Looking Like A Duck...

Summary Paragraph: In which Menin concedes that not everything that looks like a duck, sounds like a duck, and talks like a duck is a duck. It's just duck-like.

One of the other candidates, (we'll call them School Committee Candidate A), who appeared at the Friday night coffee for three of the School Committee candidates who worked on the Yes campaign, contacted me today in response to an earlier post, Wiping the Slate Clean.

According Candidate A, Candidates A, B, C, and D, who worked on the YES campaign are running independently of each other; and that the Friday night coffee, attended by A, B and C, was more along the lines of helping C get a jump-start. However, at one point between the coffee and the danishes, there was a clear indication that the purpose of the event was to present three fresh faces to make sure that the one old face running for re-election would be retired. This assertion did not come from one of the Candidates, apparently.

Everybody is entitled to their own opinion, I believe; but just because they support me doesn't mean I have to buy whatever they are selling. And I sure as hell try not to put myself into a situation that could be misconstrued as my buying it.

Candidate A said that when the conversation got personal regarding me and my re-election, and agenda driven, it became awkward for them and Candidate B. They didn't endorse the sentiments; they didn't deny them. They just were awkward.

I understand how that can happen. I've often been in situations when people trash-talk me about people I have to work with; sometimes they even trash people I don't respect or who don't respect me, but I still have to work with. I personally don't find it awkward; I usually divulge my relationship with the maligned individual, and thank the trash-talker for sharing their opinion, but that it isn't mine. It's that last little piece; thank you for sharing but that is not my experience nor my opinion that usually makes a difference. It draws the line which clearly says, your opinion is yours, and you are welcome to it, but don't try stuffing it in my ears

I remember a situation vaguely analogous to this in my own life.

When I was living in Buffalo, I was dating a woman who came from a robust, large Catholic family. Her father had served very honorably in World War Two, commanding a naval vessel.
Despite their small house, and simpler means, there was always room for me at the dinner table, and her mother was, and hopefully still is a saint. It was actually the closest thing I knew to a sustained family until I had my own.

One day, her father's former commanding officer was in town, and was invited to dinner with his wife. Two more plates were set at the table.

After a few glasses of wine, the Admiral's wife's tongue loosened up a little bit, and she began to ask some questions.

"What with a medical school, and dental school and a law school right nearby at the University of Buffalo, you must have a lot of Jews from New York City coming up here. That must be terrible. I've heard the school is actually called 'Jew-Bee' by people who live here. Doesn't it bother you to have so many Jews going to school here?"

I felt awful for my girlfriend and her family. They were terribly embarrassed, and were at a complete loss for what to say. They didn't deserve to have to respond or defend this foolishness; I'm usually not at a loss for what to say, as many of you who know me can attest.

I've been there before. People sometimes wear their ignorance and intolerance like a medal.

But it is also part of my cultural heritage to try to laugh, because if you can't, you cry.

I told Mrs. Admiral that it didn't bother me at all.

"All of my closest relatives are Jewish," I told her.

You could see my girlfriend's family trying to stifle laughs and hide smiles. Apparently, Mrs. Admiral missed the point, and continued to commiserate with me about how the Jews were responsible for many problems, ranging from venereal diseases to high interest credit cards. I just nodded, wondering exactly how far she could get her foot into her mouth. Mr. Admiral, however, caught the thrust of my remark immediately. After attempting to get Edith to stifle herself, he gave a swift kick under the table that I bet she still has a bruise from, 25 years later.

The point is this. If someone puts words into the universe that don't reflect your personal views, I think you have an obligation to distance yourself from those words, no matter how awkward that is. Define yourself, or you will be defined by the company you keep, and the little hurts thrown out into the universe that you allow to go unchallenged.

For Candidate A, who sought me out with a beef about what I had written, I have regained a measure of respect. I really do believe, now, that they are doing what I am doing; that is running for School Committee, and not against a person or an institution. How you move through the political world has a learning curve all it's own; I told this individual the dumber you get, the more you learn.

But learning to challenge ideas you don't believe is part of that learning curve. If you don't clarify the remarks, and challenge them, but stand there awkward, you become part of the problem.

And that problem is, of course, how to best build bridges.

Lesson one-- Demonizing is the first refuge of the divisive and unimaginative. It is the powder post beetle of bridge-building. Anyone lazy enough to ascribe a single characteristic to an entire group isn't your friend; they only become your ally when you accept their formulation. And the threshold for acceptance is very low; it is silence.

Lesson two- if you don't name a lie, a misrepresentation, a strategic lack of clarity, a simple statement that doesn't resonate for you when you hear it, it owns you, too. Flypaper.

So I'll tone down the talk about Slate YES. After talking with this Candidate A, I believe they are running a strong race, for the right reasons, and will be an asset to the School Committee, regardless of what happens to me.

As for the others, B, C, and D, I now realize they are hoping that Candidate A has long coattails. Long.

As long, they hope, as the slate blackboard in a Brown School classroom. And longer, they hope, than six years.

It's fall, and I can hear the ducks quacking. Seems like there is one less than I thought there was yesterday.