Author: Martha Thomases

The major political parties’ conventions this week and next follow the Olympics like night follows day. Just as the quadrennial sports event serves as a ceremonial battleground with ornate rules and rituals, so do the Democratic and Republican conventions to choose the party leaders and figureheads.

Just as the Olympics represent combat in a peaceful way, the political conventions represent democracy. Our elected representatives assemble to choose candidates for the highest office in the land.

It’s a charming system, but hopelessly out of date. Sure, in the past, before mass media, before telephones, it made a certain amount of sense for people to congregate and make these decisions. There was a time when there most states didn’t have primaries, and so the question of whom to nominate was left to the party bosses.

Before then, political conventions were an excuse to party, a time for the regional bosses to convene – in the stereotypical smoke-filled room – and personally select the candidates.

This system, while not democracy, was not always bad. Through it, we had candidates like Abraham Lincoln, Woodrow Wilson, and Theodore Roosevelt. With it, we get candidates like George W. Bush and … well, I think my point is made right there.

When I was first voting, all that changed. The debacle that was the Democratic convention in 1968 demonstrated that the system was a farce. Since then, the trend has been more towards the appearance of including the wishes of the voters in the selection process.

Nothing in this world is that simple. The influence of money, bias, and corporate media make it all but impossible for the average citizen to determine what the real issues are, and where the candidates stand. It serves the interests of the power structure to distract us with foolish questions such as which candidate we’d prefer to hang out with in a bar, which candidate can bowl, which can Google, and what kinds of cookies the wives bake.

Politics is so much simpler in comics, where tradition favors painting everything in black or white, good or evil. When Lex Luthor runs for office, we know he’s corrupt. It’s rare to find a creative team that depicts a more complicated system, such as Warren Ellis’ and Darick Robertson’s brilliant Transmetropolitan.

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Watching the Olympics, like so many other things, reminds me of super-heroes.

Not that I watch a lot of the Olympics. The jingoistic nationalism of the coverage disturbs me. While I admire the perseverance and determination and hard work of the athletes, I don’t find it particularly heroic. Heroism, I think, involves putting yourself out for the benefit of others. Competing in the Olympics may be a way to test oneself, to try to attain an ideal of physical perfection and international harmony, but it doesn’t benefit others. Unless, that is, your idea of benefiting others is enriching the corporate coffers of the sponsors, the networks, and the governments that use their victories for propaganda purposes.

But I digress …

To look at me, you would not think that there was a time when I could have been an Olympic-level athlete.

And you’d be right.

However, I was on a swim team for most of a decade. From the time I was five until I aged out of the league at 15, I swam every summer for a local league, and every winter for the YMCA. This meant hours and hours every week, swimming laps until my eyes were red from chlorine (this was before racing goggles) and my lips were blue.

I loved being able to hold my breath for a long time, and I loved the way my body felt when I was slicing through the water. My body made sense, hips powerful enough to keep my torso level while I kicked. I loved wearing a racing tank, sleek and fast, like a superhero costume. Of course, I thought I was Atlantean, like Aquaman. It would be so much cooler if I could breathe underwater, like he could.

Writers complain that it’s hard to write stories for Aquaman, that his only powers are that he can breathe underwater and communicate with fish. Some examine the possibilities of the strength he must have to live under water, and how tough he must be to withstand the cold of the ocean. I think there’s an entire world to explore on the ocean floor, and that a character who can breathe water and air is inherently more versatile than one who can breathe only air.

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