"all politics is local"

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Former Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives Tip O'Neill once observed that "All politics is local."

However true the observation, and I think it is right on the money, still it is probably a truism best reserved for old men. The younger anyone is, the easier it is to imagine that it is possible to ignore or set aside what plainly and inescapably touches a very particular and personal life.

Famine in Africa? That's over there, and besides, it concerns people who are not generally my color.
Storm in Louisiana? Thank God it didn't turn off my electricity.
Sex abuse and malfeasance in the Catholic Church or down the well-dressed corridors of Zen Buddhism? Well, my hands are clean and so I can praise God or straighten my robes ... there's no shit on my shoes. Forgetaboutit.

"All news is local," perhaps, but I can't be expected to know everything, to care about everything, to be responsible for everything. That would be ludicrous, exhausting, and where would I find time for Thursday night poker?

Yesterday was Election Day in the United States. Barack Obama was re-elected president in the face of a challenge from Mitt Romney. It was a lengthy, obscenely-expensive and largely substance-less campaign season that left the United States in the same economic and ideologically-fractured pickle it was in last week.

But my younger son, at 18, refused to vote.

And that left me between a rock and a hard place: On the one hand I think everyone should be given the latitude to make his or her own mistakes as long as those mistakes don't significantly harm others. But on the other hand, I think everyone who has the opportunity should vote.

This narrowed alley forced me to consider how I might put things to my son. I was not about to wave some imaginative but threadbare American flag in his face. That would be no better than people who proclaim their patriotism with an American flag lapel pin ... get away from me! I was not about to trot out a "civic duty" that might play well in high school history classes, but had no gut-level meaning to teenagers who had been nourished in ways that allowed them the mistake of thinking they were safely immured. So ....?

What I settled on were "patriotism" and "family." My son is about to sign up with the Army National Guard (don't get me started), so I asked him if he considered himself a patriot? And then, sensing I was on the wrong track, I shifted to family, which he often speaks highly of.

Did he think highly of his family? Yes, he did. Did he consider himself part of that family? Yes, he did. Did he love his family even when he thought some aspect of that family was more full of shit than a Christmas turkey? Yes, he did. Did he imagine that he could somehow escape being a member of that family, whether he agreed or disagreed with it? No, he didn't.

Illusionist Harry Houdini readied to escape milk can

And there it was for this old fart: The reason to vote when the time came was simply as a means of addressing and assessing what cannot not be escaped in life. It has nothing to do with civic pride or threadbare patriotism: It has to do with acknowledging an aspect of a very personal life. No conclusion, dismissive or otherwise, is required. Voting is just a tool to use from time to time ... a way to assert and simultaneously assess... to consider what cannot be escaped and whether there can be some peace in it.

The argument satisfied me and did little to convince my son. He still didn't vote and, as I say, I think everyone deserves the latitude to make mistakes as long as they don't significantly harm others. The argument that satisfied me was probably too abstruse for my son: Suggesting that anyone should take the time to reflect on the inescapable is an old-fart's game. Who wants to or needs to reflect when they're 18? At 18, you know everything, are right, know what's wrong, and are never going to die. Your wisdom, however wobbly in private moments, is clear as a bell. Fuck voting for something you had not studied up on and thus cared nothing about!

Inescapable. The word itself is as imperious as a cranky nun. The first thing it makes anyone think of is ... escape from this scowling, thin-lipped, knuckle-rapping cage. I am an American. No escape. I am a father. No escape. I am male. No escape. I am old. No escape. I like to write. No escape. I interest myself in spiritual life. No escape. I have three kids. No escape. I see and hear and smell and taste and touch. No escape. The list is long and I can hardly imagine I am alone. But having company does not ease what is sometimes an unforgiving burden.

It's just a good habit to get into, I think: Pausing now and then to assess the realm of the inescapable. In how many ways does it stand in the way of a peaceful existence? Just taking five minutes to check it out. No conclusions necessary. As former Alaska governor and nitwit political candidate Sarah Palin might put it, "How's that escapable thingie workin' for you?"

And in the midst of all the things that are inescapable, there is the vote -- the action that cannot be improved or explained and cannot be taken back. From between of all the inescapable bars, there is this single act in this single moment. Bang! No doubt about it. Before anyone can say "escape," the bars no longer exist.

And then there is a return to an inescapable, cranky-nun world, a world full of effort and tears and laughter and improvements and meanings and beliefs.

Every step is a vote. Every step is a perfect escape.

But ignoring the inescapable is no assurance of escape.

Better to check it out from time to time.

All politics are local.
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