I Hope They Never Ask About 2016

Hillary Clinton ended her second debate with Donald Trump with a lie, probably the worst one she’s ever told:

QUESTION: Good evening. My question to both of you is, regardless of the current rhetoric, would either of you name one positive thing that you respect in one another?

CLINTON: Well, I certainly will, because I think that’s a very fair and important question. Look, I respect his children. His children are incredibly able and devoted, and I think that says a lot about Donald. I don’t agree with nearly anything else he says or does, but I do respect that. And I think that is something that as a mother and a grandmother is very important to me.

I watched her say that with my two sons asleep in the next room. The next morning I made them waffles, changed their diapers, and cleaned up the ridiculous messes they made. You know, the sort of stuff Trump routinely brags that he never does, that no man should do.

Hillary is a great politician, one of the greatest of my lifetime. So she didn’t show any of the pain she surely felt to tell that necessary lie. Everyone says family to that question, even when it’s wrong. Especially when it’s wrong. We’ve all tacitly agreed that family are off limits so that’s the perfect way to falsely compliment your opponent.

So she said it. Hillary, whose motherhood was heckled for years, and still is, because she make a joke about baking cookies. Whose only daughter was ridiculed for her looks from the time she was ten years old, because of her parents. Who has been insulted for decisions only she knows about her family, for making them and not making them and all of the rest of a thousand tons of garbage we’ve heaped on her for being a woman while running for office.

And she smiled while saying it, because that’s what we demand from her. And she was called a liar by people on the television, for saying the only thing anyone would even accept.

I used to turn on Morning Joe sometimes when the kids were up early. I’d point out various politicians and reporters to them, whispering “look at that knucklehead. It’s always okay to call politicians knuckleheads. Ask daddy why. He always knows.”

I don’t do that anymore.

I don’t remember what I thought about Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush, Michael Dukakis. I’m pretty sure they were okay, though. They didn’t do things like laugh when their children were called a “piece of ass,” or say they don’t care for their children, or say they’d like to date their kids.

I wanted to be a historian once. So when I see the ugliness I’ve encountered for ten years in politics bursting out into the open, “horrifying” people who had previously ignored it, I know it’s good. Better to be seen than hidden. Better that it’s excruciating than tolerated.

But you can’t say that to toddlers. There’s no way to tell them to look at this powerful woman but not that powerful man, to learn from this thing but not that thing. We struggle to accept that evil people exist in adulthood. Kids in diapers don’t have a chance.

One day my sons will ask me what happened this year. I don’t have any idea what I’ll say.

The Time I Almost Read My Parents' Divorce

It was a million degrees hot in Baton Rouge when I looked up my parents' divorce.

It wasn't even the first time bad weather had caused weird shit in my line of work. Once a former coworker looked up some parking tickets because it was a zero degree Minnesota winter and he didn't want to go outside quite yet. That set off a chain of events that led to a sitting attorney general being accused of trolling for anonymous gay sex in a public park.

Anyway. East Baton Rouge Parish had a new courthouse since I'd last been there. It had air conditioning and a lot of places to sit. I was there for a job, but I had wrapped it up pretty quick. I had time, and nothing to do but head back out to that soul burning heat by the convention center.

So I sat down at the terminal and looked up the case docket for Caskey v. Caskey, East Baton Rouge Parish, Family Division.

There are two kinds of divorce files: short and fast, or long and ugly. This one wasn't short.

I remembered as much. I remembered a lot of things in the file. Other things were unfamiliar. Still others I thought I remembered differently.

And there it was, in all its ugly glory. After years of reading divorces till I could speed read the damn things, I could finally see how everything went down, with a researcher's cold eye instead of a confused teenager's.

All I had to do was walk up to the desk and request it.

I looked at the screen for a long time. Then I cleared the search, left the building and got a root beer float at the Frost Top.

I've never looked it up since.

And now one day you, my Nonvoters, are going to be able to look up my own divorce from your mother.

Maybe you'll read this first. Maybe you won't.

Maybe you'll never even think to look it up, or want to.

Maybe you'll ask me about it first, and I have no idea what I'll tell you.

I'm not going to tell you to do what I did. It's your god given right to choose differently from me.

And I'm not going to tell you why I didn't go through with it. Divorce is a lot of things on paper and a hell of a lot more that aren't. If you haven't learned that by the time you read this, now is the time to do it.

I'm not even going to explain anything you might find. If you don't know, not feel but know, that I love you more than I even understand, then words aren't going to change that. And that's all that matters.

All I'm doing is telling you what I did in your position.

And if you want to do differently, I'll drive you to the Daley Center myself.

Dadsplaining: Primaries

Quit fighting with someone you should care about! I'm trying to explain primaries!

All right Nonvoters, listen up. There's another election coming. Nonvoter 1, you know the score. Except now you can run around shouting like a lunatic. Go right ahead; you're no worse than the median volunteer. Nonvoter 2, you're a bit younger but bear with us here. It's a ritual that employs your dad, weird though it is.

Last time I had some thoughts for Nonvoter 1, all full of reflection about civic responsibility. But this time it's different.

This time it's a primary.

Of all the democratic rituals we grownups engage in, primaries are the dumbest. They're also, coincidentally, the most profitable for your dad.

See, the grownups have already organized themselves into animalistic tribes over how to boss each other around. It's a pretty simple question: elephant or donkey, this team or that. Not a lot of heavy thinking required.

But sometimes we fight over who will be the tribe leader. It's really silly; everyone already agrees on what we want to do. There's no real disagreement or difference in the end result.

So of course we fight harder over it. We're not sure what we disagree on, but we're sure going to pound the crap out of each other to sort it out. When you don't have a lot to fight about the fighting gets bad fast.

It's kind of like when you, Nonvoter 1, smack your brother in the head over getting too much attention from Mom (also, I saw that. I always see it. Your Dad sees all). You're stressed out and worried about who you are and whether we love you as much.

And that is silly. Of course we love you. You're the same special little dude you were before Nonvoter 2 came along. You think that he changed who you are, but he didn't.

Neither does voting.

Some people, particularly the sort who keep buzzing our house and calling us, think voting does change who you are. That it's about the heart and soul of the party or whatever. These people are crazy. A party is just a bunch of people who vote the same way. It doesn't say anything about you to vote Democrat. Or Republican (yes, I will love you even if you vote Republican).

Voting doesn't make you a good or bad person. Politics can drive you crazy, but it's not going to make you good or bad either.

That's not how it works.

Voting is just saying what you want. Maybe you want good things or bad things, but voting isn't going to change that. And there are any number of better ways than elections to express your values.

So enjoy the touchscreen, boys. Your dad will probably mutter bad words if crazy people give him cards telling him how to vote. We'll talk about why some other time.

For now, just remember: we're doing this because we want to, not to be good people.

Things Best Left at the Office: Precious

A possibly ongoing feature wherein I catalog the many parts of my job best left unseen by the Nonvoter.

Fact check: Not actually Precious.

It was about a month into my first job as an opposition researcher. I was still learning the ropes, so I got assigned campaign finance. It's a pretty boring job: look at every single entry in a long spreadsheet, assign it an industry, and Google it a bit to see if the person is corrupt. Or an ax murderer.

Or a sodomizer of an 80 pound Rottweiler named Precious.

Yeah, that happened. The name, city and street name matched for an individual who...well I'll let Lexis do the talking:

A 39-year-old city man accused of sexually attacking his neighbor's dog has been ordered to turn over his passport and allow the home where he is living to be inspected for animals before his trial on animal-cruelty charges gets under way.
Jose Rodriguez, dressed in khaki pants, a plaid shirt and tan sweater, stood before Municipal Court Judge Emery Toth yesterday morning as the judge set up a schedule for the case, which has been before the court for several months. Rodriguez failed to attend last week's court session.
Maritza Rosario, owner of Precious, a 5-year-old female Rottweiler allegedly sodomized by Rodriguez, said she was glad some progress was being made in the case. Rosario has been in Municipal Court five times on the matter. [Home News Tribune, 2/4/05]

Obviously I was pretty excited. One month on the job and I had possibly found out that an opponent's contributor (and fundraising host!) sodomized dogs. Yes it was a common name, it was probably a long shot, but who cares! Precious!

So I spent the next eight hours trying to find out the former home address of that guy.

It turned out they were not the same people after all. One Jose Rodriguez, the one who gave money to various politicians, lived four blocks up the road from the Jose Rodriguez who gave illegal carnal attention to Rottweilers. I was so angry at the mismatch that I spent another hour trying to prove that he could have, like, moved up the road to escape notice the first four times he assaulted Precious.

But no. Different people. The campaign won, but in the usual way involving having more money and votes and such. There was no spectacular canine-related meltdown.

It was only when I relayed this tale to a friend later that I realized I was deeply upset that someone had not raped a dog.

Teachable Moment: Don't Play Can You Keep A Secret

There is no shortage of teachable moments for the Nonvoter in professional politics, probably because almost everyone in professional politics acts like screaming toddlers.

For example, let's hear from Frank Luntz, professional crybaby extraordinaire:

Following Mother Jones' publication of remarks GOP message man Frank Luntz made to University of Pennsylvania students about conservative talk radio, Luntz has decided to withdraw funding for a university scholarship named after his father that sends students to Washington, DC, according to the Daily Pennsylvanian, an independent student newspaper at the school.
While Luntz is scheduled to speak on a panel at the University during graduation weekend, he said that he would never return to speak after this incident, and would discourage others from speaking here.
[...]
A student had asked Luntz a question about political polarization, and Luntz had responded by blaming conservative talk radio, saying, "They get great ratings, and they drive the message, and it's really problematic." Luntz had asked for his answer to be off the record, and although the student who asked the question agreed to those terms, Aakash Abbi, the student who made the recording and provided it to Mother Jones, did not.

There's an adage among researchers: "Don't do anything you don't want to read about in the papers." It applies to all consultants; researchers just say it more because we're the ones everyone expects to be revolting for money. It's just good business practice: the best way to avoid trouble for doing bad things is to just not do them. Better for you, better for your clients, better for the voters who have to put up with your clients.

And it's also good personal practice. Sure, everyone has secrets. Some people also keep secrets for other people. The latter group is a lot smaller than the former. So if you must take something off the record, or ask "can you keep a secret," or whatever, it's best to think out beforehand what you get out of it, and what the person listening to you will get out of silence as opposed to snitching.

For example: A reporter calls me for comment on something or other. Being a self-promoting sort I am happy to talk with him. I say something that doesn't make a whole lot of sense without some knowledge that involves an active campaign, which I don't comment on as a rule. So I say this up front and offer to explain it off the record. If the reporter agrees, s/he gets an amusing anecdote and a consultant happy to provide future comments. I get some publicity without throwing the current client off message. We both get something out of it, and we both lose something if we don't respect the convention: I lose publicity by taking everything off-record and I lose clients by saying things that are not just time-sensitive but damaging. The reporter loses a friendly process quote source by burning me. There's still a risk, of course. The reporter might be an asshole, or not think my story is really worth holding convention. I moderate my comments accordingly.

That's how grownups handle sensitive information and conversations in confidence: with caution and thinking about whether it's worth it before talking. Of course a lot of stupid grownups don't do that, usually because they're bragging. And honestly, that's what Luntz was doing. Look at me, I'm a smart consultant. I don't really believe all the crap I say on cable news. Bask in my duplicitous glory. Say that to a room full of college students and that's asking for trouble.

And that's the second lesson: don't play can you keep a secret in the middle of bragging. There's nothing wrong with self-promotion, but it necessarily relies on maximum publicity. When you mix self-promotion with secrecy, bad things happen.

So there you go, Nonvoter. People are neither trustworthy nor snakes. They're just people. They do things they think will be beneficial. Remember that and you'll be a better person than Frank Luntz.

The White House Correspondents' Dinner Versus My Son Going to Bed

I really, really do not get the White House Correspondents' Dinner. All day and night in Washington, DC politicians and reporters snipe at/congratulate/laugh with/laugh at each other. But apparently they also need one night out of the year to explicitly do all that or something. Anyway, I didn't watch it before, and I sure as hell won't watch it now that I have a toddler to coax to sleep. And that brings me to tonight's adventure.

So without further comment, I present to you my son going to bed:

Have Baby, Want Case File

If you research for a living you go into a lot of courthouses. Perhaps one of ten of these courthouses is a positive experience. You walk in and it's clean, well-lit, has computers purchased within the past five years and helpful staff.

The rest of the time it's a nightmare. It's hard to even get in to the courthouse, because the metal detector doesn't work. The computers are ancient abacuses with software that makes no sense. The staff...are there even staff? There are a lot of people just milling around behind the counter, but they're not there to, like, sort case files or get what you want. What should be a thirty minute trip turns into a two-hour trip and even then you probably don't get the material you want.

That is, unless you're a man with a baby.

Now let's get the standard disclaimer out of the way. Yes this is all very sexist and wrong. Moms with babies don't get the time of day from your median public servant/clerk/passerby. People see women with children and shrug, or even grumble about noisy kids. No big deal, joys of motherhood, societal role, etc. But a man with a baby, now that's impressive. I don't even have to do anything with the Nonvoter. Just standing there and not accidentally strangling him makes me a paragon of virtue. It's a terrible behavior pattern and it should change.

In the meantime, the Nonvoter is awesome to take to the courthouse. I zip right through, the Opinion Leader gets some time to herself, everyone wins!*

It's a breeze from start to finish. At the metal detector, people wave me through in line. Some of the lawyers even look vaguely guilty while doing it. That's right ambulance chaser, when was your last father-son work day, hmm?  People get out of the always-jammed elevators. They coo and compliment me on my awesome son and parenting while doing so! Yep, there he is, still not murdered, parent of the year right here.

And once I get to the office? The people there help me. They wave me over and look things up themselves. They double and triple check the files I want. They make faces and wave at the Nonvoter while I sort through the files. Hell, once they even offered to make copies for me!

It's like magic. These very same people go right back to staring dully at people behind me and mumbling that they can't read the file request/aren't supposed to give legal advice/are on break the moment I'm on my way.

And I feel slightly bad about it. There's a lot of people there who do need help, help of the getting screwed and needing legal redress variety. And of course, there are a lot of women with kids who don't get the same treatment, particularly in the domestic division- divorce, deadbeat dads, et cetera. It's unfair bordering on heartbreaking.

On the other hand, a three hour trip with the Nonvoter maybe making things difficult for the Opinion Leader has now turned into a one hour trip that the Nonvoter loves. I just have to keep him from chewing on the case files.

*Well except my targets. But they shouldn't have driven drunk/beaten their wives/not paid their taxes/gotten parking tickets and then run for public office to begin with.