OK, just kidding.  But it’s true, in a way.  Before the Democratic National Convention in July, 2004, I saw myself as a true-blue liberal, a “cradle Democrat” — I voted the straight Democratic ticket, I turned up my nose at fundamentalists of all stripes, I supported labor and the underdog, I scoffed at the military, at religion, at career politicians.  Like most people, I’d inherited my beliefs and values from my parents and friends, from books I’d read, from popular culture. 

I was pretty darn ignorant and I liked it that way.

I sat out the 2004 primaries because I was just too heartsick over the debacle of 2000 to risk adding to my despair.  But I knew when the Democratic candidate was chosen, I would work for him.  So when John Kerry became the nominee, I sighed and gritted my teeth and got ready to join the team to get rid of George W. Bush.  I volunteered at the campaign office downtown, donated what money I could, made countless phone calls, sent e-mails and distributed literature. I drove up with friends and canvassed in New Hampshire and as I went door to door and the people of that savvy state asked me hard questions about the candidate, I realized I had to find out a lot more about him if I were going to be an effective campaigner.

I read the Boston Globe biography  and the George Butler photo book first.  Hey, this guy wasn’t “just a politician”, he was a real person, with an amazing history and a really cool family!  I wanted to find out more.

When Going Upriver came to my local theatre, I went, along with a friend who had gone to antiwar protests nearby when she was 9 or so.  We were both deeply moved.  I had to read Tour of Duty. By now, because they were such an essential part of the campaign, I was starting to find out more about the veterans of the Vietnam War and what they had experienced.  I began to learn about the nobility of service, the dignity of showing up, no matter how just or unjust the war, the pain, isolation and trauma so many had endured upon their return home.

When I was young, I had read about the SDS and the antiwar movement on American campuses.  I admired their principle and thought their protests brave and exciting.  If they were right, the soldiers must have been wrong.  Now I began to see that it was not so black and white. I watched John Kerry’s famous 1971 testimony before the SFRC with wonder and in tears.  I borrowed The New Soldier from the library and tried to imagine how these returning soldiers had felt, in an America that couldn’t begin to understand what they had seen and felt in Vietnam. After the election, I saw Winter Soldier and wept anew for these young men who so courageously looked inward at the nightmare that wouldn’t let them rest.

Discovering more about this tragic era of our country’s history opened up far more than just a window on the past.  I began to understand the savagery of the Republicans’ opposition to John Kerry’s candidacy.  It stretched back in an unbroken line to Nixon and the fear that administration felt for this young, articulate, principled and honest veteran.  I saw that a lifelong commitment to simple truth terrified many, reminding me of the incredible power of truth.  John O’Neill and the Swiftboat Liars, the ruthless and childish Rove and Cheney, the unproven, unconscionable smears of Kerry’s honorable service, all traced their heritage back to Nixon’s fear of the simple truth.

The more I learned about the past, the more I began to understand the present — how the war in Iraq was not only uncannily like the war in Vietnam, but linked to it by players who had left office in shame and were now resurrected, how these same men, none of whom had served, were sending another generation of young Americans to their death, how another corrupt and power-hungry administration was using fear and lies and hate to divide and silence our country. 

From John Kerry, I learned about religion.  In a time when zealots from every major religion are taking power using weapons of fear and prejudice, I saw his example of a personal faith based on humility and compassion and understood that there were many others who quietly live their faith the way he does, without judging others.  Although I am not religious, I grew to respect the power of spiritual commitment. 

So now I viewed soldiers and people of faith without bias, as human beings.  Sure didn’t see that coming.  Maybe there were other assumptions I had seen as inevitable which might need questioning.  John Kerry had spent his life listening to other points of view before making up his mind.  That began to seem like a good way to approach and communicate with those different from me.  Don’t get me wrong, I still stand with labor and the underdog, but now I take a little more time to discover the complexities of any situation.

Like many Americans, I had absorbed a cynical view of politics and politicians from our culture.  In fact, I had paid little attention to anything political, other than voting in every election and supporting the Democratic presidential nominee.  When I began to research Kerry’s political career and achievements, I learned that politics can be about actual ideals of service and hope. That “reporting for duty” is not at all something to be ridiculed, but rather a dedication to others that goes soul-deep.  I saw that John Kerry and other politicians of principle really do work hard every day, with no media attention and little public understanding, to make our country a better place to live, for all of our people. I learned that patriotism doesn’t have to be empty and jingoistic, as I’d always thought — that it can be noble, a true regard for democratic ideals and a vision of what America can be at her best.

Because of all that I have learned from and through John Kerry, I am a better, stronger, more thoughtful and tolerant person than I was.  Though I have only begun to learn from life, I thank him for his example and for inspiring me to keep learning.