A close encounter with the other kind

Tuesday nights at seven o'clock I co-host a radio show about domestic and foreign news on WJHU. The show generally runs for an hour, but last Tuesday night we cut it short by a half hour so as not to miss any of the action that Karl Rove's appearance on campus had promised. I was particularly excited to get off the air and, explaining why the show would be cut short, I mentioned that there were things I planned on sharing with Mr. Rove that were unsuitable for our listeners.

I had been thinking much of the day about how I would approach my interaction with the man. My first thought was to say exactly the following: "Good evening Mr. Rove and thank you for sharing your time with us. You are a heinous person and I hope you burn in hell." This would have been immediately followed by my departure from Shriver Hall. I scrapped that idea for the following: "As a gay man, Mr. Rove, I want you to know that I support you in your second divorce and I was wondering, having distanced yourself in the past from hate speech against gays, what would your advice be to those in the Republican Party who propagate it?" I reasoned, however, that such a character would probably have a prefabricated answer to just about any policy or moral question I could send his way, so figured I should think of something more creative.

In pursuit of such a question I tuned to an article I had read in the Huffington Post a while back entitled "15 Ridiculously Hard Job Interview Questions From Top Employers Like Google, Goldman Sachs." I thought, why not learn a little about Mr. Rove's logical reasoning capacity? All of the questions were very tempting, but I finally settled on two that I would later choose between. The first, from Goldman Sachs was, "If you were shrunk to the size of a pencil and put in a blender how would you get out?" and the second (probably more appropriate), "Why do you think only a small percentage of the population makes over $150K?" I planned to attempt to legitimize my question by explaining its origin. Ultimately, however, none of the questions would be posed to Mr. Rove.

Two of the other hosts of the radio show and I headed quickly to Shriver Hall and took seats towards the front. I knew about the planned protest and was pretty excited, but watching the proceedings left me speechless, saddened and uninterested in pursuing my question. At first, the protesters' yelling was rather stunning. Those sitting around me swiveled in their seats; eyes wide open, trying to make sense of what was going on. The situation grew increasingly hostile.

Observing the hateful faces that spanned the auditorium was what got to me. Protesters yelled obscenities, while various people around me shouted "dirty hippies!" Several audience members, including parents of the symposium's staff, steamed hotly up and down the aisles pointing out protesters and yelling "get him the f*** out of here." Mr. Rove lost his temper and began chanting in opposition. The audience cheered like circus spectators as protesters were dragged from their seats and expelled from the auditorium.

Maybe, I thought, what we needed was a dialogue, a meeting of only students to discuss on an equal ground who Karl Rove is and how diverse people view him. Maybe, I thought, this is the nature of politics, and maybe, we don't want to listen. Maybe we appreciate confirmation of our previous convictions and feel at home in our hate of the "other side," whichever side that may be. Although this may seem a dramatic conclusion from what happened in Shriver Hall, it was pondering this that kept me in my seat throughout the question and answer period.

When the show was over, I was unsure what to do. I couldn't speak and felt as if I could cry. I went outside long enough for a protester to yell at me that, "if what had happened inside didn't offend me, I was inhuman." I returned to the auditorium and sat in the back row as the Young Republicans Club and MSE Symposium met with Rove, snapping pictures and shaking hands on stage. As they moved upstairs for the "meet and greet" I followed them and rested against a wall as various students, mostly from the previously mentioned groups, bought Rove's memoir and waited for him to sign it. More picture-snapping, more handshaking.

As the line for the meet and greet neared its end and a woman began packing copies of Rove's memoir into boxes, my time came. I didn't want to condemn him or pose a question. I wasn't feeling witty and my mood had drained the energy that would have been necessary to cry out. In any case, I didn't want any more of what I had witnessed in the auditorium. When the line finished, I walked over to Rove and said something along the following: "Mr. Rove, thank you for coming tonight, my name is Galen Druke." It was clear from my long hair and lack of a suit, Barbour jacket or boat shoes that I probably wasn't one of his own, and he was taken aback. I shook his hand and continued, "I came here tonight because there were some things I wanted to say and some questions I wanted to hear answered. What happened in there was shameful and the, what I would consider to be, hate and negativity coming from both sides was jarring. So, there is something I have to tell you. On a very fundamental level I love you and appreciate you as a human being. You are a living person and I value you as that. Will you give me a hug?"

Karl Rove hesitated and said, "You want a hug?" I nodded my head. He came out from behind the table and as I reached out my arms he held my wrists in what seemed like an attempt to prevent me from a potential attack. He embraced me lightly and I squeezed tightly around him. As I walked away, he asked me my name again and thanked me for coming. I left and wandered across campus, trying to gauge my emotions and asking myself, "what did I just do?"