In 1971, I was 19 and in my first year of college. The Vietnam War was at its bloodiest; anti-war activism was at its highest. Young men sought college deferments to avoid the draft.
My draft lottery number was 59. "Old enough to fight, old enough to vote" was one of the most popular chants on campus back then.
The summer of '71 was when Congress granted 18-year-olds the right to vote. In the 1972 presidential election, voter participation was higher than in any year before — or since. There are many reasons why voter participation has slumped over the past 40 years, but to me, the large number of political attack ads during an election campaign may be one of the biggest.
Between now and the November balloting, attack ads will pop up on radio and television faster and thicker than dandelions in your front yard. Just like those little yellow flowers, attack ads stand out for all the wrong reasons.
They're off-color. Literally. The opponent appears as a Kodak moment gone horribly wrong: A twisted sneer, an angry snarl, always shown in black and white. Meanwhile, the candidate and his family glow with supernatural beauty. The American flag ripples in slow motion in the background.
Like dandelion leaves, attack ads have a bitter bite that no dressing can hide. If the candidate is a Republican, the opponent is depicted as President Obama's BFF, or as a member of the "tax-and-spend majority." If he's a Democrat, he or she is labeled a "job-killing obstructionist." The voice-over announcer sounds as though he scored an A-plus in sarcasm; the music magically switches from major to minor as needed.
Dandelion roots are tough, if not impossible, to uproot completely. Political action committees with names like "Americans for Motherhood, Baseball, Hot Dogs and Apple Pie" join forces with the candidate's own campaign to bypass funding limits — without obligation to identify their officials or financial backers.
Like dandelions' little gray fuzz, attack ads plant seeds of mistrust, fear and hatred in the fertile ground of an uninformed voter's mind. From John Kennedy's Catholic faith to Barack Obama's birth certificate to Mitt Romney's Mormonism, nothing is sacred; nothing is uncovered.
And, unlike dandelions, you can't just spray them out of existence. John Anderson began one of his 1980 campaign ads with the synonym for "bovine excrement." Say what he said on any talk show, and you're gone in milliseconds, never to return.
Campaign talk enjoys special First Amendment protection; the FCC ruled years ago that broadcasters cannot edit political announcements, no matter how offensive they are.
It would be easy to grow cynical after reading these past paragraphs; to say, "If politics are that bad, why bother voting at all?" That's the worst thing you can do.
As you watch and listen, consider this paraphrase of the tag line that follows those ubiquitous attorney ads: "The choice of the president of the United States is an important decision that should not be based solely upon advertising."
Charles E. Geer is a Granite City resident and former radio talk show host who is father of two, and grandfather of two. Besides writing, he also enjoys cooking, drumming and talking cars with almost anyone.
