“There’s never been a colored, a Jew, a Democrat, a Yankee, a queer, or a woman as Mayor of this town and there never will be!”

I glanced up from my notes to study the odd little man in his Oshkosh overalls, Penny’s plaid shirt, knee-high Frye boots and Tom Mix hat.

His cohorts called him Red. I don’t know if he was christened that, or nicknamed for the color of his neck — but it certainly didn’t stem from embarrassment by him, or any of the men at that district Republican Committee meeting rewarding him with whistles and a rousing applause as I sat alone in the far back corner of the small auditorium, recording the  forum as a favor to the absent president of our local Republican Women’s Club.

And, all I could think was —  what luck!

I wasn’t a committee member, so I couldn’t object without risking the security of self. But I was born in the small town that hosted the first Republican convention, under the oaks on July 6, 1854. An obscure granite rock with a bruised bronze plague once sat on a tiny patch of treeless grass, three short blocks from where I spent my most mis-informative years.

Back then, the rites of passage included adopting both the religion and political party affiliation of your parents. My parents were protestant and Republican. I’m neither, but during my juvenescence, I feigned being both.

The reality is, religion and politics have never been roadblocks for me. I tend to accept that we’re all going to believe what we need to believe in order to survive our slippery slope slide from here into hereafter. However, the pretense of politics alarms me, and it is the reason I always encourage women to run for public office.

I have.

It’s easier than you think, and more satisfying than you dare to imagine.

After filling out the simple forms with the Americanized spelling of my last name and paying a nominal filing fee, I learned you aren’t required to raise money, put up signs, hand out cards, take out ads, stand on street corners in inclement weather inhaling exhaust while waving to commuters — or even to serve if elected. All of which I did not do.

Instead, I entered the citywide race for Mayor because I could. And, because I learned the Mayor was in charge of the police force that allegedly created computer software profiling every resident according to age, gender, race, religion, political affiliation, marital status and coded lifestyle.

I ran because the Mayor had the power to veto city council legislation.

I ran because the personal voting records of all residents, their addresses, and phone numbers can be made available to campaign camps via their candidate.

I ran because it’s possible for local elected officials to access sensitive census information about their neighbors. 

Ultimately, I ran to be be given equal time to speak at all candidate gatherings, lunches, forums, debates, and media interviews, followed by unlimited time to answer questions. Places where I could tell the people about the profiling, veto capability, records reality, and potential for both discrimination and profiteering to the detriment of the electorate should the information be misused by unscrupulous officials with a personal agenda to advance.

But chiefly, I ran because I was told by Party heads, “You cannot.”

“And yet,” I said, “I can.”

“You can’t run as a Republican.”

“Unless I’m registered as a Republican. Then I can.”

“It’s a nonpartisan race, so no one will know.”

“Unless it’s leaked.”

“You won’t have the backing of the Republican Party.”

Aye, and there’s the sub rosa.

Most of us like to think we’re supporting a candidate who shares our convictions and has our best interests in mind.

Go.

Run for office.

That’s when you learn it’s the Republican National Committee (RNC), the Democratic National Committee (DNC), and corporations funding them that dictates the conversation, feeds the media, and virtually runs this country in a Charlie-McCarthy-meets-Jerry-Mahoney-manner, where those connected contingents funnel all the money solicited from donors into the war chests of the candidates they’ve preselected to win.

I kid you not.

The nominees of both the RNC and DNC sign a Party platform pledge to toe the Party line, in order to receive the financial clout of the RNC, or DNC, because the chances of winning an election for those who don’t sign — even on a local level — are zip, zero, nada, nil.

And, get this: Those war chests can be used to funnel funds for phone banks to robocall citizens who have a voting history of going to the polls on odd, even, and off years. •  They can funnel funds for surveys with contrived questions for the ostensible purpose of suggesting nonexistent improprieties practiced by the opposing party. • They can funnel funds for spamming newspapers with testimonial templates to praise one candidate, or deride the other, or push an agenda, or create confusion, or imply majority support, with each letter signed and sent by a party faithful — so it appears to the public as an original thought and legitimate concern rather than a parroted message. • They can funnel funds for business owners to be visited by party members offering recommendations on which candidates to support, along with a friendly suggestion of how valuable it is to have a customer base of political party members. •  They can funnel funds for whisper campaigns, leaked to small presses, controlled by deep pocket party-pleasers, linked to online sites willing to post the disinformation.

And, get this: The strategies for beating your opponent are all recorded (or were when I ran) in an instruction manual detailing how to sway an election to a preferred candidate with news stories clouded by opinion. Where the media inserts the words ‘could, might, alleged, contend, claim, may, and if’ for ‘can, is, are, and will’ to report a ‘possible’ truth. Where newspaper corrections to falsehoods are buried in places no one reads. Where editorials aren’t required to be factual.

The old, paraphrased maxim still holds true: The most dangerous woman in the world is the one who can’t be bought.

That’s where running for political office serves as the American dream. Because running to lose by telling the unmitigated truth assures that your voice will be heard.

And isn’t that what we all want? To be heard?

When I ran for office, my words were so well heard, by the time election day rolled around they’d been stolen and used to further the campaigns of others running for even higher offices.

So, ladies, that’s how you make change happen. Not by sitting behind a safe screen, typing out rhetoric about what’s wrong with the country and who’s to blame. And, not by writing a check, convinced your donation will contribute to making this nation better and stronger.

Run for office.

Attend every avenue available for you to get up and speak. Recognize freedom of speech for the priceless gift it is. Say what’s in your heart. Ignore naysayers. Concentrate on connecting with real people. And experience the exhilaration that comes from putting your mouth where your mind is.

In the final analysis, the financial reports required to be filed by all candidates indicated the incumbent spent around one hundred and twenty-five dollars per ballot cast in favor of him to wage his campaign against me, while I didn’t spend a dime.

On election night I lost by less than 100 votes.

No, not once. 

Twice. 

Because the next time around I ran for school board, losing by lesser votes.

Whew!

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Seriously, Mom, you didn’t know? By Marguerite Quantaine • Copyright © 2018