Proof of Life
Above in green is a map of Bainbridge. Not everyone sees it at first, but give it a moment, and it’ll come into focus: the island is shaped exactly like an upright hedgehog with a backpack.
My family lives on the hedgehog’s lower foot. My brother’s family is on the hedgehog’s shoulder. My dad and his wife live on that front paw that’s swinging forward—probably a function of the hedgehog’s speed.*
With so many of us (plus some of our beloved in-laws) lodged on one tiny rock in the middle of Puget Sound, you’d think we were from here—that we are one of those six-generation Bainbridge Island families. But no: we are the kinds of interlopers those families grumble about. We all came here within the last 30 years from somewhere else—New Hampshire, Connecticut, Hong Kong, Montana. And, while Bainbridge has many charms, we all came for the same reason: to be together. To be in one another’s lives.
My dad and I share an intense interest in the well-being of our democracy, so when I drop by for tea, that’s often where the conversation goes—to politics. Meanwhile, my dad’s wife, Colleen, has an equally intense interest in the well-being of every bird, squirrel, chipmunk, and raccoon that visits the deck of their house.
“I gave them some shrimp to go away” is an actual sentence that Colleen said once, with regard to the raccoon family (Mehitabel and her three babies)…who now visit every day. Mehitabel has a distinctive rip in one ear; she doesn’t talk about it, but it’s clear she’s seen some stuff.
When Colleen is late with their dinner, Mehitabel stands at the door tapping her little raccoon hands on the glass. Polite but insistent. Cute but creepy.
When the backdrop to your afternoon tea is the clickety clack of raccoon nails—raccoons with whom your relatives have a standing appointment—nothing else seems that strange. I think this is why I began in early July to share with my dad and Colleen my growing conviction that Mitch McConnell was never going to return to the Senate.
“I’m not saying he’s dead,” I’d explained. “I just think he’s incapacitated, that his team doesn’t want the hassle and uncertainty of a special election, so they’re going to tread water until it’s effectively too late to hold one. Then, McConnell’s anointed successor, Republican congressman Andy Barr, can thump the Democratic nominee Charles Booker, as expected on November 3rd.”
I recognize it sounds bonkers to suggest that a whole team is keeping the true condition of a sitting senator a secret. That’s why I didn’t write a Substack about it! That’s why I’ve confined such irresponsible speculation to languid afternoon teas with two artists** and four raccoons! That’s why I’ve sought out pieces like this, by the eminently sensible Noah Berlatsky, which dismiss—pretty convincingly—such conspiracy theories as “Doomer Nonsense.”
But…but…but: if McConnell is able to speak, why wouldn’t his team release a short video thanking his constituents for their concern and support? Or, if a few seconds of video is really too taxing, why wouldn’t the team invite a trusted photojournalist to snap at least one (known-provenance) picture? Instead, over a period of almost eight weeks, McConnell’s team has released only two, internally-sourced photos, the second of which has ignited BlouseGate.***
Back at my desk—away from the free-flowing tea and conversation, away from the raccoon circus in the background—I find myself wondering: why can’t I let this go? As Berlatsky argues in the piece above, a Republican senator missing votes only helps Democrats. I should be able to take the strategic win and move on.
And then I hit on it: the thing that’s been bugging me. Everyone, even public officials, should be able to keep their health information private. I agree with this. However, what should not remain private—for any extended length of time—is an elected official’s capacity to serve.
After a sustained absence, I think it’s fair to ask whether a public official has the capacity to do the job: yes or no? And if the answer is yes, I think it’s fair to ask for proof. In fact, I think it would be a good development, given that 17(!) members of Congress have died in office over the last six years, if elected officials, regardless of age, had to pass some basic tests at polite intervals. Doctor friends: can we please workshop this, stat?****
Notes:
* Why is the hedgehog upright? Shhh. No one knows.
** Yep, artists! In fact, both my dad and Colleen will soon be exhibiting their work in downtown Winslow. My dad is up first, this Friday, August 7th. Local friends, join me there. These magnificent elephants have left the studio and now hang in the most perfect silver frame.
***When I say “BlouseGate,” I mean questions swirling around the date associated with the second proof-of-life photo, since Mitch McConnell’s wife Elaine Chao was photographed wearing what appears to be the same outfit 11 days earlier. But also, especially for those of you who knew him in college, do not miss Jeff Yang’s (funny but also totally serious from what I can tell?) take on the blouse situation.
****What tests, at what cadence, and delivered by what nonpartisan authority would give voters the information they need about a public official’s capacity to serve—and what would be the best way to ensure that the process is both rigorous and ADA-compliant?
Image credits: Hedgehog/Pinterest; Raccoons/Colleen Broome; Artist’s studio/Kate Gace Walton
