Well, another election season is behind us, more or less.
Thankfully.
I'm still getting political text messages from candidates as far away as Maine and Texas, so apparently somebody hasn't received the memo. I have no idea how I ended up on these lists. I've never lived in Maine, I don't vote in Texas, and to the best of my knowledge, neither state has asked for my opinion on its local elections. But somewhere out there, a political consultant seems to think texting me is the key to victory in a congressional district 2,000 miles away.
I've been involved in politics for several years now, and I have to say, this election season was something else. Thurston and Lewis counties saw some particularly spirited contests this year. I've witnessed a lot of campaigns, but even I encountered a few things I hadn't seen before, and that's saying something.
Politics has never been an especially gentle profession. I doubt the ancient Romans were particularly polite to one another during election season, and American political history is full of examples that would make today's campaign consultants blush or run for the hills.
But we've added some interesting new tools to the process.
Social media, for example.
We've had it for roughly 20 years now, which seems like more than enough time to establish some basic rules of etiquette. Yet somehow, we haven't.
In 20 years, we've figured out how to carry the combined knowledge of human civilization around in our pockets, order dinner without speaking to another person, and watch live video from practically anywhere on the planet.
But we still haven't figured out that calling your neighbor an idiot on Facebook might make things awkward the next time you run into them at the grocery store.
I suspect the problem has something to do with the absence of immediate consequences.
For most of human history, if you wanted to insult somebody, you generally had to do it within arm's reach.
That encouraged a certain amount of restraint.
Not necessarily because people were kinder, but because they had a fairly immediate understanding of what might happen next.
Now we can insult someone from the comfort of our recliner, wearing pajamas, eating leftover pizza, and never have to see the expression on their face.
It's an extraordinary technological achievement.
I'm just not sure it's done much for our manners.
And during election season, it seems to get worse.
People who would otherwise exchange pleasantries at the post office suddenly become mortal enemies in the comments section.
Neighbors who have known each other for decades discover that they disagree about a candidate and begin behaving as though one of them has committed an unforgivable act.
Entire friendships hinge on the outcome of a school board election.
Meanwhile, somewhere in Maine, a campaign volunteer is still waiting for me to respond to a text.
But there's something about all of this that I've been thinking about lately.
We spend months convincing ourselves, and each other, that the people running for public office are terrible.
They're incompetent. They're dishonest. They're unqualified. They're dangerous. They're secretly responsible for everything that's gone wrong since the invention of indoor plumbing.
Then the election ends, and we spend the next couple of years wondering why more good people don't run for office.
It's an interesting recruitment strategy.
I've served as a city councilmember, mayor, and county commissioner, and I've come to appreciate something about the people who choose to enter public service.
It's not for everyone.
In fact, I'm occasionally surprised it's for anyone.
Consider the person who decides to run for a small-town city council seat.
They probably have a job. Maybe a family. A mortgage. Hobbies. Friends. A perfectly reasonable life.
Then one day, for reasons that may never be fully understood, they decide to run for office.
If they're elected, they can look forward to evenings spent reviewing budgets, utility rates, land-use regulations, personnel policies, and lengthy agenda packets.
They'll miss family dinners, rearrange schedules, attend community events, and field phone calls about problems they may or may not have the authority to solve.
And depending on the community, their monthly compensation might just about cover the gas required to get to all those meetings.
It's difficult to imagine a less appealing job advertisement.
Wanted: Responsible adult willing to sacrifice evenings and weekends, make unpopular decisions, endure public criticism, and occasionally be blamed for potholes outside their jurisdiction. Compensation, non-existent. People you’ve never met will form opinions of you for sport.
Yet people sign up.
Every election cycle.
And I think that deserves some appreciation.
Now, I'm not suggesting that everyone who runs for office is a saint.
I've been around politics long enough to know better.
People run for all sorts of reasons. Some good, some less admirable. Some are exceptionally qualified, and others probably should have spent a little more time reading the job description.
Elections exist, in part, to help us sort that out.
We should question candidates. We should scrutinize their records, challenge their ideas, and hold them accountable for what they say and do.
That's democracy.
But I think there's an important distinction between disagreeing with someone and deciding that their willingness to serve has no value.
I've known people across the political spectrum who genuinely care about their communities.
People whose ideas I strongly disagree with.
People I've argued with.
People I've voted against.
And people who, despite those differences, I would trust to show up when their neighbors needed help.
That's one of the things I appreciate about local government.
At the national level, politics can feel like an endless contest between competing teams.
But at the local level, the people involved are still your neighbors.
You might disagree about the budget on Tuesday and find yourselves working together to organize a community event on Saturday.
You might argue about development regulations and discover that your kids play on the same soccer team.
And sometimes the person who irritates you most during a public meeting turns out to be the first person to volunteer when something needs doing.
Communities are complicated that way.
People are complicated that way.
We'd probably be better off remembering it more often.
As this election season ends, there will be winners and losers. There always are.
Some people will celebrate. Others will be disappointed. Some will decide to try again, and others will decide they've had enough.
But regardless of the outcome, I appreciate the people who were willing to put their names on the ballot.
Not because I agreed with all of them.
Certainly not because I voted for all of them.
But because they were willing to step forward and let their neighbors decide.
And I appreciate the people who volunteered, organized forums, knocked on doors, worked at elections offices, and participated in the process.
Democracy requires all of them.
It also requires us to remember that an election is not the end of our relationship with one another.
The person who voted differently than you is still going to be standing beside you at the grocery store.
The person whose campaign sign irritated you is still going to live down the road.
And the person you spent three weeks arguing with online might be the one who helps pull your car out of a ditch this winter.
We don't have to agree about everything.
We probably never will.
But we do have to figure out how to live together after the votes are counted.
And perhaps we could make the whole experience just a little less miserable for the next group of people willing to sign up.
Because if we keep treating everyone who runs for office like they're out of their minds, eventually we might find that the only people willing to run are the ones who actually are.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I apparently have an urgent election in Texas to attend to.
Wayne Fournier is a firefighter, Thurston County commissioner and former mayor who has spent more than three decades working in public safety.
