Don’t you want this over with?
Over the last few weeks, I have been talking and
corresponding with a great many people, and the best that I can describe their predominant
mood—and mine—is the dread one feels while waiting for test results to come
back from the wrong type of doctor. We
are in a surreal state—intensely interested in the outcome, but feeling little
connection to the protagonists. We cling
to every bit of news, every tweet, every twitch of the polling meter. And the slime keeps rolling in—the threats,
the disgusting racism and Anti-Semitism from some of Trump’s supporters, the
constant drip-drip of Wiki-leaks, showing us how politics is really done, the
parade of personal outrages perpetrated (allegedly) by Trump or Bill. It’s an endless list of things neither to be
admired nor emulated.
There is something just so wrong with this election. Candidates
and campaigns, especially for the Presidency, are supposed to call to the
better angels of our natures. Even Richard Nixon, in the bitterly divisive 1968
campaign, adopted the slogan “Bring Us Together Again.” We aren’t supposed to
have contests where half the electorate thinks they have a bulls-eye on their
backs.
And my fear—and it is fear—is that this will be the new
normal. Republicans in the House have
already announced that if Hillary Clinton is elected they will immediately
launch new investigations—Jason Chaffetz indicates he has at least two years’
worth of material. In the Senate, the GOP promises to block any nominations to
the Supreme Court for so long as it takes to get a Republican President. Their
previous justification, “Let The Voters Choose” has been postumously amended to fit new facts on the ground. Trump, of course, has been saying for weeks
he can only lose by fraud, and Trump-aligned organizations are sending poll-watchers
(many armed) to polling places that “look” like they vote Democratic. On the Democratic side, what you hear is real
anger. Minority voting is down
substantially in certain swing states as a result of GOP-led efforts to reduce
early voting hours and locations. On more of a slow-burn is the
spectacle of Trump’s poll numbers rising as previously hesitant GOP voters “come
home” and back him despite his manifest moral and intellectual unfitness for
the job.
Then there’s FBI Director James Comey, who broke with
precedent and policy to come up with the mother of all October surprises. I have a more charitable view of Comey than
most people. While he made what I think
was the wrong decision (and even many Republicans have acknowledged it) I have
a hard time believing that he would deliberately align himself with either
campaign—he has a reputation for integrity, and there is nothing in his
background that indicates that degree of partisanship. But, what Comey did
(and, what he did not do, which was to refuse to release information on Trump
ties to Russian interests) is having a fundamental impact on not just the
Presidential race, but also down-ballot at the Senate and House level. When this is over, win, lose, or draw, Comey’s
decision to interrupt the flow and intervene will be seen as the most
consequential moment of the campaign. It may change history.
It takes a special kind of ego to run for President. You
have to have the skin of a rhinoceros and the self-esteem of Napoleon. You must expect to be dragged through the
mud, to be insulted, to have your words distorted, to have your political
opponents fabricate and photo-shop, to have every crack and crevice of your
life placed under the unsparing electronic microscope of a press eager to report,
and often, make news. There are some who say that Trump and Clinton, two immensely
controversial (and flawed) candidates, are the exceptions, and this is a
one-off election. I hope that is true. But
if this really is the way forward, you wonder whether people who have good
intentions and a genuine desire for public service will turn away to other
pursuits—Gresham’s Law as applied to politics.
I have no idea what is going to happen next Tuesday. I woke up at 4:30 this morning and the
awfulness came flooding in. But to my
friends and to voters in general I would say that the only thing that gives me a weird sort of comfort and
a direction is the experience I had this last Sunday, as one of about 5000
runners in a race in Central Park. At about the one-mile mark, a pedestrian decided
she couldn’t wait for the flow of traffic to open up, and dashed between the runners to
get the other side of the road. The
people in front of me slowed, and I got distracted. It was only a moment, but that’s
all it took. I stepped on a traffic cone, and went down in a heap. Hands,
wrist, and knee hit the ground. The next
second, I had complete strangers helping me up, brushing me off, squirting
water on my hands.
And we went on. My
palms stung, my left arm hurt, my leg was a little stiff and my knee
burned. I wiggled my wrists and fingers
and it looked like everything still worked, so I kept going. It wasn’t
fun. A couple of miles later, I drew
abreast of a few of the runners who had stopped earlier and said thanks. They
offered to stay with me the rest of the way, just to make sure I made it in. A woman
named Mercedes said “don’t worry, baby, we are all in this together.” I told
them to go on—I was stiffening up, and I knew that the worst hills were still
ahead.
I finished the race. Somehow
it seemed wrong to walk off the course.
My time was terrible, I was red-faced and sore by the time I got in, but
I finished it anyway. Some nice people in the medical tent took a look at my hand, cleaned up and put a bandage on my gouged right knee, and sent me home. There were others in worse
shape.
Somewhere in that five miles was a metaphor. Ignore the distractions, focus on the end
goal, and finish the darned race. If you
don’t run, you can’t win.
Finish the race.
Michael Liss
(Moderate Moderator)
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