Election Night is almost here. I'm actually watching the clock count down as I write this post. And I'm feeling pretty grim. If you've been following The Frank Spot, you'll know that I recently lamented the state of politics in America – specifically the rough and brutish political discourse of my own party. As we get closer to Election Night, I can't help but see the spreading lack of civility – and, in fact, the rise of near-fanaticism – that grips the country. Behavior I thought (hoped!) might have been limited to my own party's highly contentious primary race, has spilled into the national forum. I'm now held in thrall by the spectacle of it as it burns across a once lush democratic horizon. This is unlike any election to which I've been knowing witness and participant. We don't just need change in American government – we need a fire extinguisher. And, oh, yes, for a lot of people to get a clue.

The American political system – indeed the American society – is supposed to be a model of the best: our citizenry, enlightened and altruistic; our politicians, role models; our process, unbreakable. But instead of the triumph of a dream in action, I hear the shredding gears of our society grinding on each other. You may have blocked it – relegated it to background noise, or dismissed it as "people frightened of...something", or even heralded it as the promise of a new and better tomorrow – but it's a harsh and discordant sound. And it speaks what I consider an important truth for our time.

We're ignorant and deliberately angry. We've sabotaged ourselves. And we now stand to lose what we prize in the fires we set.

My Opinion is the Only Right One: The Cry of an Ugly American

It all comes down this one thing: too many people think they're absolutely right, and anyone who disagrees is wrong, and even dangerous. It's as if the vagaries of the world have been revealed to them, and they have discovered the elusive and uniting answers: it's their candidate, their political belief, their judgment that is best. It's the path to radicalism I mentioned in my article on PETA; the path where strength of conviction overshadows quality of belief:

"I believe so strongly, that I must be right. No one could possibly believe something else! And I will make them see..."

Does that kind of rhetoric sound familiar? If not, page through some history books. Humanity's past is plagued with that kind of thinking. And it is one of the most dangerous paths for 21st century America.

Fixing It (Or: Geez, Frank, do you just want to insult us, or do you have some wisdom to impart?)

If you're wondering, I know how ominous my words sound. I impart such weight upon them because of how deeply American behavior affects me. You may not realize it, but it affects you too. Probably in ways some people would never notice, or understand. It affects our economy, our standing in the world, our personal lives, our sense of freedom, and our belief in our ability to think and act in our own best interests. I'm hard on the world, because wry insight and smatterings of sarcasm aren't always sufficient to spark necessary introspection, or foment real change. As you read on, if you read on, I hope you'll start to consider what stokes the rage and activism in the people around you, and possibly see the obvious path back to sanity.

The Silly Stuff (Or: Oh...my...GOD...Could these things BE any less important?)

It's a basic human component: to have an opinion. You can care about anything you want. In America, you can say (almost) anything you want. I don't want to interfere with that. But people look awfully silly when they cite nonsense in their political discussions, or when they deliberately base important opinions on insignificant things. That silliness gets dangerous when it becomes the basis for activism and voting choices, and I see that all around. Here are some top contenders for things people really seem to care about, but probably shouldn't:

Obama's Middle Name is Hussein
Well, that clinches it for me. We all know that your middle name says EVERYTHING about who you are as a person; including what you'll do if you reach the White House. Sorry, all you guys with middle names like Muriel or Adolph.

The truth is that you'd probably have better luck predicting Obama's future presidential decisions with a Magic Eight Ball or a cupful of tea leaves (with a wonky cross that says that your guy will muck up the country, but you'll be happy about it...) than by using his middle name as prophecy. Ultimately, it's not much of a predictor at all. It should be sitting in the debunked pile alongside Phrenology and anything uttered by a mechanical Gypsy fortune-teller on an Atlantic City boardwalk. Want to predict what kind of decisions he'll make? Look at his writings and his record, and listen to what he says. (But even so, keep in mind that past behavior and campaign speeches are, at best, uneven predictors of future actions...)

John McCain is Old and Could Die Soon
Because only old people can die soon. Nobody young can ever die. Sorry, JFK, you made a mistake taking that bullet in Dallas.

The truth – for those who couldn't dig it out of the sarcasm – is that anyone can die, anytime. Health, wealth, and status be damned. People die when they die. And it's not usually convenient for anyone involved. To put it in more perspective, Obama and Biden could win handily, and through a series of fatal mishaps in January, Nancy Pelosi could become President. February 2, 2009: somebody that NOBODY voted for is redecorating the Lincoln Bedroom and reading up on Area 51.

The Republicans Spent $150,000 on Sarah Palin's "Look"
Who cares? It's not your money. Do you get angry when your neighbor buys an expensive vase to put in his loo?

The truth is that this is so irrelevant, I don't even need to make a joke about it. Shame on you if this helps you decide which lever to pull.

The Important Stuff (Or Why Don't You Care About That?)

So, there people are, making life-changing – country-changing – decisions based (at least partly) on unimportant drivel, and (at least partly) ignoring some really important facts. I can't say that acknowledging these issues would solve anything, but how your candidate deals with them – understands them – is an important aspect of the President he will become. When you consider your vote, consider these points:

The Economy Goes the Way it Goes, and it Doesn't Matter Who's President
A lot of pundits like to lay the current financial crisis at the feet of the President (and his administration). This is such a misleading oversimplification, and so many people seem to believe it. I urge all of you in this camp to ditch your dog-eared pamphlets on the The Butterfly Effect, and read up on real causal relationships. Better yet, take an economics class. You'll find our economy is complicated beyond belief, based heavily in greed, faith, and luck, and influenced only slightly by the President's daily routine.

The truth is that the market rises or falls on the backs and actions of consumers, investors, lenders, and speculators. Yes, the government contributes to the moods and actions of those people, but at about the same level as a bad haircut affects your grocery bill. Fact: The economy is as healthy or sick as we make it. Ironically, just like the government.

Wealth Redistribution is Bad
That's right: bad. Let's call this what it is – punishing people who've done better for themselves than you have. It's a slap in the face of capitalism: you're richer than I am, and that makes me angry. So I'm going to take some of what you've earned away from you...

The truth here is that this is exactly what shouldn't happen. Yes, from a human perspective, the have's should help the have-not's. But it's not the government's job to mandate that. And if you look closely, you'll see that the entire tax system already takes more from the rich than the poor. That brings us to our next entry:

Income Tax is (Already) Applied Unfairly
Let's ignore the fact that income tax was originally unconstitutional, and chalk it up to a necessary evil for our country. The bottom line is that rich people already pay more than you do. That's right: for every dollar they make, they pay more in taxes. It's a sliding-scale-burden that the rich have been shouldering quietly for years. When was the last time you heard a rich person complain that YOU weren't paying enough in taxes? They certainly have that right, since the dollar-for-dollar facts are on their side, and they don't get any additional service out of the government for their additional payments. Yes, they have loopholes and get tax breaks, but not for just making more money. There's no checkbox on form 1040 that says "I'm rich, cut my taxes by 20%." Their tax breaks come from what they do with their money after they've earned it (and been taxed on it). If you did with your money what they do with theirs, you'd get tax breaks too.

In short: I would never try to punish someone who does better in life than me. As an American, I root for them, and hope they root for me.

Other People Count Too
Back to my radical-bashing, here. No matter how strongly you believe in what you believe, there's a good chance that roughly half the people in the country disagree with you. In fact, they think you're a dangerous idiot who just doesn't get it. What's good for you is bad for them. What you look at as a right, they look at as an abrogation of their ideals or faith. What you think they should give away, they think they should protect with a gun.

I could spend a lot of time on this one – oh, goodness, this is an important and timely point. The Onion recently posted a great article, one so good that I wish I had written it myself. Because, even as satire, its words speak more truth than Obama's middle name would if it was interrogated by Jack Bauer.

Report: 60 Million People You'd Never Talk To Voting For Other Guy

The truth here is that even when you're absolutely right, you're probably still half-wrong. We aren't – and will likely never be – a one-size-fits-all world. And getting louder and angrier doesn't lead to anything...but more noise and anger. You've become the problem. And in election 2008, you've hurt more people than you can count. No matter who wins – landslide or not – there's a good chunk of Americans who are going to burn for the next 4 years because you got your way.

The Rest of the World Hates Us
This is true, and the cause is: George Bush?<BUZZ!> Wrong answer!

The truth is that other countries have been hating us since the day we were born: the Brits wanted their tea taxes and a well-behaved colony; the Southerners/Northerners hated us for abolishing slavery/having slaves/abridging state's rights/etc.; the Japanese saw us as a roadblock to victory in their war against China; the Soviets feared our reach and influence so much that they put missiles in Cuba; 20 terrorists learned to fly without asking how to land. And George Bush wasn't precursor to any of that hatred. The fact is that nations hate other nations, for a variety of (good and not-so-good, valid and not-so-valid) reasons. It's a simpleton's view to point to the sitting President as if he is the focus of it all. Because of the political system in America – the one that dismisses a good President after eight years, but lets a bad teacher have tenure for life – most of why other nations hate us happened on some other President's watch. Plans for 9/11 didn't start on GWB's inauguration day – the terrorists didn't know him any better than we did on that day. Figure it out...

We've Lost Our Place in the World's Esteem
This isn't the same as the political brand of "hate" above. This is the view of the ordinary world citizen, reported back to us through the media, and evidenced in our ongoing relations with our work-a-day foreign counterparts.

The truth is that our behavior as a nation is the thing that hurts us most. Our lack of unity, our propensity for vicious and unrestrained in-fighting, and our daily attempts to silence political diversity and abridge the rights of our fellow citizens, speaks more loudly than any national political action. Put simply: we behave badly, and the world sees it. We lie, cheat, and manipulate, we rape each other economically, and ignore the poor and infirm. We rally for special interests, no matter the impact on the mainstream, and weaken ourselves through social movements that strike at the very heart of our citizens' beliefs. In no uncertain terms, we've lost our place in the world, because we've lost our way. We've lost what made us great. We behave like thugs and third-worlders. If they hate us, it's because there's little to love anymore.

Vote for Change, but Don't Expect It

On Tuesday, we'll file into voting booths all around the country – except for those incomprehensibly-sure-of-themselves voters who already knew everything there was to know and voted in advance (read: stopped listening) – and pull levers, push buttons, punch cards, and express our unmitigated opinions in increments of one vote. At the end of the day – counting problems and claims of voter fraud notwithstanding – one man will be crowned king for 2009-2012. Here's what I don't expect:

Apologies.

After the election, the history books will start to re-craft the race. They will revise the facts to fit the outcome, and try to hide the blue-faced breach-birth that was election 2009. But no one will apologize. Not to the candidates, not to the public, not to disaffected/disenfranchised party brethren, and not to the neighbors whose hopes for tomorrow were suddenly and soundly thrashed. In the absence of that – and the commitment to each other it portends – I think change is unlikely.

I mentioned it above: the President, even the government, isn't the problem with America. They are both a reflection of what's wrong with all of us. Obama or McCain can't fix us. They can't make us smarter, wiser, or once again civil. They can't make greed less fruitful, or thoughtful debate more powerful than brutish threats and fear-mongering. In the end, all they can do is legislate and try to lead.

It's up to us to do the rest.

What is it about radicals?

I ask this question because — as I've mentioned a few times here — I'm rarely radicalized about anything. I strive to make room for the other guy and his ideas. I even make room for ideas that others characterize as "obviously crazy." And I'm careful to realize that it's possible for anyone to believe strongly in anything. In fact, I often warn people about underestimating the power of others' beliefs. It's at the heart of many conflicts. I won't go too deep here — this is a topic well-suited for a standalone post — but Democrats can't believe that Republicans are as convinced of their own rightness as they themselves are, and terrorists rarely believe that we infidels stand as staunchly behind our ideals as they do theirs. It's like a fundamental flaw in the radical thought process:

"We believe so strongly, that we must be right. And no one could possibly believe something else!"

That's where radicalism almost always goes. And it's not long before some crazy ideas — ideas that even I have to decry, despite my commitment to keeping an open mind — follow. That's where PETA just landed: smack-dab in the middle of crazy.

Crazy Town, USA (Or: What the Heck is PETA Thinking?)

So what am I talking about, and why is ice cream dying an untimely death? Well, don't fret — there's no need to rush to your local grocery store and stock up on Neapolitan and Mint Chocolate Chip. There's not really a crisis here, just a (phenomenally) bad (and kind of sickening) idea that got some mainstream media attention, and my own prediction of where it would lead. Ultimately, I'm sure calmer heads and common sense will prevail; that's usually the case when urban radicals start mincing about. And if not that, then the sheer "EWWWWWW" factor of this ought to prompt quite a resistance movement.

Here's what started it all:

PETA Urges Ben & Jerry's To Use Human Milk

This article appeared on an NBC-affiliate web site, and was briefly picked up by some of the bigger news outlets. At first, I thought it had to be a joke, or a mistake, or some kind of bad publicity stunt, soon to be followed by a PSA with Leo DiCaprio "milking" a cow-costumed Brooke Shields in an ice cream store and pleading for better treatment of our milk animals.

I was so wrong. A quick surf over to the PETA web site provided a chilling, creepy confirmation:

The Breast Is Best! PETA Asks Ben & Jerry's to Dump Dairy and Go With Human Milk Instead

Yes, that's right. They really meant it. It wasn't a mistake, or a sophomoric hack of the NBC site's web server, nor part of a tongue-in-cheek public awareness campaign. It was just plain crazy on display.

The New Ice Cream (Or: The Wet Nurse Billionaires' Club)

Now here's one thing I've come to believe about radicals — and I know that many people can't get to where I'm going, but I'm confident in this assertion: I think that somewhere inside them, or at the heart of their doctrines — someplace very deep — there's probably a good idea. Possibly even a great and fundamentally good idea: saving their religion; saving their children; preserving their way of life; ensuring democracy. But somewhere between the root and the fruit, something went very wrong. The idea became heavily distorted, and vanished behind the weight of its fervency and pretense. I think that happens nearly every time, and although it's possible for the tangled mess of radicalized ideas to create something positive, the good money has got to be on disaster.

That's what we'd have here: the disaster that killed ice cream.

I mean, can you imagine it? Women lactating professionally — not to raise healthy children for mothers who can't breast feed — but to end the average American's meal with a Happy Ending Sundae. Or to fill ice cream trucks with Nutty Buddies for those hot, high-summer days. If it worked, those women would make Bill Gates and the kingdom of Saudi Arabia look like a poor man and a kingdom of paupers. Ben and Jerry's would usher in the first class war of the 21st century: instead of the haves and the have-nots, there'd be the B's and the double-DD's.

Luckily, I can't really imagine it working. No matter how noble is the idea of ethical treatment for animals, I can't see rational women selling their milk for ice cream (and all the other cow-milk-based products that would be sure to follow). And even if women did line up for thrice daily milkings and phenomenal paychecks, I just don't see average Joes (or any sane human beings) lining up for a pint of Mint-Chocolate-Chip-and-Boob-Milk Ice Cream. (Disclaimer: Yes, yes...there are those of you who would probably line up on your respective sides of this supply line, but that puts you squarely in with the radicals I mentioned above. Either that, or you'd be from France or Hollywood...)

No, in the end, this is just a bad — I daresay stupid — idea, that would kill ice cream as we know it, and probably damage our psyches in ways I can't even begin to write about. (Although, I could certainly see breast-milk-trauma novellas flowing from the pen of Harlan Ellison, but that's fodder for yet another post. And I suppose that if PETA had said, "Hey, use soy milk instead of cow milk," I would have had to find another topic to blog about. The moral there: stupidity is good inspiration.)

Be Kind to Animals...But Respect the Food Chain

In closing, let me point out that it's important to treat animals well. Whether pets, food animals, or wild nuisances that eat your tomatoes the night before you're ready to pick them, they all deserve kind — and yes, ethical — treatment. They shouldn't be tortured, or abused, or killed inhumanely. They shouldn't be terrorized, and forced into lives of undue suffering. I think — I hope — most of my readers will agree with that. If that message still exists at the core of PETA's insanity, I'm happy to get behind it. And what's more, I don't even need PETA to lead that charge. It's right because it's right.

That said, I have a piece of parting advice for the folks over at PETA: there's this thing called the food chain. Read up on it.

Now I'm off to have a nice big bowl of Strawberry (Cow Milk) Ice Cream. Bon Appetit!

Fall is pretty much here. Right about now, my tastes start to run to simmering, yummy-smelling, single-pot Sunday dinners. Since my last two posts have been heavy socio-political essays, I thought my Autumn food preferences would be a good pretext to change the tone of The Frank Spot – if only for a short time. Thus, I give you my classic Hungarian Goulash recipe. I hope you enjoy it.

About This Recipe

This recipe originated in the 1965 printing of the Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book – my all-time favorite cookbook. I’ve made some (significant) changes to improve the flavor and texture of the dish, but without compromising the character of the original recipe.

The Recipe

3 lbs. Ground Beef (80-90% lean, based on preference)
2 28oz Cans Diced or Crushed Tomatoes (with juice)
3 ½ Cups Chopped Onions (anything but Red!)
1 Clove Garlic, minced
2-3 Tbsp. Olive Oil (for browning)
½ Can Tomato Paste
¼ Cup Flour
1 ½ tsp. Salt (plus a pinch for browning)
¼ tsp. Black Pepper or Cayenne Pepper
¼ tsp. Thyme
2 Bay Leaves
4 Tbsp. Paprika
2 ½ Cups Sour Cream
¾ lbs. Elbow Macaroni

Heat olive oil and a pinch of salt (or two, according to preference) in a large nonstick pot. (You’re going to use this pot for the whole meal, so make sure it’s big enough to hold everything…) Mix the dry ingredients and set aside. Lightly brown the ground beef in hot oil, half at a time if necessary. Drain a majority of the fat – keeping about half a cup for flavor and continued browning – then add the onions and garlic. Cook over medium heat until the onions are just beginning to become transparent. Blend in dry ingredients, and stir until the meat, onions, and garlic are thoroughly coated. Next, add the tomatoes and tomato paste, and bring the mixture to a slow boil. Reduce the heat, and let the goulash simmer – with frequent stirring – until the tomatoes are tender. Add the sour cream, and stir until completely blended. Continue simmering until the goulash is piping hot again (the sour cream will cool it down more than you’d expect!). In the meantime, bring the elbow macaroni to a boil in a separate pot, and cook until al dente. Drain the elbows, then add them to the goulash and stir until well blended. Serve immediately, garnishing each bowl with a sprinkle or sprig of parsley. Serves 6 with leftovers.

Cooking Tip: If you plan to have a lot of leftovers, DON’T add the macaroni to the goulash; serve the goulash over a bed of elbows instead, then repeat the process for the leftovers. This will prevent the elbows from becoming mushy in subsequent reheating. You may also find that the sour cream loses it’s potency in the refrigerator – an extra dollop in each bowl of leftover goulash will bring back the zest of the original meal. And don't forget the parsely – it's mostly for show, but presentation counts, even with leftovers.

It's been an historic two weeks. As I write this entry, I am witness to the birth of a new political paradigm. In the nominations of Barack Obama and Sarah Palin, I see an America that is finally ready to reconsider itself; an America that chooses to rise to its best ideals of inclusion and equality, and turn away from the silent-but-popular prejudices that had always pushed only white men into the White House. These nominations stand as a profound sunset on old thinking, and old fears, and on the history of exclusion they tacitly supported. They signal the recreation of American presidential politics, a structure that had long promised equality and opportunity that the electorate couldn't support. They are the next, most significant events in America's 21st century. And they are events with double resonance, because the first most significant American event this century was the attack of 9/11. Inasmuch as that event defined this new century as one of war, hate, and terror, these events — the nominations and their offspring election — have already redefined it as a century of change and hope. These nominations make me proud and thankful.

But there's something rotten underneath; something that taints my pride and hope, and makes it ironically difficult to embrace a change that energizes me. That rotten thing is the common public voice of the Democratic Party.

Now, just to be clear: I'm a registered Democrat, and have been since I was old enough to vote. I'm also a centrist. That means that even though Democratic Party doctrine is a good match for my ideas, I'm rarely radicalized — even on critical issues. I'm pulled instead towards a moderate viewpoint, and unlikely to vilify the other side for being the other side. I'm a free thinker, and don't feel blindly compelled to walk the party line; I believe good ideas come from both sides of the political fence. More and more, this is an idea that divides me from my party. And it was never more apparent than during this year's primary race.

As a Democrat, I'm mostly concerned with and affected by what happens on our side of the aisle. Even as I remain aware of what happens in the Republican seats, I have a vested interest in my own party. I want to field the best candidate: I want a leader who speaks to my needs and hopes; whose ideas most closely align with my ideals; whose notions of governance jibe with my rights as a citizen. And I love that I'm able to participate meaningfully in the election process. I feel the weight of history and the onus of our future to live up to my sacred role as a voter. So, I watch, I listen, I consider and debate. When the time comes, I vote. And I do all this with respect for the process, and respect for all my fellow voters — regardless of what they believe. Until this election year, I thought a majority of Democrats did the same. And in fact, if history views the nomination process through a lens that focuses solely on four days of nominating votes and acceptance speeches, then history will only see the positive results I mentioned at the beginning of this post. History will see a unified party, looking hopefully at a brave new future, and poised to change the course of our country. But I am not history. I am not a lens that focuses so deliberately and so finitely. As I stood witness to Obama's elevation, so too did I stand witness to a season of political turmoil that left me feeling defeated and more than a little devoid of hope. As I sit in the glow of new political promise, I find myself somewhat lamenting my party affiliation, and doubting my ultimate kinship with my fellow Democrats.

Campaigning and the Politics of Attack: For the People, By the People

Politics has always been a difficult lover and friend. Its exercise is at once humbling and elating, harsh and uplifting, cruel and hopeful — it is a unifier and a divider. It underscores our differences, and creates the ultimate dichotomy of beliefs. Its effects are almost always profound, and it only serves us if we are diligent, thoughtful, and aware. It betrays us if we are complacent or ignorant. And so it begs our keenest attention and respect.

The same is true of political commentary, and any kind of activism. The moment you choose a side and speak your mind, you enter a public forum with very few written rules. There, we are bound only by social contract — the expectations placed on us as participants in a civil society. There are no prohibitions against bombastic rhetoric, cutting insults, or bold displays of hypocrisy and stupidity, but there are guidelines we're all supposed to understand. They stand out like pleas from the gestalt, begging us to foster substantive, meaningful, and respectful dialogue, no matter the time, place, or topic. This is never more true than when the exercise of democracy — and the future of our country, world, and individuality — is on the line. That's where my party let me down. They forgot how to be civil.

I entered the 2008 primary season with fresh eyes and excitement. I sensed history in the making, and was eager to be a part of it, even if I was limited to a single vote. I examined the candidates and the issues, questioned my goals and ideals, and discussed Democratic dogma with anyone willing to engage. When the time came, I picked a candidate, cast my ballot, and sat back to see who'd win. I had always been transfixed by the simple beauty of the political process, and the power of a single vote. So I'd always watched it unfold with respect and a little awe. In 2008, the awe was replaced by embarrassment.

I'm not naive — I've studied history enough to know the dark, nasty side of politics. I expect politicians to do everything in their power to connect with voters, energize their party, and take home the prize. By extension, I expect dirty politicking. But I don't blame the politicians. Indeed, I blame the voters. Politicians fight so hard to win because we demand it. They fight dirty because we allow it. We don't vote for the polite, upstanding guy. We don't vote for the gentle idealist. We vote for the one who makes the most enticing promises; the one who fights the best, and lasts the longest. We buck a little when the campaign waters get murky, but at the end of the race, we still confer the title of party champion to one of those dirty fighters. In effect, we give tacit approval for bad behavior — and what makes it oddest, is that we're probably right to.

What politician can be successful — as a campaigner or a leader — without the drive to win at almost any cost? This is especially true in a primary race, where there's little to distinguish Candidate X from Candidates Y and Z. The outcomes of those nasty little skirmishes are often what sets the campaigners apart. It's what breaks the stalemate, and leads one candidate to the realized dream of public service and leadership, and the rest to the bad dream of political footnote notoriety.

But none of this excuses what I saw from my brother and sister Democrats. Yes, I expect some bad behavior from the campaign managers, political advisers, and press secretaries, and from the candidates themselves. I don't expect it from the party members. That's why I'm embarrassed.

Instead of inviting spirited debates and showing strident-but-civil support for their candidates, I saw people — supposedly united behind a single cause and a single doctrine — lashing out at each other. I saw hate, name-calling, bullying, and threats. I saw my constituency degenerate into an shameful parody of itself, its most vocal supporters amounting to a heckling, stone-throwing, lynch mob. I saw people standing up for their candidates by spewing vileness and cruelty — not only at the opposing candidate, but at his or her supporters. I saw my brothers and sisters become hateful and divisive, and those echoes haven't faded behind the historic noise of the last two weeks.

My Party, My Shame (Or: Bad Behavior, Thy Name is Democrat)

As I mentioned above, I had always known politics to be a great divider. I knew that people played it with passion. But the stark reality of this passion was displayed on the world stage in new ways. Instead of conviction and hope, I saw ugliness. I saw people who forgot everything good that the process was meant to be. There was no debate, no polite disagreement. There was only an assault on anyone who made a different choice. It broke my heart. How could Democrats become so mean-spirited and cruel? How did they lose sight of the critical process? How could any of them think it acceptable to try to bully others away from their candidates? Or to try to abort the sacrosanct voting/nominating process? How did it become acceptable to denigrate and belittle fellow Democrats, or to try to invalidate their right to select their own champions and vote their hearts?

In the end, the party was divided not by the politicians or the platforms, or even the dirty campaigning, but by the hateful voices of the constituency. It continued — it even worsened — when the field narrowed to two candidates, both historically significant: one for his race, and one for her sex. It continued even as we stood on the brink of history: no matter which way the party voted, a new type of government was poised to be born — one that doesn't just preach equality, but that enacts it.

Yet, on the bleeding edge of this amazing possibility, hate was suddenly the watchword. And ironically, it was Obama's supporters who were the worst. They were first out of the gate, and the most hateful. They tore down Hillary Clinton, and anyone who liked her. I was dismayed by the swiftness and cruelty of the attacks. They were merciless, and personal. And they didn't stop with the candidate and her supporters — the attacks even targeted Bill Clinton. That was the pitiful hallmark of their hatred: they attacked the last and only Democratic president of the last 30 years — the one who created the prosperity and international reputation that the Democrats so lament losing under George W. Bush. It was a pinnacle moment of hypocracy, selfishness, and stupidty: half of my party pushed our last champion down the stairs on the way to the polls; then countered the cries of disaffection that mewled out of their trampled rivals with charges of racism and party disloyalty. What a spectacle. What a shame.

The Final Dilemma

As I sit and contemplate these two historic nominations, I'm not sure who to vote for. As a Democrat, I've been longing for a strong Democratic candidate; someone who can actually deliver the country, and rule with vision, wisdom, and goodness. As a centrist and a rational adult, I need to vote for the candidate that embodies my vision of America. In any other race, I'd be able to look at issues and platforms, and vote my heart, and head, and conscience. And I could be satisfied that my vote counted, and the process worked. Moreover, if I voted the party line, I'd know that I was in good company — rational, compassionate people who treasured things like personal freedom and enlightenment. But when I look at what has transpired, I confront a very different reality. We've picked a candidate, and he might be the right guy. But he's been chosen by the worst people: self-appointed strongarms and hypocrites who deliberately trampled their rivals; people who fail — spectacularly — to personify Obama's messages and methods, even as they rally behind him. How can I support him, without seeming to support them? And how can I support a party that doesn't admonish its own bad behavior?

That's my final dilemma.

A Dangerous Topic (and a Disclaimer)

Whenever I'm working diligently on a post — as I've been doing recently with my first essay on the state (and quality) of politics and government in America — my internal search engine continues to log acute issues of the day. Issues I want to blog on later, or at least reference in my ongoing analysis of humanity. I try not to become fully engrossed in these topics for fear of straying too far from (and losing continuity with) the core ideas of my current piece. Over the past two weeks, however, I became captivated by a political story of a different — and extremely potent — nature: slavery.

Now, before I dive into this one — a topic that's surely wince-worthy — I want to explain to my readers why I'm tackling it at all. Slavery, (or any of the associated racial issues that flow out of it), isn't a topic many people like to talk about in a public forum. It almost guarantees misunderstanding, anger, charges of racism, counter-charges of racial opportunism. It's a topic that screams "hand off!", and dares you to speak about it in any kind of analytical terms. It's etched into the American experience, yet is a topic we can't often be honest about, except in private, single-race/single-socio-economic groups. People steer clear because they're honestly afraid of how their opinions will be perceived, as if any critical analysis is tantamount to a pro-slavery, pro-racism stance. If you've read my first post, you know that I don't count myself among those people. I'm not afraid to speak about difficult concepts. I'm not afraid to challenge a belief because its parent topic is charged or dangerous. In fact, as many of my readers already know, I think these are exactly the type of issues we need to discuss. It's imperative that we discuss them. I know people will be offended, no matter what my actual intent, but I refuse to be a man held at bay by fear of public outcry. I believe that sharing our ideas is one of the most potent things we can do. That's why I'm blogging about slavery.

Now here comes the disclaimer: I understand.

I know that doesn't sound like a conventional disclaimer, but it's accurate. I grew up at the feet of a progressive mother who was absolutely outspoken about the needs for racial (and sexual) equality. My education in these subjects was thorough and robust, and it left no gray area — nothing to debate. Slavery was an absolute wrong. So was racism. So was any form of discrimination, or disapproval of someone for reasons other than how he or she behaved. I learned that I was no better (or worse) than anyone else — at least not out of the gate. This education served as one of my first moments of clarity — an early step on a road to enlightenment I'm still trying to walk.

In other words, I understand why it's wrong to be a racist, and I understand why anything growing out of racism is wrong. I get it. That's why I've included this "concept-specific" autobiography. As I write these words, I want you to know that I'm absent the beliefs that made slavery possible. So you can write me off as pretentious, or glib, or insensitive, but know that I believe as strongly in equality as I do the need to talk about difficult concepts.

One more thing — an extra disclaimer, if you will. Inasmuch as I feel a need to blog this topic, I accept that the onus is on me to deal respectfully with the issue; to underestimate its power, is to risk injury to those most affected by it. My words may be hard to chew, but there's no malice in them, no veiled hatred, no implied disrespect. They're just my attempt to explore this topic in a meaningful way, without causing harm to anyone. It's a difficult task, even on a good day. That said, I'm throwing my hat into the ring. I hope some of you will join me there.

Thus endeth the disclaimer.

The Apology

So what was the story that started this whole thing? Two weeks ago, CNN posted a news story on slavery. Here's the first line:

"The House of Representatives on Tuesday passed a resolution apologizing to African-Americans for slavery and the era of Jim Crow."

If you're even modestly educated, you can probably catch the drift of the story without reading it yourself. It's exactly what you'd expect: a bunch of (mostly) white politicians, apologizing — on record — for the sins of our fathers (and forefathers). They condemn slavery, and vow to eradicate the tangible vestiges of it that continue to confound the African-American community. All in all, a rousing, passionate, and positive act; a gesture that portends — even promises — peace and racial harmony in our time. It should have made me proud, right? It didn't. It left me stunned, and even a little angry. I stared at the article, and mouthed the only thing that came to mind:

Why are we apologizing for slavery?

It's a powerful question, isn't it? It's dangerous. It smacks of racism, even though it's straightforward, reasonable, and linguistically neutral. It's reasonable. Yet, it's a question people just don't seem to ask. As if they've been robbed of the right to ask. As if asking would become an instant stain on them. For the briefest moment, I forgot myself and fell into that trap: I felt ashamed for asking. I was actually tempted to scold myself, and never speak of my knee-jerk reaction to anyone. Then I remembered myself.

There's no shame in asking a question — even a difficult one. If you read this blog, you know I hold that as a core belief. I even mentioned it again in my prologue. Asking questions is the only way to start a substantive dialogue, and the biggest gateway to understanding. This question — instead of being an outpouring of insensitivity or some hidden inner prejudice — was a prelude to critical analysis. An invitation to explore myself and those around me, and a way to forge a useful public dialogue. By the end of that day, I had shared the article with a dozen people.

What's Wrong with an Apology?

An amazing thing happened as I gathered reactions to the apology: I discovered that I wasn't unique. Everyone I talked to had a similar reaction: irritation and disbelief, verbalized in minor variations of "Why? What for? It's 2008!" and followed by some form of:

"My family never owned slaves."

"All the people who owned slaves are dead."

"All the slaves, and all their children, and all their children's children are dead."

"My family wasn't even in America then."

"The Africans were sold into slavery by their own."

"It was 150 years ago: isn't it about time it stopped being an excuse?"

What's more, I realized that I wasn't on new ground: I'd been seeing those reactions my whole life. Every discussion of apologies for slavery, or reparations, or how the need for affirmative action grew out of slavery-borne injustice, had evoked similar variations of these responses. I'm not going to opine on the validity or invalidity of any of them. When it comes to an issue like this — or any polarizing, radicalizing, hate-inspiring topic — logic, rationality, and even truth can take a beating. It doesn't matter if those statements are a hundred percent true; they can't stand up against the classic block of the "racist" label. The issue has inertia that instantly invalidates them, by which I mean, squashes them without critical response or refutal. In the final analysis, they're just insufficient.

But, it turns out that none of those "responses" were components of my knee-jerk reaction. I realized that my reaction — my objection — was borne of history.

Slavery vs. Racism: The Real Issue

Like most Americans, I've been witness to racial disparity and strife for most of my life. I've listened to heated racial debates, and seen the fallout in my community, country, and world. I've heard from people of all colors, and from all corners of my life, and had friends who were seemingly stymied by their race, instead of merely footnoted by it. I've let the media pour their ideas into and over me, and read history books that are often cited as seminal works on race issues. I've been affected by all of it. And I've been driven to learn even more than what my mother taught me. As a result, I now know a lot about slavery, and about the Jim Crow laws. I understand the damage white America caused to black America, and know that there are still undressed wounds. But none of that comes close to showing slavery and it's now dead offspring laws as tangible problems of the current day.

No. In the end, talk of slavery in America today is mostly a distraction: as long as we're engaged in passionate discussions and apologies about an institution that's now absent from the American landscape, we have no drive to tackle the core issue. The one that allowed slavery to rise. The one that remains 150 years after the Emancipation Proclamation. The one that helped create and sustain Jim Crow laws for nearly a hundred years. The one that's really to blame for the discrimination felt by African-Americans in 2008: racism.

Let me clarify this: Racism is a problem for today. Slavery isn't.

Don't believe me? Look around.

Racism still practically courses through the hearts of many Americans: its effects are in evidence in too many communities, reported on too many news shows, and are still a tangible negative force in the lives of many African-Americans. I'm sad to say that it's almost inescapable. But there are no slaves in America. It's a fact that's pretty easy to check, even if there are some interesting attempts to prove otherwise. (There are anthropologists, politicians, scholars, and activists who talk about political or socio-economic slavery; who cleverly use media statistics, censuses, and the hard feelings of those affected by hatred to prove a de facto state of slavery. And, of course, there are many self-appointed experts -- read: wags; contrarians — who will point to a news article about some unfortunate soul chained in a basement for 12 years, and cite that as proof that my assertion is wrong. Fortunately, de facto anything is usually nothing, and the middle-income monster who imprisons his housekeeper isn't proof of institutional slavery — which is what we're really discussing.)

And unlike the institutions of slavery, which can be dismantled through legislation, racism is borne of the intangible. Legislation can't dismantle prejudice. Legislation can't assuage the primal fears, feelings of superiority, and rampant misunderstandings that fuel racist beliefs. Legislation is not a cure-all. In fact, in the case Jim Crow, legislation actually made matters worse. Despite emancipation, racism remained largely unchecked after the Civil War. It seeped quickly back into the halls of power, and turned the legislative mechanisms that had stopped slavery into new tools for institutional prejudice. It created a framework for segregation and abuse that lasted nearly a hundred years.

But again, how are slavery or Jim Crow actually relevant today? They're important points of history, to be sure — and people still point at their fading echoes as proof that they haven't really become history — but are they true drivers for change? Can we defeat racism when we only see it in the rearview mirror, and if we only color it as a legacy of slavery, instead of a precursor? Let's go back to what started this: The apology, and why I objected to it.

Slavery's End: Count the Heroes, Count the Dead

A long time ago, white Americans embraced slavery as a good and proper thing. (For the record, they were part of a much larger club. Nations the world over embraced it just as eagerly, and just as brutally. Truly, it was never just an American problem...) It was good business. It was commerce. It was the natural order. It was a mandate from God. And it had staying power. Nobody seemed to realize that it was also an abomination.

Then came men like Abraham Lincoln.

Now, I'm not going to point to Lincoln as if he was the first white person to step out of line on the issue of slavery. In fact, according to some historians, Lincoln was late to the party, and inconsistent in his condemnations. Other historians have even suggested that his objections weren't organic, but a savvy political reflection of some of the growing Northern social consciousness. In any case, Lincoln is still a good example; his fame casts him as an archetype for all the whites who stood against the institution of slavery. Those people are at the core of my objection.

Slavery didn't end by accident. Slavery wasn't dissolved by apathy. It didn't just wither away and die of old age, or fade into oblivion like some absurd fad. Slavery went down hard, under the weight of war and blood and sacrifice. Good white men surrendered themselves to dust so that black America could be free. And I'm not just talking about the Civil War. I'm talking about the ongoing struggle of race in America: the one where white Americans for more than a hundred years continued to tear down the walls of institutional prejudice; the one where white presidents and legislators fought (sometimes even against their own parties and constituencies) to dismantle voting prohibitions, segregated schools, and discriminatory hiring practices; the one where white teenagers faced off against hate groups in the deep south because they believed in equality; the one where white politicians and public officials tore down Jim Crow laws, and continue to stand vigilant against the ongoing ripples of racism I alluded to above.

I'm talking about heroes in the epic struggle of race in America. The people who are all but forgotten every time someone musters a new apology for slavery, or suggests that white America hasn't really made amends.

You see, it's not that I object to the apology — it turns out I don't. Apologies are good. Apologies are important. Apologies reveal our commitment to repent and repair. I object to the marginalization of our historic struggle to make things right. I object to the notion that the countless sacrifices of our fathers and forefathers aren't even a down payment on this debt. I object to the fact that no attention is paid to the heroes and the dead.

Conclusion

In closing, I can't help but wonder if I've achieved anything here. I've added my 2,500 words to the public record, and possibly spawned some new discourse, but I still can't answer the fundamental questions. I don't know why 150 years of renunciation, pain, and penance doesn't count for an apology. Or how we can disregard the told (and untold) sacrifices that finally stripped slavery out of the American superstructure. I don't know why we're so focused on that long dead institution, that we let it obscure the real issues of the day, and propagate the idea that its parent prejudice was actually its child and heir. And I don't know how any of that leads to a racism-free tomorrow.

In my research, I found many quotes from prominent African-Americans who believe that this apology, however symbolic, has healing power; that this late tenth-party gesture is a potent salve for their entire race. I honestly hope they're right, even as I wonder why they believe it, and why they've been waiting for it — and why they don't seem to remember the heroes and the dead.

If they are right, then maybe this apology will be the last apology. Maybe with it said and done, we'll finally be able to focus on racism in the 21st century. After all, isn't that the real burden for today?