Campaign Trail Tales
If a butterfly in Africa had flapped its wings a second earlier, I might be in the United States Congress. #TheButterfly Effect
After completing graduate school, I officially launched a congressional campaign in the great state of Texas. By nature, I’m an optimistic person. For years, when people insisted our political system was hopelessly unchangeable, I would fight them until the bitter end. And I knew for a fact I was just the person to save it. I actually thought that when Americans got a taste of me, they would follow me like the second coming of Lincoln, Roosevelt and Reagan, or, in the case of Texans, Sam Houston, Davy Crockett and Robert Earl Keen.
From the beginning, with the energy of the innocent, I was undaunted, enthusiastically speaking at fire departments, pie suppers, political forums and every kind of fair, festival and fiesta imaginable. This was not difficult given that East Texas can find any reason for events that involve funnel cake.
I was on the Kiwanis, Rotary and Lions Club circuit, went to church five times every Sunday, and ate six times a day. I even entered a homemade float in five Christmas parades where amazingly supportive family members marched down brightly lit streets, throwing candy canes with my picture plastered to them. Believe me, dignity goes on hiatus during a political campaign. These were the honeymoon days — before reality dawned.
To ensure full disclosure, I ran on the Republican ticket in the 2004 election, but I’m most certainly not one. Before all of you Democrats get too excited, I’m not a member of your gang either.
I have news for both sides: Just like most Americans, I am impossible to compartmentalize.
Like most Americans, I am rational and balanced. Like most Americans, I recognize the absurdity of stale platforms that rely on three or four bullet points to solve every problem. Like most Americans, I don’t choose the answer before I even hear the question. Like most Americans, I realize many challenges are a product of their time and, therefore, no solution is everlasting.
Although Jim Turner — the Democratic incumbent for the Texas 2nd congressional district and my original opponent in the election — seemed to be an upstanding family man, it was obvious (to me anyway) that things were oppressively stagnant and new blood was overdue.
It broke my heart to see the vulnerable condition of East Texas, my beloved home and a microcosm of rural America. Town squares were in danger of becoming ghost towns as industry dwindled, and the educational and health care systems were taking the full brunt of a state legislature that continually made disastrous decisions on behalf of the people they were elected to protect (this has been happening ever since, by the way).
This may sound like political b.s., but my main motivation was an overwhelming desire to be a voice for the people that never seem to be heard. Aren’t I just wonderful?
Because I had lived outside the pine curtain for several years, I had absolutely no idea how I would be received upon my return. I anticipated many thinking I was too young, too blonde or just flat too Union. After all, I had lived in Massachusetts, for goodness’ sake! For many East Texans, living even a short time in the state that spawned the Kennedy clan would contaminate me for life. Twenty-five years in Texas could not possibly vaccinate me from their Yankee, liberal ways.
Despite the initial uncertainty, the positive reception I received from most everyone meant the world to me and is something I will never forget. Republicans in the 2nd district were thrilled to have me, mainly because there hadn’t been a serious Republican candidate in years. They were so excited they sometimes forgot to ask what I actually stood for which, after reading my essays, I’m certain you will recognize as borrowed time for my campaign.
Although my age and hair color did not necessarily deter people — though I must confess, I did have my hairdresser put in lowlights for a few months — the Harvard thing did rub some people the wrong way. This controversy was brought to my attention by a group of ladies having lunch at high noon at a busy restaurant on the Jasper square.
Oh! Have I mentioned that I was born and raised in Jasper, Texas? Yes, that Jasper, the town with the unfortunate legacy of three White supremacists dragging James Byrd, a Black man, behind their truck and to his death in 1998. Much more on this in other sections.
Back to lunch. I had returned to my hometown in full anticipation of a ticker-tape parade or, at a minimum, a “Jasper: Home of Emily Mathews” welcome sign. After all, People, I was running for Congress! Can you believe what I’ve made of myself?
What I got instead was, “You went to Harvard,” one particularly austere lady stated with dismay in the middle of the very crowded parlor (and not in her inside voice). “That just turns me off. Why couldn’t you stay home and go to school around here?” To which I quickly replied, “Did someone tell you Harvard? They meant Stephen F. Austin State, the ‘Harvard of the South’.” It never came up again, so I guess she spread it around.
What I also got in lieu of a much-deserved parade were several meetings with super angry people who said the most racist things I have ever heard —a shocking wakeup call in a campaign full of many (note: I attended plenty of other Republican meetings where this was not the case. I'm certainly not painting the entire group with the same brush). Although I’ve witnessed outrageous racism in my lifetime, I was stunned by how little had changed with these particular people.