It's been a busy weekend over at
John Pavich for Congress. Dozens of volunteers addressed thousands of envelopes and made hundreds of phone calls to potential supporters, adding substantially to our email list of volunteers.
I feel very satisfied with how the weekend went, but it also left me exhausted (after all, I have a "real job" to do as well). When it was all over, I made the four-hour drive to my parents' place in Bloomington, Indiana. They're moving to Boston this summer, and this is my last chance to spend a few days in the house where I grew up.
People keep asking how I'm going to feel about saying goodbye to the house, and I never have a very good answer (I still don't, although I'm writing this from the kitchen table). I think that's because this place isn't important to me for what it is, but rather for what it reminds of and where it sends my train of thought. When I'm here, my mind goes places that it doesn't ordinarily get a chance to go, and that's what I'll miss most. All of which, eventually, circuitously, brings me back to politics, activism, and John Pavich. Click below to read why...
As I approached Bloomington, I thought back to the first time I did anything political at all. I was a fifteen year-old sophomore in high school, it was November of 1992, a cold and damp Tuesday, and I spent the morning as a poll-watcher and the afternoon making get-out-the-vote calls to folks who hadn't been to the polls yet.
(It didn't take me long to learn how frustrating political calls can be: in addition to being a chronic mumbler with a cracking adolescent voice, I was pretty much paralyzed from terror, and the first woman I spoke to said approximately "What? What? Excuse me? I can't hear you, son! What are you talking about? Who? What? What? Could you please speak up?? What? Democrats? Now?!? Goodness, I voted absentee three weeks ago!")
Anyhow, I volunteered that year in spite of the fact that I had to cut class to do it, and in spite of the fact that everyone knew Clinton didn't have a chance in hell of winning Indiana (and nobody had yet told me that all politics was local and that there might be some sense in supporting other Democrats). I did it because I felt instinctively that the Clinton campaign represented a great hope for the future, and I wanted to be a part of it. It wasn't about a sense of duty or responsibility; it was a desire to participate. Put another way, I wasn't doing it for Clinton, or for the party, or even for the country. I was doing it for me.
That experience taught me the lesson that underlies all of my politicals activism: everyone can participate, and everyone can contribute. A frightened 15 year-old can participate. Someone without money can participate. Someone without much time can participate. An 80 year-old who's never participated before can participate.
This is one way in which I've changed very little, one respect in which I remain resolutely naive. I actually believe in a government of the people. I actually believe that our country is completely sunk if our political and governmental system isn't a mirror of who we are. I actually believe that the best thing for this country is to trust the people. I actually believe that changing things by working within the system isn't just the most effective way, it's the only honest way. (Well, short of a full-blown revolution.)
As I read the paragraph I've just written, I realize that it sounds pretty obvious and vanilla. But it doesn't jibe too well with the attitudes I encounter in the course of my "day job" (as a math professor). The other day I was eating dinner with a group of mathematicians, and we were (as almost always) talking politics, and I said (as I almost always do) that in spite of everything I'm optimistic about the future, and I was asked (as I almost always am) why on earth this would be, and I said that it was because I have faith in the wisdom of people, and everyone at the table, in unison, choked on their soup. Literally.
A few years ago, when I decided that, as much as I love mathematics, it was important to me to spend a lot of my energy in a more public service-oriented way, all my colleauges said the same thing:
"Great," they said, "but don't get involved in politics."
"If you want to do volunteer work, that's fine, but don't do politics -- those people are all idiots."
"If you want to work for a non-profit, that would be great, but don't do politics -- those people are all crooks."
"Go to law school and be an environmental lawyer or human rights lawyer or something, if you like, but don't do politics -- that's just swimming with sharks." That's right, people actually told me to become a lawyer because they didn't want me to swim with sharks.
Frankly, it amazes me that people see this is a stable, acceptable state of affairs. I think if this were my attitude, I'd emigrate in a heartbeat. I don't think I hold onto any illusions about how well our government is being run right now, but if the conclusion is supposed to be that there's no hope for the future, that change can only be effected on the margins, while the government itself is a corrupt, corrosive institution, wreaking havoc everywhere it turns, then I don't see any point in going on.
Fortunately, my time in politics has only reinforced my belief that the system can work to make things better. Sure, I've encountered my share of opportunists, not to mention some folks whose competence was, um, limited. But most people seem to be involved for the right reasons. And I'm not just talking about activists; I'm talking about elected officials too. Again, I don't turn a blind eye to bad behavior and poor decision-making on the part of Democratic elected officials, but sitting here in Illinois, with Dick Durbin and Barack Obama as my senators, working with Rep. Jan Schakowsky's organization in Evanston, I just can't feel all that pessimistic and cynical about the principles and commitment of my representatives.
Which brings me back to John Pavich. To judge by this article in the Morris Daily Herald, his opponents want to question his motives by pointing out his age. The insinuation seems to be that anyone who would run for Congress before even turning 30 is just an opportunistic hack who obviously doesn't want to contribute anything to his community.
I couldn't disagree more. I find John's story completely inspiring: an obviously extravagently talented guy, his first plan was to work in international law, helping to bring reconciliation to the Balkans. After 9/11, he felt that he should serve his country in a more direct way, and so he joined the CIA, working as a counter-terrorism office. A few years of that convinced him that the Bush administration wasn't even close to the right track, so he decided to go into politics himself and help make things right.
You can call that opportunism if you like; I call it optimism and patriotism. And if we've reached the point where a young, optimistic patriot with a head full ideas can't go into politics to try to effect change, then we're in a world of trouble. I believe that now even more than I did in November of 1992.
