|
|
He was born February 27, 1951, one month after I was born. His father was an insurance adjuster and his mother a high school Spanish teacher. Until he was eighteen, his goal in life was to play guitar. However, during a summer college internship with Senator Strom Thurmond he was hooked on politics. He choose the topic of negative campaigning for his master’s thesis at the University of South Carolina.
He wanted to accomplish two things before he was forty. One was to manage a winning presidential campaign. The other was to become head of the Republican Party. In 1978, he was the chief strategist in Senator Thurmond's successful reelection fight in South Carolina. Two years later, at the age of twenty-nine, he directed Ronald Reagan's South Carolina presidential primary victory. During President Reagan's first term, he was a deputy political director at the White House. In 1984, he served on the staff of President Reagan's reelection campaign. After the election, he became a partner in a political consulting firm. In 1986 at the age of thirty-five, he became the director of George Bush's bid for the Republican presidential nomination.
He was a great fan of professional wrestling. He decorated his office with pictures of Confederate generals. The one political figure he regarded with reverence was Richard Nixon. He bragged that he never traveled without copies of two books: Machiavelli's The Prince and a book called The Art of War. His name was Lee Atwater.
Although the date of our next national election is over a year away, news about the political campaigns can be found every day. The president is interested in finding evidence of corruption in the lives of democratic candidates. The democrats are interested in finding evidence of corruption in the actions of the president.
As I watch this back and forth, I remember Lee Atwater. I remember him not as a cruel, nasty, unscrupulous man, but instead as a man who knew the meaning of atonement. Let me explain.
In 1988, after winning the Republican presidential nomination for George Bush, Lee Atwater planned a negative campaign against Michael Dukakis. The issues he focused on had little to do with the business of the presidency, but they made effective politics. Atwater was a genius at appealing to the anxieties of the white middle class. The goal was to accentuate the negative and win the presidency over Dukakis's broken body. The campaign repeatedly raised the same negative issues. Dukakis had vetoed a bill mandating the Pledge of Allegiance in public schools. Dukakis was against the death penalty, even for kingpins in the drug trade. Dukakis opposed prayer in public schools. Dukakis had supported his state's program of weekend passes for convicts, even murderers serving life sentences without hope of parole. Anonymous sources spread false rumors that doctors had treated Dukakis for depression and that Dukakis's wife had burned an American flag to protest the Vietnam War. It was a mean national campaign. For Lee Atwater, the goal--electing the man he thought was the best candidate--justified the means.
November 8, 1988, George Herbert Walker Bush carried 40 states and in January of 1989, Atwater, at the age of thirty-eight, became the national chair of the political party he had led to victory. He had accomplished the two goals he set out to achieve before he was forty. He had managed a winning presidential campaign and he was the head of the Republican Party.
A regular at the downtown Washington YMCA, Atwater worked out in the weight room. He arranged to replace the usual piped-in aerobic disco music with tapes of his own Rhythm and Blues jam sessions with B. B. King and Isaac Hayes. Even his harshest political critics agreed that Lee Atwater's Rhythm and Blues music was excellent.
March 5, 1990, Atwater in his role as national chair of the Republican Party, was speaking before a fund-raising breakfast. He was telling the group how the campaign picture of Dukakis riding around in a tank made him look like Rocky the Squirrel. Suddenly the entire left side of Atwater’s body started to shake uncontrollably. An Ambulance was called.
Doctors diagnosed him as having a brain tumor in the right lobe of his brain. As treatment they planted tubes directly into the tumor and inserted radioactive isotopes into the tubes. Following Norman Cousins' prescription of humor as a response to serious illness, Atwater watched videotapes of films such as the Three Stooges and W.C. Fields' film “Never Give a Sucker an Even Break.”
April 16, 1990, his wife gave birth to their third child. In the next few months, Lee Atwater began to rethink his life. He began to research religion by questioned a Catholic friend. Next he asked a Rabbi to explain the Jewish idea of God and he talked to a dream therapist about a recurring nightmare. In the dream, he jumped off a cliff into the ocean. He always woke up before he hit the water. The therapist suggested the dream was about Atwater's inability to face his own death. Atwater wrote:
"I found myself reaching out to fellow patients in ways that surprised me. I arranged for food delivery to a poor family I met [in the hospital]. A group of young black kids came to visit their pal, a gunshot victim, and I talked to them about what is important in life. Both times, I felt someone else drawing me into the arena, someone else speaking my words for me--followed by a sense of accomplishment I have never felt before."
Atwater asked a member of his political staff to find out if all religions share a common theme. After researching the question, the staff member came back and told Atwater that all religions shared the golden rule. "Do unto others as you would wish them to do unto you.”
This concept's framework appears prominently in many religions, including Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism, Zoroastrianism, and the rest of the world's major religions. The Golden Rule can be found in some form in almost every ethical tradition.
In the summer of 1990, Atwater started to write a series of private apology letters. In January of 1991, he published an open public letter. Lee Atwater wrote:
"In 1988, fighting Dukakis, I said that I 'would strip the bark off the little bastard' and 'make Willie Horton his running mate.' I am sorry for both statements. The first for its naked cruelty and the second because it makes me sound racist . . . Mostly I am sorry for the way I thought of other people."
Some people treated Atwater's apology with cynicism. Referring to political spin doctors who try to make their candidates look good, one cynic said, that Lee “was spinning right to the end.” However, I think it was an authentic letter. His encounter with death caused him to reevaluate his life.
I suspect that it was because of experiences like Lee Atwater's that thousands of years ago Jewish religious leaders created Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur includes a remembrance service during which people read the names of the dead, reflect on their lives and their legacies, honor them through memory. This reminds Jews of their own mortality. Conscious of the fragile nature of life, Jews are motivated to make amends, to say "I am sorry” to those they have wronged in the past year.
Making amends is not easy. A Rabbi once told me that there are five steps. First, he said, I must recognize the sins I have committed, the wrong or a hurtful acts I have committed against another person. Unfortunately, to do this I have to feel bad. "I'm OK-You're OK" is completely inappropriate for atonement. Feeling rotten motivates me to change.
Second, I should resolve not to repeat the sin. I get in touch with my own desire to do better. I feel within me my own yearning to make a change. I get in touch with the wish inside me to live a better life. In feeling that desire, I resolve not to do the same wrong again.
Third, I am to reconcile with the persons against whom I have sinned. I write a letter, or make a phone call, or making a visit. I say, “I am sorry and apologize. I made a mistake.” For me it is the most difficult step. To make a heartfelt apology I have to struggle with feelings of embarrassment and humiliation.
Fourth, the rabbi told me that Jews are expected to confess their sin in the Temple. For me this means that I come into a sacred space and I say silently “I was wrong and I admit it.”
Fifth, the rabbi told me that the final step is to be tempted to repeat the sin and not do it. Where do I find the support that will give me willpower not to make this mistake again? I get support from my family, my friends, my colleagues and my church. Others help me strengthen my own internal willpower.
This is not an easy series of steps. However, I think there is wisdom here, for Jews and Unitarian Universalists, for Republicans and Democrats, for conservatives and liberals.
• First, recognize the wrongs we have committed.
• Second, resolve not to repeat the wrongs.
• Third, reconcile ourselves with the persons we have wronged.
• Fourth, confess our wrongs in a sacred space.
• Fifth, when tempted to repeat the wrongs, have the willpower to resist temptation.
Lee Atwater died the first week of April 1991, about a year after he became ill. A few weeks before his death he wrote these words:
"Long before I was struck with cancer, I felt something stirring in American society. It was a sense among the people of the country-- Republican and Democrats alike--that something was missing from their lives, something crucial. I was trying to position the Republican Party to take advantage of it. But I wasn't exactly sure what 'it' was. My illness helped me to see that what was missing in society is what was missing in me: a little heart . . .
"The '80s were about acquiring--acquiring wealth, power, prestige. I know. I acquired more wealth, power and prestige than most. But you can acquire all you want and still feel empty. What power wouldn't I trade for a little more time with my family? What price wouldn't I pay for an evening with friends? It took a deadly illness to put me eye to eye with that truth, but it is a truth that the country, caught up in its ruthless ambitions . . . can learn on my dime.
"I've come a long way since the day I told George Bush that his 'kinder, gentler theme was a nice thought, but it wouldn't win us any votes. I used to say that the President might be kinder and gentler, but I wasn't going to be. How wrong I was. There is nothing more important in life than human beings, nothing sweeter than the human touch.
"This month marks my 40th birthday. . . . I lie here in my bedroom, my face swollen from steroids, my body useless and in pain. I will probably never play the guitar or run again; . . . I try to live as if I have at least three years, but some nights I can't go to sleep, so fearful I am that I will never wake up again. . . . I am still no big fan of organized religion . . . [but] now I have a little better sense of God."
All quotations by Lee Atwater are from "Lee Atwater's Last Campaign," by Lee Atwater with Todd Brewster, Life magazine, February 1991. I gathered additional information about Atwater from other magazine articles and from the book The Quest for the Presidency, The 1988 Campaign, Peter Goldman and Tom Mathews.
He wanted to accomplish two things before he was forty. One was to manage a winning presidential campaign. The other was to become head of the Republican Party. In 1978, he was the chief strategist in Senator Thurmond's successful reelection fight in South Carolina. Two years later, at the age of twenty-nine, he directed Ronald Reagan's South Carolina presidential primary victory. During President Reagan's first term, he was a deputy political director at the White House. In 1984, he served on the staff of President Reagan's reelection campaign. After the election, he became a partner in a political consulting firm. In 1986 at the age of thirty-five, he became the director of George Bush's bid for the Republican presidential nomination.
He was a great fan of professional wrestling. He decorated his office with pictures of Confederate generals. The one political figure he regarded with reverence was Richard Nixon. He bragged that he never traveled without copies of two books: Machiavelli's The Prince and a book called The Art of War. His name was Lee Atwater.
Although the date of our next national election is over a year away, news about the political campaigns can be found every day. The president is interested in finding evidence of corruption in the lives of democratic candidates. The democrats are interested in finding evidence of corruption in the actions of the president.
As I watch this back and forth, I remember Lee Atwater. I remember him not as a cruel, nasty, unscrupulous man, but instead as a man who knew the meaning of atonement. Let me explain.
In 1988, after winning the Republican presidential nomination for George Bush, Lee Atwater planned a negative campaign against Michael Dukakis. The issues he focused on had little to do with the business of the presidency, but they made effective politics. Atwater was a genius at appealing to the anxieties of the white middle class. The goal was to accentuate the negative and win the presidency over Dukakis's broken body. The campaign repeatedly raised the same negative issues. Dukakis had vetoed a bill mandating the Pledge of Allegiance in public schools. Dukakis was against the death penalty, even for kingpins in the drug trade. Dukakis opposed prayer in public schools. Dukakis had supported his state's program of weekend passes for convicts, even murderers serving life sentences without hope of parole. Anonymous sources spread false rumors that doctors had treated Dukakis for depression and that Dukakis's wife had burned an American flag to protest the Vietnam War. It was a mean national campaign. For Lee Atwater, the goal--electing the man he thought was the best candidate--justified the means.
November 8, 1988, George Herbert Walker Bush carried 40 states and in January of 1989, Atwater, at the age of thirty-eight, became the national chair of the political party he had led to victory. He had accomplished the two goals he set out to achieve before he was forty. He had managed a winning presidential campaign and he was the head of the Republican Party.
A regular at the downtown Washington YMCA, Atwater worked out in the weight room. He arranged to replace the usual piped-in aerobic disco music with tapes of his own Rhythm and Blues jam sessions with B. B. King and Isaac Hayes. Even his harshest political critics agreed that Lee Atwater's Rhythm and Blues music was excellent.
March 5, 1990, Atwater in his role as national chair of the Republican Party, was speaking before a fund-raising breakfast. He was telling the group how the campaign picture of Dukakis riding around in a tank made him look like Rocky the Squirrel. Suddenly the entire left side of Atwater’s body started to shake uncontrollably. An Ambulance was called.
Doctors diagnosed him as having a brain tumor in the right lobe of his brain. As treatment they planted tubes directly into the tumor and inserted radioactive isotopes into the tubes. Following Norman Cousins' prescription of humor as a response to serious illness, Atwater watched videotapes of films such as the Three Stooges and W.C. Fields' film “Never Give a Sucker an Even Break.”
April 16, 1990, his wife gave birth to their third child. In the next few months, Lee Atwater began to rethink his life. He began to research religion by questioned a Catholic friend. Next he asked a Rabbi to explain the Jewish idea of God and he talked to a dream therapist about a recurring nightmare. In the dream, he jumped off a cliff into the ocean. He always woke up before he hit the water. The therapist suggested the dream was about Atwater's inability to face his own death. Atwater wrote:
"I found myself reaching out to fellow patients in ways that surprised me. I arranged for food delivery to a poor family I met [in the hospital]. A group of young black kids came to visit their pal, a gunshot victim, and I talked to them about what is important in life. Both times, I felt someone else drawing me into the arena, someone else speaking my words for me--followed by a sense of accomplishment I have never felt before."
Atwater asked a member of his political staff to find out if all religions share a common theme. After researching the question, the staff member came back and told Atwater that all religions shared the golden rule. "Do unto others as you would wish them to do unto you.”
This concept's framework appears prominently in many religions, including Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism, Zoroastrianism, and the rest of the world's major religions. The Golden Rule can be found in some form in almost every ethical tradition.
In the summer of 1990, Atwater started to write a series of private apology letters. In January of 1991, he published an open public letter. Lee Atwater wrote:
"In 1988, fighting Dukakis, I said that I 'would strip the bark off the little bastard' and 'make Willie Horton his running mate.' I am sorry for both statements. The first for its naked cruelty and the second because it makes me sound racist . . . Mostly I am sorry for the way I thought of other people."
Some people treated Atwater's apology with cynicism. Referring to political spin doctors who try to make their candidates look good, one cynic said, that Lee “was spinning right to the end.” However, I think it was an authentic letter. His encounter with death caused him to reevaluate his life.
I suspect that it was because of experiences like Lee Atwater's that thousands of years ago Jewish religious leaders created Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur includes a remembrance service during which people read the names of the dead, reflect on their lives and their legacies, honor them through memory. This reminds Jews of their own mortality. Conscious of the fragile nature of life, Jews are motivated to make amends, to say "I am sorry” to those they have wronged in the past year.
Making amends is not easy. A Rabbi once told me that there are five steps. First, he said, I must recognize the sins I have committed, the wrong or a hurtful acts I have committed against another person. Unfortunately, to do this I have to feel bad. "I'm OK-You're OK" is completely inappropriate for atonement. Feeling rotten motivates me to change.
Second, I should resolve not to repeat the sin. I get in touch with my own desire to do better. I feel within me my own yearning to make a change. I get in touch with the wish inside me to live a better life. In feeling that desire, I resolve not to do the same wrong again.
Third, I am to reconcile with the persons against whom I have sinned. I write a letter, or make a phone call, or making a visit. I say, “I am sorry and apologize. I made a mistake.” For me it is the most difficult step. To make a heartfelt apology I have to struggle with feelings of embarrassment and humiliation.
Fourth, the rabbi told me that Jews are expected to confess their sin in the Temple. For me this means that I come into a sacred space and I say silently “I was wrong and I admit it.”
Fifth, the rabbi told me that the final step is to be tempted to repeat the sin and not do it. Where do I find the support that will give me willpower not to make this mistake again? I get support from my family, my friends, my colleagues and my church. Others help me strengthen my own internal willpower.
This is not an easy series of steps. However, I think there is wisdom here, for Jews and Unitarian Universalists, for Republicans and Democrats, for conservatives and liberals.
• First, recognize the wrongs we have committed.
• Second, resolve not to repeat the wrongs.
• Third, reconcile ourselves with the persons we have wronged.
• Fourth, confess our wrongs in a sacred space.
• Fifth, when tempted to repeat the wrongs, have the willpower to resist temptation.
Lee Atwater died the first week of April 1991, about a year after he became ill. A few weeks before his death he wrote these words:
"Long before I was struck with cancer, I felt something stirring in American society. It was a sense among the people of the country-- Republican and Democrats alike--that something was missing from their lives, something crucial. I was trying to position the Republican Party to take advantage of it. But I wasn't exactly sure what 'it' was. My illness helped me to see that what was missing in society is what was missing in me: a little heart . . .
"The '80s were about acquiring--acquiring wealth, power, prestige. I know. I acquired more wealth, power and prestige than most. But you can acquire all you want and still feel empty. What power wouldn't I trade for a little more time with my family? What price wouldn't I pay for an evening with friends? It took a deadly illness to put me eye to eye with that truth, but it is a truth that the country, caught up in its ruthless ambitions . . . can learn on my dime.
"I've come a long way since the day I told George Bush that his 'kinder, gentler theme was a nice thought, but it wouldn't win us any votes. I used to say that the President might be kinder and gentler, but I wasn't going to be. How wrong I was. There is nothing more important in life than human beings, nothing sweeter than the human touch.
"This month marks my 40th birthday. . . . I lie here in my bedroom, my face swollen from steroids, my body useless and in pain. I will probably never play the guitar or run again; . . . I try to live as if I have at least three years, but some nights I can't go to sleep, so fearful I am that I will never wake up again. . . . I am still no big fan of organized religion . . . [but] now I have a little better sense of God."
All quotations by Lee Atwater are from "Lee Atwater's Last Campaign," by Lee Atwater with Todd Brewster, Life magazine, February 1991. I gathered additional information about Atwater from other magazine articles and from the book The Quest for the Presidency, The 1988 Campaign, Peter Goldman and Tom Mathews.