A new friend warns she’s a Republican.
No, I assure her, you were. Most of us were something else once. But now you’re pro-beauty, truth, grace, elegance, justice, Golden Rule, Sermon on the Mount, Gettysburg Address. You believe in freedom of expression, courtesy, discourse, justice. Any political party is the accommodation of a moment, the least objectionable alternative, never a guarantee of goodness. Labels are libels, Procrustean simplifications so we can choose up sides and get things done. Today’s war pits truthtellers against liars, democrats against plutocrats, idealists against cynics, we versus me, so no, my friend, for today’s Republican mob you’re ineligible, you needn’t even apply.
Politicians are peddlers, not truth-tellers. They want you to buy their brand, even if it’s vile. If you don’t, they’ll be out of work. Honorable politicians bend the facts to persuade; villains lie outright. All pledge allegiance to the people, but by people they mean their pals.
I’ve been a registered Democrat since the first. That’s because my Dad was a Republican, I wanted a funeral like JFK’s, then Bobby’s, and Yale girls who dated Republicans (if any) weren’t my type. When I started to talk to readers about politics, I found myself splitting my vote. “There are no Republican or Democrat ways to pick up the garbage,” I’d singsong, and the bromide almost seemed true. I sneered at party-line voters for not thinking; now I’m one myself. The party of the Nameless One is anathema, toxic to civilization and perhaps the species. For involved reasons, I was obliged to vote Republican in a recent local election; I almost gagged.
A familiar interview trick is to force a politician to condemn their party’s misdeeds. I half pity today’s Republicans trying to defend the Nameless One’s turpitude. I have Republican friends appalled by America’s misdirection, but to say so would leave them poorer, friendless, alone. So they squirm, duck, promise to reform their party from within. Their spinelessness is sad to behold.
Truth’s a friendless anarchist. Mostly we say what others wish to hear, not what we see. Small lies lubricate relations. Every baby’s beautiful, no matter how ugly.
Pen in hand I try to say what I see – and to not offend my friends. Don’t all opinions arise from both pondering and pandering? Any worthwhile writing is both candid and coy: “Tell all the truth,” coaches Emily Dickinson, “but tell it slant.”
We mistake parties as stable when they’re motile as amoebas, adjusting their shapes to address the day’s concerns. I’d have been a Lincoln Republican or Teddy Roosevelt Republican or perhaps even an Ike Republican, but a Republican of today’s stripe, not a chance. Allegiance arises as much from self-interest as analysis. I oppose the Nameless One not just because he disgusts me, but because I’m convinced his policies will make life worse for me and mine (and by mine I mean humanity). Would this be my creed if I were a tech bro pulling down a cool billion? I’d like to think so, but it’s hard to know. Circumstances shape us more than we them.
As our throng at Good Morning Project swells, let’s constitute our own party. Let our creed be civility, generosity, fairness, human dignity. We’ll honor those who try to do their best for the most. We’ll believe in peace, science, and consistent justice. We’ll oppose rapine and rape. We’ll trust words to clarify and console, and object to their scurrilous misuse. We’ll insist every human deserves food, shelter, schooling, and medical care, no matter their means.
Will we be deluded about our virtue? Which party isn’t. Humility helps.