An open letter to NASCAR nation

By Darrell Laurant

Published: August 30, 2008

Earlier this summer, I got into a conversation with a store clerk and asked him what he did over the July 4th weekend.

“I just kicked back,“ he said. “I got out all my guns and went out on the back deck, and my buddy and I spent an afternoon shooting at targets with Obama’s picture on them.“

OK, then. The man had made a political statement.

I didn’t say anything to this, in large part because antagonizing someone who owns multiple guns and likes to shoot at targets with human faces on them is never a good idea. What I wanted to ask him, though, was this: “What do you know about Barack Obama?“

My guess is, he knows his father was African, he has a funny name, and there’s a lot of bad stuff about him on the Internet. I hear the same stuff at the Moose Lodge on Waterlick Road, where I shoot pool on Tuesday nights and occasionally have dinner.

I’m not trying to get any of you to vote for Obama. For my part, I’m going to watch as much of the upcoming Republican convention as I can and listen very carefully to what John McCain has to say. I feel no urgency to make up my mind yet.

The problem I have is with dismissing someone you know very little about.

What you do know, I’m sure, is that the term “NASCAR nation” is really a nice political synonym for “redneck.“

To me, though, being a redneck is nothing to be ashamed of. The term originally evolved to refer to people who worked hard out in the sun, thus acquiring red necks. Another definition is “someone who is angry,“ and that probably fits, too.

Like Barack Obama, I’m from mixed parentage, and half of it could be described as redneck. Almost all of my relatives on my mother’s side live in small North Carolina towns, and many of them were tobacco farmers.

It would be presumptuous of me to claim redneck status, of course, and I’m not even sure NASCAR nation would want me. However, I do like beer, barbecue, football and country music (at least the crossover kind). I am the son of a career military officer, and have retained a high regard for the men and women who serve. When I worked for a newspaper in Charleston, SC, I was the auto racing writer and went to several Darlington races.

Moreover, I heard John McCain speak a few years back and was impressed with what he had to say. I don’t know anything about his recent vice-presidential choice, but I intend to find out.

What I don’t understand, for the life of me, is what so many members of NASCAR nation saw (and maybe still see) in George W. Bush.

You say you respect the military? Bush did everything he could to get out of the draft, and had Daddy pull strings in the process.

You’re mad because the rich, smug owners of big corporations are outsourcing jobs and closing factories? George W. Bush is in bed with those people.

A lot of you enjoy hunting and fishing. Like it or not, that makes you something of an environmentalist. And you don’t have to believe in global warming or Al Gore to notice what the Bush administration has done to endanger public (re: hunting and fishing) lands. It ought to make your blood boil.

One of the things Obama said in his acceptance speech the other night was, I thought, quite telling.

“This election isn’t about me,“ he said. “It’s about you.“

The man is right. Our job as voters is not to do John McCain or Barack Obama a favor by electing them. Our job is to elect the person whose ideas and plans seem to best fit with who we are.

In the case of NASCAR nation, that person may well be John McCain, and that’s fine. But would you buy a big ticket item like a refrigerator or a truck without checking out the alternatives?

To me, it doesn’t matter whether you feel a personal connection to a candidate or not. This isn’t voting for your seventh grade home room representative. Who do you think would do the best job?

Darrell Waltrip, always my favorite NASCAR driver because of his name, said in 2004: “I’m voting for George Bush because he’s somebody just like me.“

I don’t want somebody just like me. I want somebody a lot smarter than me.