Op-Ed Columns

Why would anyone do it?

Small-town politics is a meat-grinder activity. It's not for the weak or subtle. It chews up well-intentioned, good-hearted people like gristle from a cheap steak. It subjects them to not-so-neighborly criticism, splashes their names across the front page and makes public figures out of private people not accustomed to being such.

And guess what happens then.

Rewarding? Sure. I haven't asked, but I'll bet a hundred bucks that once Oxford's new library finally opens — yeah, insert joke here — June Land Reaves and some of her fellow council members will own an intense sense of accomplishment for giving their community something culturally worthwhile.

Someone might actually thank them.

Or not.

Nevertheless, when you see what small-town politicians go through — where often it seems as if no constituent is ever happy with anything they do — you can't help but wonder if these people have some masochistic civic desire. Do they like being abused? Do they gain some absurd enjoyment from the stress and unfair demands on their time?

I can't explain it.

So I asked some who can.

Why do you do this?

"I just felt like I could make a difference," said Mike Henderson, head of the Oxford City Council.

"People who run for public office see things that should be changed to improve the quality of life," said Robert Downing, the Calhoun County commissioner.

"In all candor, I felt like I had received some things I didn't deserve, I didn't earn. I started thinking if there was some way I could serve in some way," said Tom Young, the Calhoun County school board member.

"I was looking for something where I could be of service," said Johnny Smith, the Jacksonville mayor.

And on, and on, the comments went. But here's my point.

A few days ago, a friend of mine replayed a previous conversation in which someone had encouraged him to run for one of the city councils here in Calhoun County. It made sense: He's a well-connected businessman who knows lots of people, has often volunteered his time to charities and agencies, and cares about this side of the state. His resume is non-political, but it has politician-like qualities.

His answer, apparently, was swift.

No.

Why, he mused, would he want to subject himself and his family to all of that?

I can't blame him. And I'm convinced there are others like him in Calhoun County — smart, willing volunteers who see the infighting, the arguing, the bickering, the needless power plays and machinations, and they want no part of it. They'd love to help, to serve, but aren't willing to put up with the mayhem and frustration.

Think of it this way.

If you sit on the Anniston City Council — or work in any phase of Anniston city government —you bear the scars of Ben Little's maneuverings.

If you sit on the Oxford City Council, you face weekly sparring matches and power struggles with Leon Smith, and you, unlike the mayor, have no street named in your honor. That's not a fair fight.

If you're Anniston's mayor, you somehow sleep at night knowing your city needs creative redevelopment of its former Army base, a reinvigoration of its school system, and a method of stemming the flow of tax dollars to its sister city. And that's just on Mondays.

If you're a Calhoun County commissioner, how long does it take before you start telling callers at 5 in the morning that, no, you can't do anything about the neighbor's dog barking in the middle of the night?

And if you sit on the Calhoun County Board of Education, you have to … well … you get my drift.

Small-town politics can be a thankless, never-ending, demoralizing endeavor. (And yes, politicians deserve criticism from the people they serve; that's an undeniable part of a vibrant democracy.) Yet, there's a cascade of people such as Oxford's Henderson and Jacksonville's Smith and the county's Downing and Young — and others unmentioned — who, like good, Protestant believers, feel the calling to serve. "I feel like we're making a difference," Henderson said. They see the good, not the dreadful.

They're not interested in politics for the ego and power; they seek better communities for all, and are willing to accept the negative side effects that tag along with the job. It's a rare trait. Nevertheless, "It's becoming more and more of a sacrifice to hold public office. Things are more complicated now," Downing said.

Clearly, it's not for everyone.

And still, after hearing their explanations, all heartfelt and seemingly devoid of PR and propaganda, I nevertheless wonder how anyone musters the strength to dip a toe in the pool of public office. Why bother? Why not leave that chaos for someone else?

They're simply wired differently than the rest of us.