No doubt about it.
Whether elections determine winners by the narrowest of questionable
margins or by landslides, they don't change the minds of voters.
If our candidate wins, great! It's only right, after all. But
if he or she loses, the result was a disastrous fluke.
The arguments that
support our candidate, our party, our views, are all so logical!
So right! So indisputable! Those that hype the other person's
opinion, on the other hand, are ridiculously feeble. We can squabble
until Bill Clinton enters a monastery or George Bush learns how
to pronounce "nuclear," but nothing we say is going to change
the other's mind.
You think the acrimony
between various candidates is intense? Hey, that's nothing compared
to the bitterness between their supporters which lingers long
after election winners and losers make nice, at least in public.
I don't think it's
an exaggeration to say that heated political campaigns and the
ensuing results can destroy marriages, demolish friendships, decimate
condo communities, and even divide kindergarten classes.
If you love "X," you
hate "Y," and you simply cannot understand how anyone in his or
her right mind could possibly disagree. I mean, please! It's so
obvious that your choice is the only right one. It also follows
that you are convinced that Leno, Letterman, and the SNL
cast are undeniably brilliant when they make sarcastic remarks
about "Y," but are slanderous and idiotic when they snipe at "X."
I know, I know. I'm
wimping out by using alphabetical designations instead of actual
IDs; but if I name names, I'll be sure to alienate half my readers.
I learned my lesson when I recklessly disclosed my political leanings
to my friends, Jane and John Doe. (No way am I identifying them
either.) The result was a fiery debate during dinner at their
house a few weeks ago. They are both bullishly "X"; but Jane,
after trying unsuccessfully to shut John up, diplomatically (and
cowardly) managed to remove herself from the argument by going
out to the kitchen to load the dishwasher, wash the floor, repaint
the ceiling, feed the cat… And they don't even have a cat. She
borrowed one from next door.
But John didn't need
her back-up. He was on a roll-eyeballs popping, index finger stabbing,
spewing his party's line and grilling me like I was a suspect
in the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. (I swear I had nothing
to do with that. I was at home at my spinning wheel at the time.)
I kept repeating "I don't want to discuss it!" But John continued
his barrage, even when I blocked my ears and loudly sang God
Bless America. I could have simply gone home, of course; but
we hadn't had dessert yet, so leaving really wasn't an option.
A few days later, John
phoned. Finally, I thought. An apology. Hardly.
"I don't suppose you've
been reading the latest about "X" and "Y," he huffed. "I most
certainly have," I said. "And what have you learned from that?"
he asked triumphantly. "That I'm right and you're wrong," I retorted.
Obviously we had each been reading different sources — I
the unbiased, accurate newspapers and magazines, and he those
that distorted the facts.
Nevertheless, I finally
persuaded John and Jane that we should call a truce and banish
politics from our conversation. We're grown-ups, after all. We
should be able to rise above endless, childish bickering. To seal
the deal, I invited them to my house for dinner next week. It
will be a relief to enjoy a relaxing, friendly evening again.
Also, it will give
me an opportunity to set them straight on an apparent misconception
they have about the Pope and the Catholic church.
