I’m working my way through the massive catalogue of CBC’s Ideas, and was inspired by an episode featuring Christian philosopher James K A Smith called “Beyond the ‘Culture Wars’: How Mysticism Can Get Us Beyond Polarization.” In it, he associates the “culture wars” with fear: of being misunderstood, alone, and left out; of the other, and what we don’t understand; etc. At one point in the conversation they talk about how great it would be to ask politicians, without judgment, what they fear, as a way of defusing the culture wars. Confession, Smith claims, is the antidote to fear: it allows us to be known, and loved in spite of our faults.
I’m very happy that, here at the local level, we aren’t in a culture war. It never ceases to amaze me at how much of a difference there is between levels of government that have political parties and those that do not; there are no “sides” in municipal politics, even when there are wide differences of opinion, because we are all on the same team. But nonetheless, I appreciate the call to confession as a way of humanizing politics, and embracing the vulnerability of being a public figure even at such a small scale. So in the spirit of openness and vulnerability, here are a few things that I fear as a small-town politician, first personally and then more broadly.
Up Close
The thing I fear most (even more than spiders!) is being misunderstood. In the days when I spent much of my time discussing politics on the internet, I lost a lot of sleep over the moments when I couldn’t connect with others, when my words were taken out of context or in a direction I didn’t intend, especially if I had offended someone. I don’t think anybody wakes up in the morning and decides to offend others (something to remember when you’re arguing on the internet and the other person seems so darned offensive), but I have a tendency to be earnest to a fault, deeply desiring to connect with ideas and other people. Offending someone is a double misunderstanding: my clumsy words have misrepresented what I wanted to convey, and my intentions and/or character. While Smith identifies being misunderstood as a fairly universal fear that goes along with a fear of being alienated or alone, I think I’m particularly susceptible to it, and would much rather be alone than misunderstood.
In politics I’m more vulnerable to misunderstanding. I’m responsible for communicating complex issues, which are sometimes politically charged, in conversations that are often one-way: I usually don’t get to know how others have heard or interpreted my comments in council, but sometimes I get feedback through the grapevine indicating that I’ve offended someone. If I have ever offended you, please know that I’m deeply sorry!
What’s particularly nerve wracking about being in politics is that I don’t always get to represent myself: often my words or thoughts or actions are being conveyed by someone else, through a news story or interview. I have tremendous respect for the press, but I hate to read about myself in the paper because it’s nearly impossible for someone else to represent me or my views in a way that feels accurate. Then there’s always the chance that that news story is heard, interpreted, and shared in ways that are even less accurate.
And that accuracy matters. There have been a few times in this term of council when a small misunderstanding blew up into a big deal that frustrated or hurt residents and mischaracterized council. We never wanted to close the YMCA (on the contrary!), but a council discussion about the lease agreement led to rumours that morphed into misinformation, resulting in residents organizing to save the Y from what they believed was a hostile council; and we never wanted to cull swans, but an article in the paper erroneously said that we had voted unanimously to do so (despite it not being in our power to do), prompting months of understandable outrage and not a few angry letters questioning our moral character. As much as those misunderstandings hurt me, I also very much felt for the residents who were so upset by them; their trust was broken.
That brings me to my broader fears.
Bigger Picture
Looking past my personal anxiety, there are things that affect us all that also keep me up some nights. I’ll mention just three, and contextualize them a little bit to the current federal election.
First and foremost, I’m afraid of climate change. More specifically, I’m afraid of a lack of climate action. The threat of climate change has not diminished; we’re blowing past the point of no return with regard to the amount of greenhouse gases we’ve pumped into the atmosphere, ensuring that the climate will continue to change for the worse long after we bring our emissions down to zero. My children will inherit a world in which, even if we did everything right starting today, will have more volatile weather until long after they’re gone. They will never know the stable seasons of my own childhood, and their world will be less stable, peaceful, and promising because of it. But there never seems to be a good time to do better; there’s always something more pressing, more urgent.
Second, I’m afraid of populism. At its best, populism means politicians listening and responding to the needs of the people; but most of the time, it means politicians manipulating the fears of the people in order to harness their political power. This is a key issue in the culture wars: if, as Smith says, the culture wars are rooted in our common insecurities, why are they so politicized? Because those insecurities are powerful enough to become the basis of movements, and those movements are powerful enough to become the thing that prevents us from doing more important things. Because so long as we’re busy fighting culture wars, we’re not addressing climate change, income inequality, poverty, homelessness, racism, etc.
The worst part of populism is that it often manufactures grievances and divisive issues. Abortion was a bipartisan non-issue until the religious right decided to make it one; the carbon tax was started by the Conservatives under Stephen Harper, and recognized by conservative economists as the simplest and most efficient way to address climate change, until Harper’s successors made it a key issue on which to attack the Liberals; tariffs were recognized as harmful across party lines for a century, but are now suddenly a point of partisan division in the US in ways that are impacting the entire world. All of these things have disrupted politics tremendously, with the last two being particularly relevant to our current moment (thankfully nobody seems to be campaigning against abortion in Canada right now, but it has absolutely been a major issue in past elections). None of these things needed to be politicized, but they were found to be good ways to rally people to some political party or other. And now we can’t spare any effort or attention for the real problems, like climate change, because we’re too committed to the political battles that achieve nothing.
Which brings me to my third fear for society more broadly: missed opportunities. It was gutting to see Mark Carney, a fairly conservative economist, cutting the carbon tax as a way of defusing the populism of Pierre Poilievre (who still can’t stop talking about Justin Trudeau and the carbon tax, even though they’re both gone); it showed that populism has the power to destroy good policy and prevent important action. But even if we aren’t going backwards due to awful politics, I fear for the steps we aren’t even thinking to take. I fear for the missed chances at progress because of the politics of fear, or the unrealized promise of people who might be celebrated geniuses if not for their poverty, or the higher cost that comes tomorrow because we’re avoiding expense today.
Maybe this is a personal fear, too: I worry about what we’ve started in this term of council potentially not being finished by the next council. We’ve started some important projects–things that maybe should have been done a long time ago, things that we knew we’d regret not doing later, things that need doing even though they’re expensive and not necessarily popular. I’m pretty invested in them, and don’t want to see my work unfinished (much less undone); but I also believe that they’re very important to the future of Brighton and fear that they might be just another missed opportunity if they aren’t carried through.
So that’s my confession of fear, the things that keep me up at night. I also confess that sometimes my fears make me uncharitable to those who fear different things: I struggle to understand or identify with the populist right, and know that they dominate our riding both provincially and (so far) federally. I sometimes feel contempt for people who fly “FUCK TRUDEAU” flags from their homes or trucks, and I’m relieved that they seem to be going away now that Trudeau has retired. I want to move past my fears and frustrations, and see the real people beneath the populist outrage. By knowing them, perhaps I can build some solidarity with them, and we can heal the divisions that prevent us from taking more necessary action. Because after all, we are united in our desire to be known and our fear of being alone and misunderstood.