A Tale of Two Campaigns

A Personal Journey through Inclusion and Exclusion

Earlier this week, I attended two campaign kick-off events that left me with starkly contrasting emotions. One, held in a cozy American Legion hall on a sunny Sunday afternoon, felt like a welcoming hug. The other, tucked away in a sterile hotel meeting room on a bustling Monday morning, felt like a cold, calculated handshake. It was a personal journey through the contrasting landscapes of inclusion and exclusion, tolerance and hate.

In the American Legion hall, the air was alive with authentic excitement and anticipation. Local folks from the surrounding towns mingled freely as if in a large wedding reception, sharing food, laughter, and stories. The candidate, dressed in comfortable jeans, a button-down shirt and a cowboy hat, spoke contemporaneously from the heart. It appeared he had some notes in front of him, but his eyes never really looked down at his notes; instead, he looked out toward the audience and shared anecdotes and personal stories, solidly connecting with the diverse crowd. His words resonated with a message of hope and unity, emphasizing that "we can disagree on policy, but we don't have to hate each other." The smiles across the audience came easily, and the applause felt genuine, a wave of shared emotion rippling through the room. In a private conversation with his wife after the speech, I was told that the line “we don’t have to hate each other,” was made up on the spot. It spontaneously came to the candidate as he related to the people in the room. That line, by the way, drew the biggest applause.

By contrast, the Monday morning event felt like a tightly controlled stage play. The audience, composed mostly of staff and press, sat in a small hotel meeting room, the expressions on their faces seemed calculated. The candidate, adorned in a crisp business suit, delivered a tightly crafted speech that reeked of fear and division. By watching his eyes, I could see that he read directly from the speech without deviation. Overall, the speech was a discourse on hatred and intolerance. He spent his time demonizing entire groups of people, including LGBTQ, illegal immigrants, “groomers,” subscribers of woke ideology, liberals, ad nauseam. He played on our insecurities to further stoke the flames of hatred. The applause felt forced, a rehearsed response to pre-determined cues.

Even the details spoke volumes. In the Sunday gathering, the warm greetings and casual attire created a sense of belonging. My jeans and jacket vest blended seamlessly with the crowd, accepting me as one of them. In the Monday event, by contrast, I wore the same attire and immediately felt underdressed and out of place amidst the formal attire. These were the invisible barriers of exclusion and elitism erected by the campaign. Even the doorman seemed robotically programmed to receive; the first question he asked was "who are you with?," echoing the campaign's message of exclusion. Had I told him that I was with Democracy on the Move, I’m sure his programming would have kicked in, and he would have blocked my entrance. Instead, I returned a confused glance, looked around, shrugged my shoulders and said “I’m with myself.” This apparently confused him, so he stepped aside and allowed me to enter.

These contrasting experiences laid bare the growing divide in our political landscape. One side offers a vision of inclusivity, where differences are embraced and solutions are sought through collaboration. The other feeds on fear, division, and the dehumanization of “others,” leading us down a dark path of hate and intolerance.

As we approach the critical moment of choosing our leaders, these contrasting tales offer a profound lesson. Will we embrace the warmth of inclusion and tolerance, or will we succumb to the cold calculating grip of exclusion and hate? The choice lies in our hands, and the future of our nation hangs in the balance.