Satisfaction

 

I began working in politics in 1968, canvassing for registered Democrats in Salt Lake City who would promise to attend their precinct meetings and help elect delegates to the state convention who supported the anti-war Eugene McCarthy for the presidential nomination. I was very much of draft age. And I was very unsuccessful. All 20 precincts I was assigned to organize went for Hubert Humphrey. It was my first taste of insurgent politics, with its sweet aftertaste of defeated idealism.

I did not go back to political organizing until 1990, when we helped carry our rural Western North Carolina county for Harvey Gantt, the former mayor of Charlotte who was running to unseat Jesse Helms. I was a true believer for Gantt, and I had convinced myself that he would -- could -- win the whole state. Belief is a kind of drug. Gantt lost by 107,000 votes, a sobering number. 

You got to believe to do politics, but you also have to level up on reality. If you thrive on the hunt, you also know starvation. But when the big game is plentiful, fat, and slovenly, you're allowed a certain expectation that this time a big feast will follow.

If I were a young man again, I'd be knee-deep right now in some wholly improbable attempt to topple a Republican monument. The paint is peeling off the Republican Party, and the most improbable Democratic candidate could, in such a toxic watery environment, bring down the buffalo. I expect pleasant surprises.

Anything less will leave me unsatisfied.