True to form, I quickly got intrigued by American politics and can recall participating in school debates about the virtues and vices of John F. Kennedy and Richard M. Nixon in the 1960 presidential election. I'm sure there was compelling interest among my classmates in the political views of this annoying kid who had just moved to the States from his Canadian igloo.
Nonetheless, politics became an ongoing interest of mine. I grew up and went to college in the 1960's and, like many students in those days, was deeply concerned about the war in Vietnam. I took out American citizenship in 1965 and cast my first vote for president in 1968. I will confess here what I tend to avoid admitting except when waterboarding is involved. That vote went for Richard Nixon, who said he had a "secret plan" to end the war. I believed him and thereby earned my first dose of cynicism about American politics.
I will never forget that election of 1968, particularly the Democratic National Convention, which was held at the International Amphitheatre in Chicago, Illinois, from August 26-29. Only part of the convention was in the Amphitheatre; the rest of it was in the streets where massive protests and violent confrontations were unfolding on national television. I vividly recall watching Senator Abraham Ribicoff (D-Conn) in the podium nominating George McGovern and declaring, "If George McGovern were president, we wouldn’t have these Gestapo tactics in the streets of Chicago." That led to a finger-pointing, expletive-laced response from Chicago Mayor Richard Daley.
But here's the thing. I spent that summer living with a friend at his grandparents' trailer home in Manteno, Illinois, where we were working at a bridge building plant. That night, in the tight confines of the trailer, my friend's grandfather was shaking his fists at the television and yelling at the "hippies" in the streets. I, in turn, was yelling at the police for clubbing college kids protesting a seemingly fixed convention. (For a wonderful, well-written book about this incredible year in American politics, read Theodore H. White's The Making of the President 1968.)
That week had a profound impact on me. I saw how politics divided generations, raised and dashed hope, and stirred cynicism and indifference. In 1972 I was excited to support the anti-war candidacy of George McGovern, only to see him crushed at the polls. In the years that followed I continued my interest in the political scene but no candidate captured both my mind and my heart.
And now comes Barack Obama. Something is going on inside me. I am far more hardened by cynicism and resistant to illusion than in those "loss of innocence" experiences of the 1960's. But I'm listening and I'm feeling. I don't think the pathway between my mind and heart has been entirely lost--just overgrown with brush and missing signage. But I think I'm going to hack at the weeds and look for directions. I'm going to allow myself to be a bit vulnerable and open myself to the possibility of hope.
It feels kind of good.
