Symbolism and Tribalism

Originally, I had a much different post compiled for today. Barring some incredible circumstance, I was poised to share some thoughts with you today about Political Action Plans and how to consider the timing of your advocacy efforts. Well, then something incredible happened – and you all probably couldn’t escape the news of it in the last 12+ hours.

At the risk of simply becoming white noise at this point, I’m going to share a few thoughts with you here. I hope you’ll forgive the tangent, but I also hope that you’ll grant that it was a necessary pause.

You see, the US Capitol building has, for many years, played a pretty central role in my daily life. Not in the same sense as those who live and work in DC, I can’t claim that level of connection to it. However, working in federal level politics for more than a decade now, and having sworn an oath as a Marine Officer, the Capitol has certainly played an outsized symbolic role in my life when compared to many.

I can almost remember my first visit to the Hill. I say almost because no thirty-five year old should have a crystal clear memory of their 8th grade class trip to Washington, DC. But I do have incredibly vivid recollections of that trip. I recall one of our teacher’s calling in a special favor to a Senate staffer friend and getting our class onto the Senate floor. I also remember the moment that staffer let me sit at then Senator Mike DeWine’s desk. That was the moment I really fell in love with the traditions of American politics.

But I have a much more vivid memory of the Capitol, one that stands apart from the countless times I’ve walked through the Rotunda, or roamed the tunnels between legislative office buildings. I’d dare to say it’s more clearly defined in my mind than the times I’ve been able to stand on the Speaker’s balcony and take in the sweeping views of our capital city. It was actually a time when I couldn’t go into the Capitol complex at all, after hours, and during an August recess.

On August 10, 2007, my Officer Candidate class graduated from the first stage of Marine Officer Training, known as Officer Candidate School (OCS). OCS is located at Marine Corps Base Quantico, just a short drive from Washington, DC. As you can imagine, graduating from OCS is a fairly special moment, made all the more so by having your family there to join in the spectacle. For me, the night after graduation carried another treasure because that night I was able to take my dad on his very first trip to Washington.

It wasn’t ideal. First and foremost, it was AUGUST in DC and that meant a special level of sweltering humidity. Secondly, we only had one night to be in DC so we could be back on the road to Columbus and home for a short leave between OCS and my next round of training. But Washington, DC is a city that truly never sleeps. It’s a character trait that I adore in our nation’s capital and abhor basically anywhere else but Rome.

Ideal or not, there we were – fueled up on cheap-ish cheeseburgers and trekking from our hotel to the National Mall so I could show my dad a handful of our national monuments.

It was incredible to be in this position. I’d say that usually, children don’t have many opportunities to see their parents in a state of wide-eyed wonder. The role reversal wasn’t as apparent to me then as it is now that I’m a parent myself; but even then, I realized my dad was feeling a sense of awe that I’m pleased to know still resonates with me every time I jog around the Mall while in DC on business.

There’s a magnitude to the Washington monument that you’d be hard pressed to describe when seeing it for the first time. A nearly crushing sense of solemnity confronts you at the war memorials and while standing at Lincoln’s feet, reading his great charges to our nation. The ethereal quality of the reflecting pool at night can bring the most loquacious of visitors to a reverent, pensive silence. And then, after walking East along the length of the Mall, you arrive at the base of the Capitol complex and are enveloped in a majesty unique to our republic.

Taken at face value, the marble, steel and concrete of the Capitol building don’t stand out among national monuments. I’ve been to enough national capitals that I’ve lost count – each has their awe inspiring sight or experience. Building-for-building, I’d not be surprised if foreign visitors look down their nose at the seat of our legislature. But that’s just it, our Capitol building isn’t just brick and mortar. It stands as a physical embodiment of ideals – ideals that remain unique in human history.

That August night in 2007, my dad and I started walking around the Capitol grounds taking it all in. He let me rattle off my trivial facts, to a point. That point was when we moved from the House side to the Senate along the western steps of the Capitol. This is the face of the Capitol that you know from inauguration days, iconic in its role facilitating peaceful transitions of power. But that night, the western face of the Capitol assumed a new role as stage for a performance from a military band.

Here I am, standing in flip flops, jeans and a t-shirt for the first time since late May. Alongside, my dad who just witnessed me swear an oath to defend our constitution, hearing the tune of the Marine’s Hymn as I stood at attention. At the foot of the halls of Congress, where every day diverse citizens from across a vast nation, all of whom face unique challenges and experiences, come together to carry on an audacious experiment in self governance.

Yesterday’s violence at the Capitol seems to have struck a chord with so many of us. The reason is pretty simple, it flies in the face of that audacious experiment. For nearly 245 years, our nation has worked to form a more perfect union. We’ve done that through fractious, vehement debate – some of which resulted in violence. But on the whole, those 245 years of self government have yielded a society that stands at odds with the vast majority of human history.

Most of our time on this earth has been driven by tribalism. Tribalism is the easy, default, setting of our race – I and my kin will take what’s ours, and yours be damned. Acting in concert as a broader society is the much more difficult path. One which we’ve endeavored to refine for generations. What we saw yesterday was a visible backward slide into the lesser form of our beings, and it should have upset us. It should have awoken us.

From my vantage point yesterday, it seemed to have, if only momentarily. Republicans and Democrats alike called out these thugs, and their despicable actions, for exactly what they were – an assault not on a building, but on the ideals lived out within that building.

Our system is far from perfect – and as long as we remain mortal humans, it will always be. But now, on the verge of another transition of power between political rivals, we’re faced with a clear challenge. Will we shoulder the burden of living out those ideals, or will we let the institutions, buildings and our fellow citizens continue under siege.

The tribalism on display yesterday is not new. We’ve accepted it in dribs and drabs, gradually buying into cults of personality masquerading as ideologies. We’ve allowed strong men to let us rest on our laurels and recuse ourselves from the process of citizenship. We’ve accepted a falsehood that because someone “votes for the other guy” that we are not beholden to engaging with those fellow countrymen to build better solutions for the problems we face.

Now, more than ever, we owe ourselves an elevation in our national discourse. When I think back to that night in August 2007, I think of the immense weight my dad and I both felt in that moment and never talked about. In the years since, I’ve been placed in positions where I can engage in the process. Now, more than ever, I feel committed to furthering our audacious national experiment.

I hope, as you’ve read this, that you’ve been able to step away, just a little bit, from all of the vitriol of yesterday, and to reminisce about your own experiences in our nation’s capital region. Each of us has a role to play moving forward, participating in the long, slow (too slow) bending arc of history that Dr. King conjured in our minds. Your frustrations with the events of yesterday are a great reflection on you: you’re committed to the experiment. Now let’s work on what’s possible together.