The Star Tribune Editorial Board, you may have noticed, has made its 2014 political endorsements. Having played a small part in that process, spending weeks interviewing Minnesota's esteemed elected officials and their challengers in Tuesday's midterm election, I feel duty-bound to refute the caricatures you've seen in this campaign season's negative attack ads.
Our political leaders are not all predatory pirates, self-dealing plutocrats, partisan fanatics and befuddled bumblers.
They're not really as interesting as that.
In truth, those who rule us — or would like to — mostly strike one in the flesh as well-meaning, usually smarter than average and almost always equipped with the gift of gab to a fault. They have varying levels of knowledge about government and the world beyond.
But it's frankly hard to gauge the quality of their thinking, because beyond a few well-rehearsed "talking points," nearly all of them recoil from clarity and candor the way a cat recoils from a bath.
The mystery is why they want these jobs so badly — jobs whose pursuit, at least in a closely divided state like ours, seems to prohibit them from saying what they really think about many subjects that presumably interest them more than they interest most people.
We all, if we're prudent, bite our tongues often enough — about our bosses, colleagues or subordinates, say, or about our neighbors, kids and spouses. But on politics we can at least sometimes fully speak our minds, running no costlier risk than sounding like a fool.
Not so for politicians — again, once the focus-grouped slogans have been intoned. For them, minefields lay on every hand, armed with explosive issues on which the wrong word, or just an insufficiently slippery word, can end a career. Compared with such a prospect, sounding a bit foolish seems to hold few terrors for them.