Sheila Kennedy

I think I just took a poll.

It wasn’t scientific—in fact, it could more aptly be characterized as a series of anecdotes. But interesting, for what it may be worth, and what it may suggest about changing political passions in these polarized times.

As most of my friends and acquaintences know, I have a bumper sticker on my car that reads simply “Ex Republican.” It is the only message on my car, and something of a departure from my usual disinclination to use my transportation as a billboard for my politics, my religion or my philosophy. I put it there three years ago, and I tend to forget it’s there, but the last couple of weeks have provided me with pretty constant reminders.

For one week every summer for a number of years, my husband and I have taken assorted kids—and more recently, grandkids—to a beach in South Carolina. This year, he and I took an extra week and drove down the

. (For those who have never done so, I commend the experience; the National Park Service has done a magnificent job maintaining this spectacular route through the mountains. It would be nice if more of our federal budget went to such endeavors, and less to blowing people up in Iraq—but I digress.)

On a country road in Virginia, a woman driving a pickup truck honked at us and motioned for my husband to roll down his window. Mystified, he did so. She gave us a “thumbs up,” and when we still looked puzzled, yelled “I love your bumper sticker! Me too!”

When we stopped at a hotel, the bellman smiled broadly and told us he loved our bumper sticker. When we pulled over at one of the scenic overlooks along the

, a man driving out of the same overlook in a car with a faded Bush/Cheney sticker leaned out his window and told us he sure did agree with our bumper sticker. The most enthusiastic response came from the owner of an Inn in Blowing Rock, North Carolina; he took one look, started to laugh, and said “That bumper sticker just earned you a discount on your room!” He was as good as his word—we got 30% off the listed rate!

I must admit to being floored by these and a number of similar reactions. We were driving through the south, after all—through very red states. And we undoubtedly passed plenty of people who muttered uncomplimentary things under their breath, or at least disagreed with the sentiment plastered on our car. But I also don’t think these reactions were meaningless, or that they should be discounted. I think they reflect a growing national mood, made up of equal parts disgust with Congressional corruption, and the belated realization that a President who understands the importance of national parks and global realities (among other things) might be a better choice than one we’d like to have a beer with.

It’s easy to get discouraged about what is happening to America, easy to forget how many really wonderful people are working in every community to make a positive difference and fulfill America’s promise.

I have been working on a small research project. Most recently, that research has involved interviewing the directors of community and human development organizations. These people head up all kinds of projects, from all parts of the country—there’s a Mission on an Arizona reservation, several neighborhood organizers in Chicago and Indianapolis, a youth leadership program in Witchita, and many others.

These were very different people, with very different organizational missions. But all were dedicated, street-smart, and utterly without self-importance. Their offices were often difficult to find (admittedly, I’m direction-impaired), and always what real estate types would classify as “Type C” or worse. They had computers, but no gee-whiz technologies. No self-respecting CEO would work an hour for what they were being paid.

What they did have were compelling stories: of this refugee helped to create a new life, of that worker still able to get to his job thanks to a campaign that kept the neighborhood’s bus service, of the garbage collector given the encouragement (and tutoring) that allowed him to address a state senate committee and ultimately change public policy, of the middle manager who had been a welfare mother the organization taught to read while providing child care.

Not earth-shattering victories, to be sure. But the people I interviewed were nothing if not realists. They relished their victories, small as those might seem to our political pontificators. Every single one used the phrase “one on one” to describe their work with clients and volunteers. Every single one cited “patience” as a necessary quality for the changes they were trying to effect. Every single one stressed the importance of listening—to their volunteers, to their clients, and to their communities. There wasn’t an ideologue among them.  

Coincidentally, I’d just gotten home from a round of these interviews when I picked up the Indianapolis Star and saw that Karl Schneider had died. Karl was vice-Principal at Arsenal Tech when I first moved downtown with three teenage boys still in school. I’d heard about how “dangerous” Tech was, and that was the image I took to my first conversation with Karl. He looked at me over his glasses, and asked “have your sons had fights at their other schools?” When I said no, he said “Then they probably won’t here. If kids want to find trouble, they can find it at Tech; if they don’t, they won’t.”

He was right. My kids had a fabulous experience at Tech. Karl was one of Tech’s many dedicated, gifted teachers who believed in young people, and in the power of education.

On this 4^th of July, I celebrated the Americans like Karl Schneider and the people I had interviewed. Their unsung, unrelenting, and often unrewarded efforts to achieve America’s promise of “equality and justice for all,” may save us yet.