Thanks, Mr. Obama.

I made some idle mention, in class the other day, about the Presidential race and my opposition to John McCain (cf. "Asshole" below). Three of my students expressed disagreement -- one who stated that I was wrong and McCain should definitely be our next President, and two that said, jokingly, that surely I couldn't support Obama; one of them held up a fist and said, "Nobama!" as if it were a rational argument, a statement of a political position. And in this country, perhaps it is.

It certainly passed for a valid point among my students. For you see, I teach children. Sometimes I feel as though I teach very small children who need to be spanked and put down for a nap, but even when they are at their best, they are still children. Children don't have political opinions. Children have very few opinions of their own, period; this is readily apparent when you ask them to justify the preferences they express.

To clarify the terms as I'm using them: the difference between an opinion and a preference is in the reasoning. An opinion is made by the thought behind it, by the answers one can give when asked to explain the opinion. A preference, however, has no reasons behind it, no logic, no evidence to support it; it's just a feeling one has.

When I talk to my students about what they books they like, for instance -- a topic ripe for an opinion -- it goes like this:
"What's your favorite book?"
"The Outsiders."
"What did you like about it?"
(Somewhere inside the true answer -- because it is the easiest book in the world to read, at least the easiest that is ever part of a school assignment -- is rejected as being too honest [A fatal flaw in our schools is that we never reward honesty, but this is true of most of society] and another answer is sought for -- and remains lost in the morass of thoughts about food, sex, and sleep. And sex.)
"Uh, because it has a lot of action."
"What's good about a book with action?"
"It's not boring."
"Why not?"
"Because it keeps your attention."
"What about it keeps your attention?"
"Well, because, um, because a lot of things happen and they are exciting and you just want to keep reading to find out what happens next." [Translation: it keeps your attention and it's not boring.]

And continue until interrogator or interrogated gives up. I have conversations like this every day, so believe me: children do not have opinions. And for those people who object to this statement, because THEIR children have opinions -- they prefer chocolate ice cream to vanilla, and they like Belle WAY more than Ariel -- you're wrong, and asking them to justify those opinions will prove it just as it has with my students. Chocolate over vanilla and Belle over Ariel are preferences; they are decisions based only on a feeling, with no analyzable thought process behind them. Everybody has preferences; my pet iguana, she of the six brain cells (who spends part of every day digging at the plexiglass walls of her terrarium, because someday she'll find the way out. Hasn't worked in the eight years she's been in the same terrarium, but she keeps trying [Apt metaphor for the Republican Party, don't you think? Maybe they should replace the elephant.].), prefers scrambled eggs to mealworms, and I'm pretty sure she likes Belle more than Ariel, too. There comes a stage in life when people learn to change some of their preferences into, or replace them with, opinions; we learn to analyze, understand, and justify these opinions in ways we could not analyze, understand, or justify the preferences (It is somewhat unfair to ask people to justify opinions on the spot, but I have also given my students time to write a response to these sorts of questions and their answers don't improve; the spelling just gets worse). But this change doesn't generally happen until the end of high school and the subsequent years of actual life experience (Excepting those who go into sports or join frats, of course, both of which are continuations of childhood), when one begins to realize that analysis and explanation, as respective means of understanding and justification, are far more valuable than mere preferences. Nobody listens to preferences other than the preferrer.

But if preferences are based on gut reactions, how do my students come up with political preferences? Surely politics is a topic that doesn't appeal to the visceral instincts of teenagers; after all, politics has very little to do with food, sex, or sleep. Well, not on the surface at least. But here in America the presidential campaign is part of a teenager's life, too, because of the way our society has turned it into a media hootenanny, not unlike American Idol. The campaign is a constant presence on television, a war of soundbites, and thus a water-cooler topic like no other (Though I have to observe that, in my working experience, and indeed in every working environment I have visited, I have never seen a conversation around the watercooler. We need a new metaphor for work-avoiding conversations.). These three boys expressed support for McCain or opposition to Obama because, either at home (most likely) or in church or in some other social setting, a sports team or a club or even another class, it was presented to them as the thing to do. Somebody told them that McCain is the right candidate, and Obama is the wrong candidate, and because they trusted the speaker, they accepted that judgment as valid, as absolute, as a given. When I gave them an opportunity by mentioning the election, they repeated the judgment they were told to repeat, and because nobody wants to be a parrot -- or at least, nobody wants to admit to it (There's that honesty problem again) -- they expressed it as if it were their own opinion, but had I asked them to explain their reasoning, as I am wont to do but didn't in this instance, I would have received the same sorts of answers I have always received when I ask about the underpinnings of their political stances: further proof that they are children, and that children do not have opinions. They say they do, because they have been taught for years that everyone has the right to his opinion, that once you clearly state something is your opinion the other person can't question it any more but has to accept you at your word. After all, you can't disprove an opinion, and therefore you shouldn't question an opinion; they see the phrase, "That's my opinion," or "That's just MY opinion" as a conversation-stopper, as the perfect way to head off any argument. Kind of like yelling "Did not infinity!" was supposed to preclude any rejoinders of "Did too!" Arguments over preferences, which is what these boys have, inevitably descend to that same sort of back-and-forth: Nobama! Mc-Ain't! Nobama! Mc-Ain't! Nobama infinity! Mc-Ain't infinity plus one!

Notice how that idea precludes any desire to analyze and understand one's own opinions, or the opinions of anyone else. You don't need to question an opinion, because everyone has the right to an opinion and opinions, because they are subjective, are never wrong; as long as you say it's your opinion, nobody can question its truth or its value or its logic. Which is, of course, why I do it. It really irritates them when I question their "opinions." It's even worse when I tell them their opinions are wrong. Sometimes I do that just to watch their jaws drop in outrage. I think it's amusing. But that's just my opinion. And, in my further opinion, here's the reason that I question their opinions, and the reason I am denying them the word "opinion," reducing their choices to preferences: an opinion needs to be a statement of a position that can be, if not proven, at least supported with evidence and logic that one's interlocutor can understand. If someone asks you why you think chocolate is better than vanilla, and all you can say is, "I like it better," or something along the lines of, "The tiny little cow in my stomach moos brown, not white," then you cannot support your opinion, and it is only a preference. If, however, you can explain that chocolate to you seems the smoother and less complex taste, which fits better with ice cream in your mind as ice cream is a relaxing food, meant to be cool and refreshing, then maybe you have an opinion. If the person you're talking to believes in the tiny stomach cow, too, maybe you'd be better off using that argument. If, even after a reasonable amount of time for consideration, you cannot explain, not even to yourself, why you like something, then it is your preference, not your opinion -- and if you present it as your opinion, then your opinion is wrong. Just like my pro-McCain students.

Of course, the fact that these children do not have justifications, and thus do not have opinions, is fairly unimportant: these children can not vote. That being the case, they can chant slogans until their tongues dry out and stick to their teeth, and no harm will come of it; maybe a few will even be inspired to look into politics and perhaps even find some opinions of their own (As a side note to my school's administration, however: this is rare. Most people are not inspired to educate themselves by the presence of hooting and hollering crowds. Now extrapolate that to your belief that pep rallies are educational experiences. WOO! Go Lions! See how that doesn't make you want to go learn something new?). The problem is that this situation, the concealment of a missing opinion under a blanket of slogans and the mindless parroting of a few key phrases, is not exclusive to children.

No, in fact, this has become a tried and true part of the American political landscape. The last decade has seen the rise of grass-roots Republican campaigns. The foundation of that rise, and the resulting appointment and election of George W. Bush, has rested squarely on the faulty idea that unthinking preferences and parroted judgments are the same as honest opinions. If my fundamentalist pastor tells me that Obama is the anti-Christ, or that Kerry was a flip-flopper, or that Gore was a liar who worked with an adulterer, then that becomes my belief. Not my opinion, but my belief, in the same sense that children believe that the tooth fairy replaces their lost incisor with a quarter (Side note to people who give their kids anything more than a dollar for a tooth: what the hell is the matter with you?) -- naively, innocently, without thought or understanding. Someone I trust told me so, so now I repeat what I was told. And so I put Nobama stickers in my window and I answer polls with statements like, "George Bush is the kind of guy you'd want to have a beer with. That Kerry guy just looks like Frankenstein. Besides, he's boring." And, of course, I vote GOP. This is exactly the same urge to conform, to follow the guidance of a trusted leader, that makes all teenagers say The Outsiders was their favorite book and wear clothes from Abercrombie and Fitch. I have a preference, a gut reaction, which is further refined and molded by people who exploit that urge to follow the crowd and give me what seem like justifications for it but aren't -- like, just as a random example, the thought that it's a bad idea to vote for Obama because his middle name is Hussein. You know, like that Saddam guy? -- and it is defined for me, by those same manipulative people who gave me the faulty, illogical-but-viscerally-tempting justifications for it, as an opinion: the thing to which everyone is entitled, and which nobody can say is wrong.

On the other hand, what's the problem here? What's so wrong about having preferences instead of opinions? Isn't it okay to "go with your gut," to trust your instincts and just do what feels right, whether or not you can analyze and synthesize the basis and explanation of your opinions? Sure, that's fine, if all you're looking to do is decide what to have for dinner, or what TV show to watch, or whether to nap in the hammock or on the couch. Of course, even those activities are liable to cause problems in the long run if one continues to act unthinkingly when faced with them: McDonald's has made billions, and damaged the health of billions in the process, by offering food that appeals to an unthinking hungry person, and our instinctive choices in television watching have given us the last decade's worth of reality shows, culminating in scripted reality shows (One of the most gloriously and unabashedly oxymoronic postmodern concepts I know. It completely contradicts itself. Twice. Think about that.). But in the short term, there's nothing wrong with following your gut, if and when the negative consequences of the decision won't last any longer than an episode of The Hills.

Following your gut without thinking becomes a problem, however, when the negative consequences can potentially go on for months, or years, or even the rest of your life -- or, worst of all, when the consequences can bring the end of your life closer to the present moment. Smoking, for instance. I, like most smokers, started the habit because of a momentary, unthinking impulse; I wanted a cigarette, so I asked my friend for one and he gave it to me. Then I liked it, so on another occasion, I wanted to smoke again, and I did so. Fifteen years and tens of thousands of dollars later, I managed to quit, largely because I have a wonderful and supportive wife. The difference between those two decisions -- the one to start smoking and the one to stop smoking -- was that one of them was considered and analyzed and rational, and one of them was instinctive, unthinking, based on my innate desires. And, of course, one of them was a good decision, and the other was not.

Back to politics. George Bush was presented to us in 2000 as an instinctive guy, a down-home, folksy kind of fella, a guy who went with his gut; Gore was cerebral, highly educated, intelligent, well-spoken -- all of the other traits, all the things that Bush wasn't. And half of America's voting public picked the gut guy rather than the brain guy, and the most reasonable assumption is that they made that decision because they went with their gut, too. They didn't think. They were offered slogans and catchphrases, soundbites and images that appealed not to a thinking person, but to one's gut: Gore said he created the Internet (He didn't.). Gore was close to Clinton, who cheated and lied. Gore sounds boring when he talks. Bush has a friendly smile, a friendly laugh; he cracks jokes, he tells little homilies and anecdotes about bein' a good ol' boy from Texas. And, of course, they were told by people they trusted -- their pastors, their favorite radio show hosts, and their newspeople down at Fox -- that Bush was a reasonable choice for President -- no, pardon me; they were told that Bush was the good choice for President, that he was the right choice for President. They weren't interested in the reasonable choice, which was never George Bush. They were offered several influences, several small pieces of information that helped to create a preference -- one of those impulsive, capricious decisions for one thing over another, for chocolate over vanilla, for cigarettes over another order of Silver Dollar pancakes -- a preference that was then dressed up in a tux and called an opinion. So, without thinking, without questioning, they believed what they were told, accepted pretty much any justification that came from what they saw as a valid source as long as that justification worked well in making their preference seem like an opinion (Why wouldya vote fer a guy named Hoo-ssein? That there's one o' them terrorist names, ayuh.). They allowed their guts to make the decision for them, went with impulsive preference over considered opinion and they voted for George W. Four years later they were given exactly the same choice, between a gut guy and a brain guy, and again, they voted the same way -- except this time, there was actually a genuine majority, and so there was no cheating or lying or grossly Machiavellian deception involved in determining the outcome of the election.

Now, in 2008, we are, yet again, offered the same choice: a gut guy, or a brain guy. But there's something unusual about this one. It's unusual because Barack Obama is not, like Al Gore or John Kerry, a somewhat detached and cerebral speaker; he is an inspiring and moving speaker. He actually appeals to one's gut. John McCain, however, is not attractive to the gut; he doesn't look friendly when he smiles, he isn't a naturally charismatic man, he's got some slimy bits in his past -- most particularly his divorce from his first wife. He is, however, extremely intelligent, well-educated, and carries decades of experience in politics and leadership. This means that John McCain should be a brain guy, and Barack Obama should be a gut guy. But wait: Barack Obama is extraordinarily intelligent and exceptionally well-educated; when he speaks he sounds erudite and thoughtful, because he is. His ideas and plans come out of long consideration of the underlying causes of the problems in this country today, and a careful analysis of the most severe, and the most readily solved problems. The things he wants to do as President are not things he merely feels are right (Like, say, attacking a country that feels like a bad guy despite all reasonable arguments to the contrary, or refusing to give up a pointless war because it feels like a defeat, and defeat feels bad, or maybe opposing a person's freedom of choice because it feels nice to be self-righteous and judgmental and my minister told me it was the right thing to do -- but I'm just throwing out random ideas, here.), but things he thinks are right. Obama, therefore, should be a brain guy too. Wherever one's preference lies, either candidate could anchor the orbit of a reasonably supported opinion.

Now if only we could actually use that as the basis of the election. If only the debate that took place on September 26 could have featured two intelligent men discussing the similarities and differences between their views. If only it could have been what it had the potential to be -- a re-enactment, in a way, of the Lincoln-Douglas debates, between a brilliant newcomer and a savvy and capable veteran, where the exchange of ideas, sharpened and clarified through the genuine use of rhetoric as a means of matching one's words to one's thoughts, and matching both to the understanding of the audience. If only the votes of the American people could be won only through reason and argument, considered and logical discussion and analysis of the problems and a careful and cohesive synthesis of one's ideas and opinions, and the reasons behind them.

But it can't be. Because that isn't what we Americans want. We don't like to think about our opinions; we'd rather just have preferences. We'd rather just parrot the statements of others, repeat the things that are told to us as unquestioned truth by those we trust (largely because they have told us that everything they say is unquestioned truth, so that means everything they say must be unquestioned truth. Sort of like the Bible. No, wait -- exactly like the Bible, which is the word of God because it says it's the word of God, and you can't question the word of God when it's telling you it's the word of God.), especially those that make us laugh, or make us feel good about ourselves, or that are easy to remember -- like "Nobama," or "Hockey Moms are like Pitbulls With Lipstick."

Here's the saddest thing, and it's the reason I wanted to write about this this week -- though I seem to have gotten off onto a different topic or three. I don't think Americans want to do this any more. I don't believe that Americans are looking for a gut guy. The gut guy got us where we are now, and where we are now is a truly horrible place. It's a lot like how I felt right before I quit smoking, I think, and for exactly the same reason: America made a decision that felt right at the time, without thinking about the long term consequences, because when we made the decision we didn't want to think about stuff -- and then the stuff we didn't think about just sat there and festered until we couldn't avoid thinking about it any more, when we started coughing up hunks of nasty stuff and choking on it.

I think as a nation, we're ready to think again, about our politics, about world affairs, about the role of government in our society, about our values as a people and the actions we should take and the actions we should avoid in order to adhere to those values. I think we're tired of just listening to our gut. We've grown past adolescence, at least with the current electorate if not the nation as a whole (Because the nation as a whole seems more interested, still, in keg stands than good wine, in Pixy Stix more than salad, in Playboy bunnies more than women and in Ashton Kutcher more than men.) and we're ready to have considered, reasonable opinions. And this election could have been a time when that happened, when two intelligent men led us in a discussion of ideas, a debate between mindful, thoughtful worldviews, which might have led to a truly good decision, based on reasonable opinions. I think this because in all of the polls I have seen concerning the debate between Senator Obama and Senator McCain, most people think Obama won.

He did win. He was on point, he was able to respond directly to challenge with reasonable rejoinders. Everything he said sounded like a prepared statement, even when it wasn't, which means he was simply saying out loud things he has already thought about, and thought about a lot. Every time he was asked to respond to a specific issue, he did so; he had a point he wanted to make and he made it. In addition, he came off as the better man, since he was willing to speak directly to Senator McCain, to look directly at Senator McCain, and to yield the floor to his opponent or to allow the moderator to change the subject, rather than continuing to talk and simply growing louder when anyone else tried to interrupt or cut him off. He was gracious and reasonable, stating clearly and emphatically that he agreed with John McCain on some issues and disagreed with him on others, and giving McCain the respect he deserves -- more respect, I think, than I am capable of giving him. But that's good, because my president should be a better person than I am. I think Barack Obama is, and he showed it in the debate.

McCain did not. McCain was rude and dismissive, argumentative and obnoxious, refusing to look at Senator Obama or speak directly to him even when prompted to by the moderator or obligated to by common courtesy. He did not answer the questions he was given, sticking instead to a few simplified -- and deceptive and manipulative -- arguments that could then be boiled down to easy soundbites: $932 million in pork barrel spending. We will leave Iraq with victory and honor. You don't sit down with leaders of rogue states, because it gives them legitimacy in the world stage. I reach across the aisle. I don't have a seal yet. He continued speaking over Obama and over the moderator, both of whom were polite enough to stop and let McCain have the floor. Basically, he came off as a doddering simpleton and pretty much a bullying asshole.

And here's the sad part. I don't think he did that because he wanted to. I think he did what he was told b y his political advisors, who gave him certain pieces of advice because their cynical strategy is based on what worked in the last two elections: be the gut guy. Pick a pretty woman for running mate, because it appeals to the guts of a lot of America (Even though it appeals to not a single brain in the world.). Don't look at Obama, don't talk to him, don't EVER agree with him; he is to seem, to the guts of those watching you, like your enemy. Talk about stupid things that can be repeated and repeated, over and over and over again, not unlike the classic phrase, "Polly want a cracker." Talk about the bracelet you got from the mother of a dead soldier, and the good ol' Americans you meet all the time, the salt of the earth (Wipe away small tear of sincerity). Smile a lot, even though it makes you look like a deranged troll. It worked for Reagan, it worked for George W. Bush, so it will work for you. And after the debate, it continued: the pundits and analysts, no less cynical and no less controlled by past public opinion as it is described by -- well, by them, really, the analysts and media men and political advisors -- described the debate as a tie, with no clear winner. Because Obama, they said, was the brain guy, and McCain, they said, was the gut guy. I heard one GOP analyst say it specifically: Obama came off as the one you'd want in a Harvard debate, and McCain was the one you'd want in a street fight. It's up to the American people, he said, to decide which of those they want.

What an incredible, unbelievable, preposterous thing to say. First of all, John McCain is 72 years old and cannot raise his arms above his shoulders; this is not the man you want on your side in a street fight. Secondly, being an inconsiderate and repetitive twerp does not make you seem tough and tenacious -- you seem like a twerp. But since he is being cast as the gut guy, that has to be the analysis. And since the people in the know are determined to repeat the same tired, trite old saws from past elections (Because that is the formula that has worked in the past, and so it is the way they keep their jobs, by knowing the formula and following the formula and convincing everyone involved that the formula still works), determined to fit this election into the mold of 2000 and 2004 -- gut guy versus brain guy -- the analysis has to focus only on those qualities. So Obama was intelligent, but weak -- brain guy -- and McCain was tough, if kinda dumb -- gut guy.

Way back at the beginning of this, I started talking about my students and their preferences. Most of my students don't have opinions. They follow their guts, they listen to their instincts and feelings; they are not interested in analyzing and discovering their ideas and their beliefs, and how those more intellectual, more emotional sides interact with the more instinctive and visceral sides of our basic personalities to create our opinions, the opinions we hold, the opinions that are concrete, and tangible, because they have the weight of reason and evidence within them. Most American voters, over the last decade, have been largely the same. The parallels go beyond this, however, and through those parallels we reach the place I wanted to take this writing, the place we need to go as a country and as a people.

My students, like all teenagers, have the potential to cross a line, to become something more than what they are now and what they have been up until this point in their lives. I can see it, because there are those among my students who have reached this watershed moment a little earlier than others, and so in some cases I can watch the transformation happen. It is a moment when "I dunno" ceases to be a reasonable answer, when their glib responses, echoed from comedians and talk shows and parents and preachers and teachers, no longer satisfy, when their peers and they themselves demand something more in support of a stated contention. It is a moment of opportunity, and thus it is also a moment of vulnerability, because the opportunity to move forward and grow can be turned aside and lost, sometimes forever. As a teacher, I have some influence over the direction of this crucial moment; I can encourage them to think and become opinionated, or I can crush them down into -- well, even though I'm not a Pink Floyd fan, I can crush them down until they are just bricks in the wall, mumbling "We don't need no education" in vague unison. It all depends on how I treat their opinions. If I take either of the easy routes available to me, either accept whatever preference they state as an opinion with a weight equal to any other, or simply refuse to acknowledge that they can have any opinions at all, then I will do them harm, I will do harm to their ability to form and defend, and understand and change, their opinions. If, however, I carry out my duty, my responsibility as a representative of reason and thought and the beauty of the human mind, then I can help them find their way to their opinions, and thus to their independence and perhaps even their glory. And the very best way that I can do this is to stand as a model, myself, to present to them my opinions, to give them my beliefs and ideas, my reasons and evidence, and to show them that opinions can and should have weight, can and should be more than preferences leading a train of blank looks and shrugs like tin cans on strings.

The same holds true for those who can lead the American people at this moment of potential, and of vulnerability. Our candidates can stand for us as representatives of, as cliche as it sounds, truth and justice and the American way -- that American way that led to the Constitution, not the American way that led to Yukon Denalis and McFlurries -- and help all of us (well, maybe not all of us -- I hold out little hope for the members of the Constitution Party) find a better way to think about politics and society and our role in those institutions. Or, they can show us through their actions that what we think doesn't matter; all that matters is what we feel in our guts, and that we listen to what we're told, that all we try to hear, rather than our own thoughts and words and ideas, is our masters' voice. And just as my administrators often try to push me to the easy path, the tried-and-true formula that gets a specific result that isn't the right result but is an easy result -- in my case, it is called Teaching to the Test, and though they never use those words (The horror! The horror!) it is the fundamental tenet of educational philosophy today -- the pundits and the experts try to push our candidates, our leaders, into following the cynical path, the easy path. The gut path, the path that requires no brains and thus helps to ruin what brains we have, allows them to atrophy as we crack another can of beer with our best friend (and Sarah Palin's), Joe Sixpack. It's a path that leads nowhere but to a couch in front of a television set, and chains made of debt and social pressure to conform. It's the wrong path.

And in the end, the most inspiring thing about Barack Obama is, right or wrong, win or lose, whether his political ideas will help or harm this country, at least Barack Obama had the faith in us to tell us what he thought, to give us his opinions, and thus, symbolically at least, to ask for ours. By talking to us as if we have a mind, he helps us find that mind, he shows that he believes that we can find our minds, our ideas, and begin to use them, rather than our gut reactions and the biting sound of our masters' voice, to make our decisions. The pundits commenting after the debate said that his political advisors -- their peers and colleagues in cynicism and lazy manipulation of lazy Americans -- would take issue with his behavior in the debate, that they would be angry at him for being reasonable and polite, for treating his opponent and his audience as rational, considerate people. I'm sure they were mad at him, but I, for one, appreciate the compliment.