It’s easy to forget that politicians are human beings. Sometimes the reminder comes with a jolt, as it did on Tuesday night when Rep. Annie Kuster took to the floor of the U.S. House to share three painful memories on the same theme.
When Kuster was 18, a young man assaulted her in a “crude and insulting way” at a fraternity dance, which sent her fleeing, alone, “into the cold, dark night.” At 23, while working as a legislative aide on Capitol Hill, a “distinguished guest of the United States Congress” put his hand under her skirt. Just a few months after that, she was assaulted by a mugger, an incident she never reported to the police because she blamed herself for walking home alone.
Each memory haunts her. How could they not?
She decided to share her story in part because of the 6-month slap on the wrist Stanford student Brock Turner received for sexually assaulting an unconscious woman behind a dumpster, but also because she was struck by how many of New Hampshire’s recovering substance abusers suffer from sexual trauma.
“Our silence for the last 40 years,” Kuster said, “. . . has contributed to an environment where we don’t talk about it.” She is hopeful, and we are too, that her openness will advance efforts to prevent sexual assault.
It couldn’t have been easy for Kuster to open up as she did. Not just because of the emotional pain but because of the cynicism attached to American politics. When an elected official shows himself or herself to be human, too often they are met with, “What’s the angle?” More than a few Republican voters must have rolled their eyes at Kuster’s brave words; more than a few Democrats would have done the same if Kuster wasn’t one of them.
The cynicism is part of a larger problem that’s crippling this country: People don’t know how to talk to each other anymore.
The conflict of ideas can be a beautiful thing. A Democrat believes in one path forward and a Republican believes in another, and they debate. Points are won and lost, and each emerges with a better understanding of their ideological opponent’s perception of the world. They still may not agree, in fact they may passionately disagree, but there is no judgment of the person, just their ideas.
Politics is a game, albeit one with a lot at stake, and we assume most politicians are aware they are playing. Even as Sen. Kelly Ayotte and Gov. Maggie Hassan, for example, are embroiled in a heated contest, how can they not respect each other? Both are loving mothers with demanding careers. Both are intellectually gifted and tireless public servants. Both are subjected to constant scrutiny, fairly and sometimes unfairly, from journalists and the opposing party. Both have risen to the top in a sphere long dominated by men.
So, if we are correct in assuming that Hassan and Ayotte see themselves in the other, why is it so difficult for Democrats to respect Ayotte and Republicans to respect Hassan? Challenge their ideas, their perceptions, their proposed solutions, but don’t turn them into personal adversaries along the way.
Thomas Hardy, in a poem about enemy soldiers called “The Man He Killed,” wrote: “Had he and I but met / By some old ancient inn / We should have sat us down to wet / Right many a nipperkin!”
It’s long past time for the American left and right to move from the battlefield to the tavern. For that is where sexual assault, gun violence, health care, addiction and all the nation’s challenges can most effectively be addressed.
And a “nipperkin,” by the way, is about an eighth of a pint (we didn’t know that either) – a perfect amount for a toast. So here’s to all the good people, especially the ones with whom we disagree and who disagree with us.