I haven't talked to anyone who didn't hear enough political ads in October. Everyone, regardless of their political persuasion, complained about the avalanche of political ads, particularly attack ads, during this election cycle.
Nationally, nearly $4 billion was spent, a record amount for a midterm election. The New York Times reports that considerably more money was spent, but those figures are largely undisclosed.
According to a preliminary estimate, at least $59 million was spent on Alaska's Senate race alone, or roughly $225 for every vote. People watching television in Florida in late October were pummeled by 101 political ads an hour. Alaskans, I suspect, weren't lagging far behind.
Attack ads are intended to affect voting. But this much money spent on that many ads can't help but have unintended consequences.
How one wins an election
The day before the election my 4-year-old granddaughter, Em, was watching her "morning cartoon." Her mom Erin was around the corner in the kitchen. When the taped cartoon ended, the television paused, then switched to the last channel played.
Erin is a conscientious mother who closely monitors what her children watch on television. In this instance, the television started broadcasting the Today show. Erin didn't catch it right away.
But then she heard a loud voice proclaiming Sen. Mark Begich was bad for Alaska and hurried into the living room to turn off the television. Slightly puzzled, Em said, "Mom, in the other commercial the lady said Dan Sullivan can't be trusted."
Em is trying to figure out how the world works, and television often provides useful clues. "She loves commercials," Erin admits. "They're louder, they have flashing lights … she gets upset when I turn off the TV when a commercial is playing."
As Erin started to explain the nature of political attack ads in words her 4-year-old could understand, another commercial popped up. This one was sponsored by the local Cal Worthington dealership. Em glanced at the screen, then back to her mother. "Aunt Meghan said she thought Mr. Worthington was dead."
Aunt Meghan doesn't live in Alaska, and the thought flashed through Erin's mind that the most recent occasion when Em and her aunt might have had an opportunity to discuss Cal Worthington's demise was over a year ago, when Em was 3 years old. "Well," Erin said as she switched off the television, "Cal Worthington is dead. I think that man is his grandson."
"That was an attack ad," Erin said, refocusing on the more important question. She immediately realized that "attack ad" needed further explanation. "Various candidates running for office want people to vote for them, so they say nasty things about the other person so people won't vote for that person."
"Office?"
Erin tried another tack. "Our neighbors might think one person is better, and we might think another person is better, and that's why we go and vote, because different people who want the job try to convince people to vote for them."
Still not satisfied, Em responded, "Why can't we trust Dan Sullivan?"
Later that evening, Erin was telling the Cal Worthington story to her husband. When she said, "Aunt Meghan said Mr. Worthington was dead," Em interrupted. "No," she insisted, a tad irate, "that's not what I said. I said Aunt Meghan THOUGHT Mr. Worthington was dead."
It won't be long before Em is teaching her mom a thing or two about politics.
Exercising a mommys right to vote
The next day Erin took all three kids to her polling place. Shepherding them in and out of the voting booth she was a little anxious, afraid that Em might blurt out one of the names on the ballot with the ancillary information that he can't be trusted.
Explaining the process on the way home, she told Em, "Voting is when you're choosing somebody who you think is going to do a good job in government. Who I think and who our neighbors think will do the best can be different. That's why we vote. The person who has the most people choose them wins."
"Who did you vote for?" Em asked. Erin told her Mark Begich. Em nodded soberly, "Because Dan Sullivan can't be trusted."
That evening Em ran to the door to greet her father and share the day's novel experience. "Daddy, we all went to vote," Em announced. "Mommy voted for … wait … but it wasn't Dan Sullivan," she added as she spun around to run into the other room. "Mom, who'd you vote for?"
"His name was Mark Begich," Em told her father. "Dan Sullivan can't be trusted."
Erin, following her into the room, said, "You probably shouldn't keep repeating that." The thought crossed her mind that Em might meet Sen. Dan Sullivan some day, perhaps six, 12, even 18 years from now. He'll say, "Hi, I'm Dan Sullivan." And she'll cock her head, look him square in the eye and say, "You can't be trusted."
Lies, damned lies, and constitutionally protected lies
Anyone who's spent a year in preschool knows the basic rule of politics. Either you're in or you're out. So it's not difficult to imagine the cumulative damage attack ads do to anyone who hears them, even kids. Those neighbors across the street with a Dan Sullivan sign in their front yard? Can't trust them.
The ads have become so ubiquitous that they constitute an environmental hazard. The only way to escape political attack ads is to stop watching television, listening to the radio, answering the telephone, using the Internet, reading the newspaper, and opening your mailbox. If you're enjoying the absence of political ads in this backwater of the latest election, you may be assured that they'll start up early in 2015.
But it's not the number, it's their content that's most objectionable. A federal district court recently ruled that the U.S. Constitution protects lies in political ads. Judge Timothy Black said voters should be able to decide for themselves whether a political ad is false or not, because our right to free speech trumps any ham-fisted government attempt to decide what constitutes political truth.
I understand the judge's decision. I even agree with him, but I remain convinced that many, if not most, Americans are unable to objectively evaluate claims made in political ads. We believe what we are inclined to believe. A pretty lie is far more palatable than the naked truth.
I'd rather be exposed to 101 Cal Worthington ads every hour than suffer through another round of political attack ads. At least used car salesmen are expected to tell the truth.
Another 4-year-old gave some sage advice on a greeting card published by Kate Harper Designs. Nathanial Parizek said, "You know it was a good day if you didn't hit or bite anyone." I wish the people and organizations who fund and create attack ads had learned the same lesson.
Rick Sinnott is a former Alaska Department of Fish and Game wildlife biologist. Contact him at rickjsinnott@gmail.com.
The views expressed here are the writer's own and are not necessarily endorsed by Alaska Dispatch News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email commentary(at)alaskadispatch.com.