Prologue: Writing the Unwritable Post

So let's talk about torture.

It's been in the news for a while now, and has quickly become a defining issue of the last 9 years: legally, politically, and ethically. It fairly clogs the news cycles on some days – the media trots out questions and talking points, which ripple into the morning shows, local papers, and countless web sites:

• Is it right or wrong?
• Who authorized what?
• Who knew or didn’t know, and how much?
• Republicans versus Democrats.
• Which religious demographics support it or don’t.
• How America + Torture = Nazi Germany.

Tough stuff. And I’ve been ruminating on it the entire time; trying to decide if I could blog about it. I mean, it’s obviously a provocative topic – it riles and offends people, and triggers family-event-destroying blowouts – but it's dense, and impenetrably gray. I want to weigh in; I want to entice others to the public debate, and I want to enrich the public dialog. But it's a window that's hard to see through. Even in the brightest light of human outrage, the image beyond the glass is shadowy, and indistinct. How do we define torture? Is this it, or is that it? Why is it being used? Does it work? Look as I might, I can't get to a clear picture. And if there's one thing I like when I start a post, it's a clear picture.

When we discuss things like racism, or gun violence, or whether drugs should be legalized, there are plenty of folks with first-hand knowledge, and even more with second- or third-hand knowledge. Mention torture, and suddenly almost no one is an expert (even if they have an opinion). The folks “in the know” are people most of us will never meet. Many are deliberately hidden from the world, so even if you do know them, you don't know you know them. This makes torture a unique consideration to the common man. How do you genuinely contemplate something that you know nothing about? If you're a FrankSpot reader, you know that I lament that people generally opine (and take up fortified positions) in relative ignorance, but this topic is unique in that there really isn't any way for the average person to contemplate it with a foundation of experience. By default (and lucky for all of us), we lack the ability to speak on the topic from place of knowledge. Everything we think we know is anecdotal. That's one of the things that made it so hard for me to put words around this topic. What do I really know about torture?

But the story is still very much in the minds and in the media, and I’m drawn to it because it speaks to our fundamental humanity. I want to explore the philosophical notions that underpin the outrage, and the real world considerations of torture’s application and efficacy. Unfortunately, it more and more seems that every measuring stick is insufficient, and there’s a good chance that the only thing likely to be borne of the debate…is more debate. That poses a special and significant challenge for me: what do philosophers do with a conundrum like this? What if there is no final answer? No absolute right or wrong? No way to build true consensus? What if we just can’t solve this one?

These questions dogged me every time I tried to put words to page. What follows is my wholehearted attempt to make sense of it all.

Defining the Indefinable

What is torture?

As I mentioned above, the main problem with this discussion is that torture isn't one easily definable thing. It's a word open wider to interpretation and semantics than most in our language. Sure, there's a dictionary entry, but as I survey the outrage of everyone touched by the topic, it’s clear that that the “official definition” has barely informed the debate. It turns out, instead, that the notion of torture is as personal and subjective a thing as anything out there. People define it through a combination of religious, moral, and ethical beliefs, political affiliations, gut reactions, and their own sense of place in the world. So the dictionary entry doesn’t add any meaningful text to the discussion. What is torture? It’s whatever the debaters – the observer, the victim, the state enemy, the foreign government, the special interest group – want it to be. If we were discussing torture as a philosophical exercise, or a re-examination of unfortunate history, we could stop there. And it wouldn’t matter that we couldn’t reach a consensus. But the debate has changed: it is no longer a lukewarm ethics discussion, but an urgent legal issue. That brings us to the second problem:

The Legal Definition

In a society of laws (which I’m glad I live in, despite the sometimes rickety condition of our legal system), we classify specific behaviors as illegal. It makes sense if we want to surround ourselves with safety and order. But, there’s a catch, and it’s the same one that makes the torture debate so hard to resolve: what measuring stick do we use? This is an important consideration in any debate, and doubly so in this one. Laws require both a proverbial watermark as a starting point – a consensus-based standard to be used any time we perceive a transgression – and very specific wording. Like it or not, laws aren’t meant to be flexible; and well-written ones don’t leave much room for interpretation (even if they are dense with legalese and abstraction). That’s an important protection for us as citizens. (And yes, that creates a host of other issues, but I’ll save that for another blog entry.) Laws need to be specific if they are to be understood and enforced fairly. This applies to simple stuff – don’t take something from a store without paying for it – and deep, unwieldy stuff like torture. So, regardless of your personal feelings, torture needs a legal definition if we’re going to address it as a society. That means specifics, examples – dictionary entries. It means a legal consensus even when there is no philosophical one. And to be clear: it can’t be a moving target.

Let’s stop on that for a second, just to make sure we’re all on the same page. Torture – from a legal standpoint – has to be strictly defined. That means one clearly stated description of what constitutes torture. It can include a laundry list of citations and examples, but the definition has to be finite. It has to end. If you look to the law, you’ll find that there’s already a legal definition in place. That’s a key problem with the current debate: people keep forgetting (or ignoring) that definition in favor of their personal outrage, and want to categorize as torture treatments that currently fall outside the legal definition. In itself, that’s a noble pursuit. Something has rankled us, and we want the law to be rewritten so that thing can’t happen again. But, the problem is further complicated here by the public's need to punish someone: it’s not good enough to rewrite the law for tomorrow. People want to bend the law to create a retroactive illegality. An interesting idea, I suppose, but impractical at best, a path to absolute ruin at worst. As a rule, we don’t criminalize past behavior, only future behavior. Call it a conceit to the linear, forward-only nature of time’s passage – and to our basic inability to predict which of today’s legal behaviors would land us in the electric chair tomorrow. It’s a basic protection we have to embrace: what you did yesterday might become illegal tomorrow, but you won’t be prosecuted because it was legal when you did it.

Now some people argue here that the Bush administration’s lawyers deliberately exploited the finite nature of legal language to “get away with” treatments that don’t violate the letter of the law – but still cross into unethical/philosophically shaky behaviors we’ve retroactively classified as torture. They’re right, but skirting the law isn’t actually illegal. As despicable as it seems in this context, “going around the law” is just another part of the legal process. Those lawyers aren’t the first or only ones to do it. It happens every day, sometimes in our favor, sometimes to our detriment. That is a conceit to the vagaries of our language, and a basic fact of life. I recently wrote a post about the drive to legalize drugs in America, and I posited that every regulation (or law) breeds loopholes. This is the same problem. If you don’t list smacking someone in the head with a rolled up magazine as torture – or have intersecting laws that constrain any of the constituents of that treatment – then it’s legally not torture. And guess what – it’s not just lawyers and government officials who exploit that fact. Almost everyone you know does too (in some form), and so do you. It’s obviously not in the same vein as torture, but the principle is the same. We have imperfect language, so we have imperfect laws. The best – and some would say smartest – thing we can do, is use history and better language to help us redraw ineffective and incomplete laws. In this case, we can rewrite torture laws to include what was done to those alleged terrorists; add as many new clauses and behaviors as we like – dig into history books, and even popular fiction, and litter the legal definition with examples. We’ll be behind the curve, but we can be assured that those specific tactics will be illegal the next time they are used.

Which brings us to:

The Three Killer Questions: Efficacy, Intent, and Degree

Despite the basic disagreements about what specifically constitutes torture, there is one common belief that seems to resonate throughout the national debate, and across many international borders: torture itself is bad. It's something only bad people or bad countries do. Proof of that belief is found in treaties and pledges, and in the outspoken condemnation of those who torture. But just below the surface, beneath the philosophical condemnation of the act, lies the tricky question of efficacy. Does torture ever work? If you follow the national headlines, or read books like Daniel P. Maddix’s The History of Torture, you probably get the idea that it doesn’t. And if the national uproar is an indication, we don’t want it to work.

But there’s an important question that lingers, even if it’s fully obscured by the shining spotlight: what if it does work?

I know that’s a scary question. It sets people’s hair on end, and makes people reach for antacids, or their bibles, or the television remote. But, what if torture isn't the ineffective black hole of the popular belief? Sure, you can point to what happens when you torture an ignorant someone for information: they’ll say anything to stop the torture, and none of it is worth the breath it arrived on. But what happens when you torture a person who actually has the information you need? This is an interesting point that comes out of the Bush administration: they say that “harsh interrogation” produced actionable intelligence. Regardless of your personal feelings, if it’s true, then it’s a fact that counts in the reality of the world, and has to count in our debate. And it begs the larger question: how much is a life, or a handful of lives, or a way of life worth? How far would/should we go to secure something important for ourselves? What happens when talking simply doesn’t work, and when the clock is already ticking? I know this is dangerous water, but aren’t these questions valid parts of the debate? Some people argue that the loss we stand to suffer (personally or nationally) is insubstantial compared to the moral breach we commit when we abandon talking in favor of inflicting pain. They could be right. I think it's probably a question for the ages, and certainly for the people that have already lost something or someone because of our adherence to principle over the need for positive results.

Lets focus on that for a moment: why does anyone use torture? I’ve been exploring the efficacy question, but I haven’t really touched on the purpose question. Like efficacy, it’s an important thing to explore.

As I’ve absorbed the national commentary, I’ve noticed that there are lots of different ideas about why we used those interrogation techniques in the first place. A good portion of people accept that they were used to obtain information – some about yesterday, but most about tomorrow. Some people think it was to extract confessions – like the Viet Cong used, a way to demoralize the prisoner’s parent nation – or to exact punishment, or gleefully inflict pain on inferior races. They evoke images of World War 2 Japan and Nazi Germany. Provocative stuff, to be sure; more importantly, a prompt to discuss intent – to examine if and how the intent of the torturer factors into our considerations. Does a lack of sadistic intent count in the torturer’s favor? Is it a more acceptable practice if torture is used strictly to garner information, and not applied with malice or hatred? If it’s an unfortunate escalation, in situations where gentler methods don’t produce the needed results? If it’s applied clinically, dispassionately?

And what about degrees? As we build our new legal and national definition of torture, does degree count for something? Should we compare types of harsh treatments? Is that informative as we draw our lines? Is a slap as bad as genital electrocution? Is a flushed holy book as bad as pliers-based fingernail extraction? Is being forced into a naked human pyramid, or being deprived of sleep, as bad as being beaten lame with batons and 2x4s? If we take degrees into consideration, don’t we run the risk of more unethical treatments slipping through the legal cracks? If we ignore degrees, aren’t we opening the doors of interpretation so wide that our “enemies” can complain that restricting access to cable TV and alcohol in prison is just as harsh as crushing their fingers in drill presses? How do we factor in the common sense comparisons without opening the door too wide, or shutting it too tightly, and without ignoring something key? Is there even an answer?

Sudden Epilogue: A FrankSpot First

So, I’ve just asked a bunch of questions, and I know it seems like I have a lot more ground to cover. But I’m not going to cover it. As unlikely and abrupt as it seems, I’m going to end here – after two months, and 2500 difficult words. As I predicted in my prologue, I haven’t found any answers on this. Not for myself, not for my readers, and certainly not for the national debate. Instead, after all this time and typing, I’ve become exhausted by the topic. I’m truly at a loss to draw some profound overarching conclusion, or make any valid suggestions on how to address the ongoing issue. I can’t even answer most of the questions I’ve raised here. At least not definitively, and not in the space of a single post. The most I can do is ask my readers to keep this post in mind as they add their voices to the debate. I hope they’ll remember that religion, ethnicity, age, political belief, and level of education impact how people feel about torture; so do being touched by loss, or war, or terrorism, or fearing for the lives of people loved. I hope they’ll remember that the law is an important tool – especially in this debate – but one that shouldn’t be used for revenge, or to apply retroactive justice. And I hope they’ll remember that – even without one we can see from here – the pursuit of an answer is still important. As we strive, we grow; and as we learn, we change. Hopefully, all for the better.

Peace.

Sometimes, I just can’t believe the world around me. Every day, I see people who just don’t get it. It doesn’t matter the topic, there are people who have the wrong idea. Or are too self-involved to notice the bigger picture, or see what’s really important in the world. Today, those people are the folks who are fighting for gay marriage.

I’ve been working on a tough blog entry for a few weeks now. It’s about torture, and all that goes with it – the national focus, the moral and ethical debate, the legal considerations. Truly, one of the hardest things I’ve ever tried to write about. And certainly an issue that deserves our attention. But every time I look up from torture, I get smacked by someone waving the gay marriage flag, and trying to push that issue into the center of the table.

I’m here to push back.

Now, let’s be clear: I’m not writing to opine on the subject of gay marriage. I’m writing because I’m irritated by the debate. The country is in serious trouble – right now! – and gay marriage isn’t any of the reasons why. I know it’s an all-important issue for the gay community, and equally so for those who oppose it. But it’s not an issue that deserves center stage today. Frankly, no matter how important the gay community and its activists claim it is, it’s an issue that barely registers when viewed alongside (pay attention here!) staggering unemployment, foreclosures and homelessness, foreign wars, the pervasive use of state-sanctioned torture, international nuclear proliferation, and the human misery we call Darfur and the Middle East. Considering those things, I have a hard time conceiving a top five priority list that includes even a passing hallway conversation about the rights of gay people to marry. In fact, I’d be mortified if our new president spent any time at all on the issue right now. Yet, the gay marriage advocates keep pushing it into the spotlight: “The President isn’t working fast enough on this. He’s had almost 100 days and he hasn’t fixed it yet! Let’s go picket and protest! Let’s get on the nightly news! Let’s force the issue NOW!”

Did I mention that I’m appalled?

Okay, so they want their time at the top of the issue heap, and on the president’s calendar. I get that. But which other issue of the day should take a back seat to theirs? Which humanitarian or national crisis is less important than gay marriage? That’s really the question here. How does a gay marriage advocate see fit to elevate this issue above – well – pretty much anything that has the President’s attention? Every time someone steps into national view with an urgent gay marriage agenda, all I can see is a kind of blind selfishness and self-importance: “Hey, America – I need the President to stop working on everything else so my friends, Bill and Steve, can get married next week!” Yikes. Perspective, anyone?

Here’s some: Shut the Hell up and wait your freakin’ turn!

Sorry. I know that’s not very nice (and not very FrankSpot-ly), but it’s a pretty apt way to express my feelings on this. We’re trying desperately to crawl away from the brink of absolute national ruin, and we’re being snared and diverted by people without an ounce of perspective, or an ability to understand priority. People who clearly don’t know the difference between “no” and “not yet;” people who say they voted for Obama, but don’t trust him to address the issue like he promised; people who forget that there are only so many hours in a day, and only so much that can be addressed in those hours. That in itself is almost unbelievable. And it pushes me away from sympathy for their cause, and leaves me in a coarse mood. The notion that the Prez should forego ending wars, saving our houses, and creating jobs, so two women in Muncie, Indiana can have rice thrown at them next Saturday, is ridiculous. The ground of our society is still crumbling beneath us like a landslide – so fast that every time I pull into my driveway, I wonder where I’m going to put the For Sale sign that already seems a tangible part of my inevitably unemployed future, and where I’m going to park when my daughter and I are living in my car. How can anyone expect gay marriage to trump the issues that give life to that kind of hopelessness? Why would anyone want it to? What kind of person pushes marriage rights to the top of the pile when children are living in hatchbacks? Or when friends and family are dying in distant deserts and mountain ranges? Or when race and religion are justifying torture in dark, wet rooms? How can anyone champion that kind of selfishness? How can anyone be that blind?

The truth of the day is this: the gay marriage battle will continue – be assured of that. (And it won’t be won or lost quickly. So even if the president takes it up tomorrow, you shouldn’t plan on catching a bouquet anytime soon.) But, as a wise man once said: “Only a fool fights in a burning house.” Look around, folks: America is on fire. America is the burning house. You knew that when you voted last year. So instead of trumpeting how unfair the world is because your idea of marriage hasn’t been legally validated, grab a bucket and help. If you can’t do that because you’re too full of yourself and your cause, at least step back from the counter, and wait until someone calls your number.

I’m out.

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.

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.