This is the first of a three part series on our politics as an American community. This week will focus on the American ideal, followed by a discussion of "gotcha" politics, and concluding with a call for personal introspection.

I begin today with a disclaimer: despite the soaring rhetoric of this post's title, I fully recognize that I'm simply just a guy, talking to simply a you, with no insights or knowledge any better or more enlightened than what you already know and think. I merely want to share over these next three entries what a sense of community means to me, what that means for our politics, and hope that where you may disagree, perhaps you give some of this world view a chance yourself.

OK, with that out of the way, let me begin with four stories: 

In 2011, my fifty-six year-old mother, fresh out of teaching and into retirement, was diagnosed with ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig's disease.  It is a vile, wretched death sentence that forces family members to slowly watch their loved ones physically wither away, sound minds trapped in a slowly failing body. On average, once diagnosed patients are expected to live three to five years. She ultimately made it through four and a half.  

In those first few months after her diagnosis, we struggled to come to terms with what this meant for our future.  The dreams of watching her enjoy her grandchildren faded away, a distant fantasy of what could never be.  The pain of knowing that she wouldn't be there to help stitch together some torn clothing, or provide advice on how best to cook that special meal.  And most importantly to us, and to her, knowing that despite all her years of selflessly giving to others, her time of service was quickly coming to an end.

Wanting to do something, anything, we decided on hosting a fundraiser to raise money for ALS research and services.  Over the remainder of her life, my mother greatly benefited from equipment and services that were provided cheaply or entirely free of charge, and we felt it was only fair to help others in the same situation.  We settled on a spaghetti dinner with raffles to be held at the Sharon Spring Fire Department.

After much hard work and coordination that summer, the dinner was held in late September, and the turnout was remarkable.  This little town of only a few thousand people raised over $25,000 in ticket sales, raffles, and donations. The outpouring of support and love was overwhelming.  While I knew logically that mom had touched so many lives over her thirty years of teaching, I never quite grasped how far that reach extended.  Or, more appropriately, just how large her community was. 

* * *

Every year in that same fire house, that same community gets together to buy some deliciously cooked steaks in support of the fire department, helping to generate funding to continue to upgrade the ability of the volunteer firefighters and first responders to do their important work.  They do this even though the department itself receives taxpayer funding, in large part because the fire department is reflective of the community: it is our brothers and uncles and neighbors that sacrifice themselves and their time for the greater good of the community.

And it's not just those closely impacted by the work of the department.  There's almost a ritual to the event, with volunteers from neighboring fire districts coming and sharing their support in solidarity.  The Sharon Springs volunteers, in turn, do the same when the other departments host their fundraisers.  The camaraderie and care for the important work that they all do is an adhesive that binds them all together.

* * *

Late on a cold February night in 2007, just a few miles down the road, those fire departments responded to a massive blaze that took everything with it (though thankfully no individuals were present or injured).  The victim? The Town of Root's highway garage, and with it all the trucks and equipment necessary to plow and clear the roads of snow and ice in winter, still in full swing.  At the time, I happened to still be Town Supervisor.

It was a long, hard few weeks in the aftermath.  Trying to coordinate with other towns to come in and make sure our roads were safe, since we no longer owned any trucks capable of doing the work.  Working through the insurance claim, looking hard at our budget reserves, and trying to figure out what resources we would have going forward.  Developing a plan for building a new garage and purchasing new vehicles in time for the following winter, which was only a mere 9 months away.

A few months later, a very helpful entrepreneur in a neighboring town offered to host a fundraiser weekend to help support the town, headlined by a BBQ and outdoor concert.  Up to this point, the community understanding and support had been phenomenal, and we were well on our way to to rebuilding the department using all the resources already at our disposal, including taxes that we had already been collecting.  Despite his generous offer and a lot of work, the weekend was sparsely attended and very little funding was raised.

* * *

During my senior year of high school, we had to take a required half credit Health course.  The textbook we used was this old late 80s/early 90s (I graduated in 2000) book of various academic exercises.  The one that has stuck with me all these years later was the "Board of Directors." The idea was simple: imagine yourself as a company, and pick out the twelve most important people who you would consider as your board of directors, and provide examples for why their influence is so important to you operation as this human company.

I was annoyed.  Hubris got the best of me.  I blistered at the idea that I needed to give recognition to such a large number of other people for all the things that I had accomplished through my own hard work.  I'd spent countless hours studying, reading, traveling to conferences, running for office in student organizations at the state and national levels, and still managing to stay atop of my class.  Certainly my parents were a big influence in providing me with those opportunities, but aside from them my success was a product of my own exceptionalism.

I struggled to come up with twelve examples, and would have preferred to refuse outright.  But, being the good student that I always was, I cobbled together five or six people and made up some BS reasons why they influenced me, while barely believing my own insincere rhetoric. 

I don't remember if Mr. McClure convinced me to change my mind on the spot, or if it was something that simmered in the back of my mind in the days/weeks/years to come.  Whatever the case, I eventually came to understand just how wrong I was.  I was not the person I had become because of my work at all; I truly was a compilation of pieces of others that I had collected over the years, mixing together with my own special sauce that made me be me. 

Grandpa Cechnicki, and his example of honorable and dedicated public service. Grandpa Brown, and the dignity of a lifetime of difficult but rewarding dairy farm work.  My parents, providing vast opportunities for their kids while also finding ways to be entrepreneurs atop of their regular day jobs.  Mrs. Savoca, and the single conversation that turned me on a dime from interest in a career in space sciences to one in politics.  Mr. McClure, for helping me understand the complexities of party politics, and the ability, and sometimes duty, to be able to disagree with certain ideas without abandoning the whole altogether.  Father Tom, for an understanding of the Gospel rooted in love and care for one another.  The list goes on, and continues to grow.

I was who I was as a result my interactions with the community around me, growing as a person with each new interaction. 

Social Capital And Voluntary vs. Forced Compassion

There is this idea of "social capital," that just as traditional capital flows as the grease that makes our economy run smoothly, so too is there a flow of relationships that make our society stronger and more caring.  There is a great deal of literature on the topic, but the works of Alexis de Tocqueville and Robert Putnam received a lot of interest and discussion throughout the course of the 2016 election season, and I highly recommend them.

For this discussion, I think we can look at how we generate and spend social capital as it falls into two key areas--how we operate our political system and how we interact with one another.  As the stories above demonstrate--and certainly you can think of examples in your own life--the social capital of how we interact with one another actually works pretty well.  When high school students are selling candy bars or car washes to raise money for a trip, we gladly chip in. When our neighbor is stricken with a costly medical condition, we do what we can to help ease their family's burden.  There is a spirit of America that is rooted in our early heritage, where the success of the community in surviving winters or wilderness or war depended solely on our ability to work together.

Despite that willingness in our personal interactions, when it comes to our political system, as a collective we are less open and quick to open our hearts--likely because we are being forced to open our wallets.  When we devote our time and treasure to causes we believe in, the only limits are our personal economic situations.  But when the government takes our money and puts it into laudable causes--even those that we might contribute to ourselves--we have a greater tendency to bristle a bit.  That is our money, we worked hard to earn it.  We owe nothing to others that have contributed nothing to my personal development.

A dose of healthy skepticism is important in allocating taxpayers money.  But making sure that funds are not wasted is not the same as a blanket rejection of the idea of a good for the community.  What we need more of is a view of public policy through the lens of connecting the community, and not just creating winners and losers.  Because the truth is the idea of winners and losers is a complicated one--we are so interconnected with one another that we benefit from others efforts in ways that we will never fully understand or appreciate. 

American Exceptionalism

I hope these stories show us how we are a fundamentally good society and care about others; but in the face of forced sharing we pour out our hearts less, and despite our real and perceived exceptionalism, we are actually the sum of pieces of other lives we carry with us.

We are not an exceptional people solely because of our skill or work ethic or natural resources.  We are exceptional, in large part, because we have advanced our society as a family. 

We are all those things that make us the greatest society in the history of the world because of the community that supports it. Rather than sniping at one another over the scraps, we have instead always built with one another to achieve greater things. 

The reality is that we are better off because we are together.  We live and work in ways that can't be separated, and we should try to embrace those interconnections as much as possible.

Maybe that's a naive belief in an unreality.  But it is the belief in achieving unrealities that is the hallmark of our progress.  We couldn't put astronauts on the moon without believing it first.  We couldn't eradicate a disease like small pox or polio without first believing we could.  We couldn't create all the amazing and important things that exist in the 21st century without first believing they could be made.  Our dreams are what make the unreal real.

And so now it is time to step back and dream of our communities, of what they can and should be.  Maybe, just maybe, we can start to fix our politics.

Epilogue 

Today would would have been my mom's 62nd birthday, and I've spent a lot of time thinking about how much of her spirit flows through my personal sense of community.  I had not particularly focused on it at the time, but in looking back, I recently discovered that a few lines from the song used in our mother-son dance at my wedding almost perfectly encapsulates this idea of community she imbued in me:  

I hope you never look back, but you never forget,
All the ones who love you, in the place you live,
I hope you always forgive, and you never regret,
And you help somebody every chance you get,
Oh, you find God's grace, in every mistake,
And always give more than you take.