama, McCain, Obama, Obama.