“We disagree in politics — but not in life.”

“We disagree in politics — but not in life.”
That’s what John McCain said about his bond with my uncle, Mo Udall. John was a freshman in the U.S. House of Representatives when Mo — then beginning his 13th term in the House — took him under his broad wing and showed him the ropes in Congress.
Mo guided John through the tough work of representing a state as big and diverse as Arizona. John was a newcomer to the state, having moved there only two years before. By his own admission, John didn’t know a cotton field from a copper mine.
Mo was a liberal Democrat, the powerful chair of the House Interior Committee who had amassed decades of clout in Congress. John was a far-right conservative — again by his own admission — with the power, or lack thereof, that comes with being a freshman in Congress.
John may have been new to Congress, but he knew enough to entreat Mo to put him on his Interior Committee, a committee vital to the welfare of Arizona. At that point, Mo’s decency and John’s courage met.
Mo took John around the state, called on him to speak at events (even when he didn’t know what to say), gave John credit (even when it wasn’t necessarily due, just yet). Mo taught John Arizona politics.
But more than that, in their unlikely friendship, Mo helped show John the power of consensus, and independence, and bipartisanship. And in turn, John showed he had the guts to buck his own party, and he embarked on his legendary, momentous career in Congress. Throughout it all, John called on that famous and unyielding courage that always lived inside of him.
Of course, John had shown that remarkable courage well before he entered Congress. There’s little I can add to what’s already been said about John’s heroism during the war. Few of us have faced the test of mettle that John confronted as a POW in Vietnam: accept a deal for early release to escape from the torture and unspeakable brutality he suffered at the hands of his captors or stick to the POW code of honor, refuse the offer, stay with his fellow prisoners, and continue to be subjected to unimaginable horrors. He chose the latter — repeatedly, defiantly, proudly.
John endured what he did because his life was never about John McCain. He was not without flaws but he knew the price of his mistakes and he bore the full weight of his errors. Still, at every turn, John lived not in service to himself, or to his party, but in service to something higher. And his life of “imperfect service” was spent striving to better reflect the foundational ideals of his country — for which John was willing to sacrifice everything.
“We disagree in politics — but not in life.” That’s what John said about my uncle Mo. But it’s also how John approached every moment of his life of service. He refused to be consumed by the distrust, the gamesmanship, the division that has consumed so much of political life. He looked at issues not through the lens of how something might help himself or his party, but how it might help the country. He stayed grounded in the bigger picture, and in what truly mattered.
John’s marks of bipartisanship and courage carried him through his 35 years in Congress. He worked across party lines to forge comprehensive immigration reform that both parties could live with — even though he took political hits for it. He was the strongest and most visible supporter for reform within the Republican Party — having tried on multiple occasions to get legislation through Congress. In his most recent book, he says that “anyone can become an American if they embrace our values. Anyone.” He understood what we in my home state of New Mexico see so clearly: that the United States is an idea — an idea that does not belong to any particular race, ethnicity, creed, or language but to any and all who are willing to sacrifice for our shared principles.
John reached across party lines to enact campaign finance reform. John believed in our democracy, in a pluralistic society in which everyone should have a voice. He understood the perverse influence big money has on our political landscape, how it drowns out the voices of the many. His landmark McCain-Feingold will stand as a marker for clean politics, even though the U.S. Supreme Court has gutted so much of it. ‘We go through it historically: reform, corruption, reform, corruption,’ John said. ‘Right now, in my view, we’re at the height of corruption, thanks to the United States Supreme Court.” I couldn’t agree more. But John would want us to keep fighting — until we make sure that every American can make their voices heard in their democracy.

It was my privilege and honor to serve with John in the Senate these last 10 years. And I will always hold memories of his unflinching independence and courage in my mind. Like when he cast the deciding vote to stop repeal of the Obama administration rules to control dangerous greenhouse gas emissions. Leading the fight on the Senate floor, I wasn’t sure we could get the votes we needed. But like so many times before, John bucked his party, and he came through.
And he not only astounded everyone present on the Senate floor, but the whole nation, when he walked into the Senate well and decidedly pointed his thumb down on the haphazard attempt to repeal the Affordable Care Act. John knew the repeal process and the policy being proposed were contrary to the fundamental values of the Senate he so dearly loved — and he cast yet another deciding vote.
John was not perfect — and he’d be the first to admit it. We disagreed often. And like most people in Washington, I have my own stories to tell about that famous temper of his, when he thought I was on the wrong side of an issue. But he didn’t let his grudges linger. He always remembered that we were all, at the end of the day, fighting toward the same goal, and for the same country we love.
In too many ways to count or say, John rose above.
He never forgot his friendship with my uncle, even when Mo ceased to hold political power. In his last years, John visited Mo regularly at a veterans’ hospital — read from the newspaper, told him Arizona political stories — even though Mo couldn’t speak or move because he was so debilitated by Parkinson’s Disease.
In the deepest sense of the word, John was a friend to the Udall family — to Jill and I, and to the entire Udall family. Under the leadership of my father, Stewart Udall, John became an ally as my dad crusaded to make whole Navajo Uranium Miners who had been sickened by our government’s Cold War efforts.
And John wouldn’t campaign against Mo’s son, Mark Udall, my cousin, in 2014 when he was running a tight race in Colorado to retain his Senate seat. John was too loyal to Mo. Loyal to his friendships, and to his ideals.
In April of this year, I had my own opportunity to visit with John, near the end of his heroic time on this earth. John and Mo were being honored at the Grand Canyon for their protection of that iconic landscape. Against the canyon’s backdrop, Cindy McCain read a letter from John, and I paid tribute to those two great Arizona statesmen.

“I can only aspire to walk in their footsteps,” I said at the time. That is an aspiration we should all share.
After the ceremony, I visited John and Cindy at their Arizona ranch. John was in good spirits: optimistic, thankful, engaged. We didn’t dwell on today’s divisive politics, but instead recounted old stories and talked about the ways our families worked together to move New Mexico, Arizona, and the entire West and country forward.
That is how I will remember John. With his gaze always upward, with an eye to something higher. John touched me. He touched my family. He has touched all of America, and the world, with his ferocity, independence, and profound belief that every single one of us should have our chance to leave our mark on this great democracy. Jill and I will miss him dearly.
John’s heroic example is one we should all aspire to meet, especially in these uncertain times. We must harness the same will, the same fight, the same courage that John brought to his life — to protect the democracy, and the fundamental ideals, that Senator McCain cherished so deeply.
In his memory, let us all work to honor John’s fundamental belief: that in this big, diverse, challenging, and beautiful country of ours, we may often disagree in politics — but we need not disagree in life.
