The political landscape feels more like a chaotic fraternity house than a reasoned debate forum. You’re instantly categorized the moment you express a viewpoint, much like being labeled a “conservative” or “liberal” – terms that have become as simplistic as assigning someone to a fraternity or sorority. I’ve personally experienced this labeling throughout my life, from my early days on the school board to my career in journalism.
Early in my public life, elected to the Western Placer Unified School District board at 19, I faced immediate judgment. Some questioned my place simply because I didn’t have children in school – an assumption based purely on age. On a dress code issue, a Mormon community member deemed my vote “more Mormon” than those of actual Mormon trustees, showcasing how easily actions can be misconstrued through a pre-conceived lens. Conversely, another trustee labeled me “liberal” because of my hairstyle. These early experiences highlighted how quickly people jump to conclusions based on superficial observations.
Later, moving to Manteca and working as a newspaper editor, the assumptions continued. Being from California, I was automatically presumed liberal and anti-Republican. A caller, upon learning I was a Republican who didn’t always vote along party lines, ironically declared, “good, we finally have a liberal at the Bulletin.” This was before I understood the nuances of the local political scene, dominated by Blue Dog Democrats. These anecdotes illustrate a pervasive tendency: people readily slot others into boxes based on demographics, affiliations, or even perceived cultural markers.
This rush to categorize is why the current rhetoric around “angry voters” is excessive. It’s built on stereotypes: evangelicals are expected to reject those who have remarried, women are seen as betraying their gender if they don’t vote for female candidates, and men with certain educational or financial backgrounds are pre-judged as liberal or socialist. Similarly, assumptions are rampant about racial and age demographics – that Black voters never vote Republican, conservatives never vote for Black candidates, and seniors are solely focused on Social Security and against school bonds.
These assumptions are the boxes we trap each other in. Once boxed, we engage in political discourse that resembles a verbal brawl, far exceeding the chaotic energy of even the wildest scenes from “Animal House.” And then we feign surprise at the vulgarity of modern politics. But political vulgarity isn’t new; it’s been around since the Roman Empire.
Perhaps a crude analogy is apt: elections, particularly for distant offices, are like using the bathroom – a necessary function, not inherently pleasant. Modern plumbing and air fresheners have made it more tolerable, but the basic act remains unchanged. Similarly, while smoke-filled rooms have been replaced by polished campaign ads and sound bites, the underlying political process retains its often-unpleasant nature. Add in robo-calls and texts dripping with negativity, and the political atmosphere becomes truly foul.
The current presidential race repels many. But when was the last time a politician was considered saintly? Is there a significant difference between appealing to our “dark sides” and the calculated approach of consultants and focus groups? Whether the attack is blatant or subtle, the effect can feel the same – a betrayal or a wound.
So, how do we foster civility? It starts with dismantling these boxes. Stop reducing individuals to a few traits or stances and then treating them as political punching bags. Imagine a world where someone could support gay marriage and oppose abortion, or champion women’s reproductive rights while being a registered Republican. Or, conversely, be pro-gun rights, support Israel, be uneasy about abortion, and be a registered Democrat. These nuanced positions shouldn’t be anomalies but recognized complexities.
We must also demand more from our politicians. Stop rewarding appeals to the lowest common denominator or empty promises of endless benefits without considering the cost. This requires voters to relinquish the fantasy of getting everything from the government for free.
More importantly, those driving political movements must abandon the “party animal” mentality. The late Don Stewart, a staunch union man with strong community values, once challenged my Republicanism, assuming party loyalty was paramount. When I explained I voted for the candidate, not the party, he retorted, “That’s the problem with you Republicans, you never stand behind your party.”
My perhaps overly dramatic comeback was, “So if your choice on a ballot was between Jesus Christ who was a Republican and Adolf Hitler who was a Democrat, you’d vote for Adolf Hitler?” His immediate, unwavering “You’re damned right” underscored the depth of party-line thinking.
Party loyalty, to some extent, is inevitable. But the current system pushes every cause to demand absolute allegiance, creating a climate where even minor disagreements lead to vicious attacks, despite broad agreement on most issues. Governing, let alone running for office, becomes nearly impossible in such an environment. Perhaps it’s time we moved beyond the toga party of political labels and sought a more nuanced, less chaotic discourse, one that values individual thought over party-line obedience, and substance over the superficial labels that divide us. Just as “Animal House,” beneath its comedic chaos, satirized societal norms, we need to look beyond the surface of political labels and engage with the real issues.
