Oscar Wilde called democracy "the bludgeoning of the people by the people for the people." I often find it hard to disagree with this appraisal. American Politics is not a game for the squeamish or tender-hearted. At best, it can be a punishing marathon, demanding untapped reserves of stamina, the hide density of a rhinocerous and an ego the size of Mount Rushmore. At worst, it becomes a scorched-earth, winner-take-all affair, justifying whatever means necessary to "win".
More often than not, politics brings our lowest qualities bubbling to the surface. Campaigns devolve into bare-knuckle, pugilistic contests, fueled by exploding emotions, suspect cash and bucketloads of quid pro quo. Not so long ago, Abe Lincoln tried to raise the level of debate, appealing to "the better angels of our nature." Evidently, those angels are on an extended sabbatical. On another continent perhaps? Or another planet? Why on earth would anyone willingly choose to enter politics?
A few years ago, some folks from my small town in Arizona asked me to run for mayor. I thanked them for the vote of confidence and I declined. I don't have the personality for the job, and I wouldn't ask my family to run the gauntlet I've just described. But I wasn't entirely happy with my answer. I felt guilty. I was concerned that our families and children were underserved by our town's government. They were being neglected because they were not being heard. Other, more strident voices prevailed because their sqeaky wheels were noisier and better organized than ours. As a businessman and a family man, I felt obligated to act.
At first, I agreed to work as communications director for the fellow who seemed to me the most empathic and able candidate of that year's crop. Soon after, when the campaign's manager bowed out for reasons of health, I assumed that role. My friends shook their heads and started writing eulogies. My candidate was a Democrat, and I a progressive Independent, in the most staunchly conservative bastion in the county. Why joust at windmills? But I didn't care about party affiliation. Naively perhaps, I thought party politics at this level was not a critical concern, just so many stodgy labels and tired old perceptions. But I was dead wrong—partisanship was alive and well in our little town, virulently so.
In truth, it became the defining challenge of our campaign. Personal ideologies and private grudges had polarized constituent groups within our community and paralyzed civil discourse. Town Council meetings, letters to the editor in our local newspaper, thousands of hyperbolic emails, even the sideline banter at our kids' soccer games—all had deteriorated into embarassing screaming matches. Stereotypes ran rampant. Before they could rehearse their talking points, candidates were automatically labeled as standard bearers for one or more irreconsilable factions. "Experts" and armchair quarterbacks bristled on every street corner and in every Internet blog. The real work of local government was being hamstrung by disruptive, partisan bickering and narrow, litmus-test disputes. I was uninitiated in this nasty pettifoggery and woefully unprepared. (more) 
