Not a Political Blog

As anyone who’s read my profile or the very first post on this blog will know, I’m an International Affairs major specializing in Eastern Europe. Politics is a passion of mine, whether arguing over GOP plans to destroy the filibuster or trying to figure out how Silvio Berlusconi has managed to keep his deeply unpopular government together so long (almost made it the full five years; way to go, Silvio!).

I’ve been told by some friends that I shouldn’t turn this into a political blog. There are so many out there already that it would be difficult for me to make this one really stand out. They say that most people aren't that interested in politics, and even the ones who are don't care much about my politics, about the Orange Revolution in Ukraine or the struggle for freedom in Belarus or efforts at criminal & judicial reform in Georgia. Perhaps they're right, though it should be noted that most of the people telling me this don’t themselves care about politics, or at least not European politics, and are probably afraid that they’ll be obligated to read my rants about Viktor Yuschenko and Yuliya Tymoshenko, Alyaksandr Lukashenka, or (especially) Vladimir Putin. Perhaps they're right. So far, at least, I've avoided politics for the most part, and satisfied myself with those links (over on the right of the page) to Euro news services.

Nevertheless, I do get into politics. One of the things I most enjoy about spending so much time on a college campus is the profusion of people who really care about politics, who want to talk and argue and learn. These people can be a genuine joy to spend time with, even though the vast majority of them don’t really have any idea what they’re talking about.

And I mean that sincerely. I’ve had many conversations, not only with casual students (who can perhaps be excused for not knowing any better), but with members of the various political organizations on campus. As I say, I always enjoy these talks, but more often than not I come away thinking, “Jeez, go live in the world a little. Or read a book. Or do something to learn what’s actually going on out there.”

When I first moved here, I made some friends in the Young Democrats. They were good kids, genuinely dedicated true believers. They worked hard to get out the vote, to support local candidates, to disseminate information. I liked them. I didn’t join their organization, of course, because I am not a Democrat (I was at the time a registered member of the Socialist Party USA, the party Eugene Debs founded; I was even a delegate to the 2000 convention). I used to love making fun of them, with their insistence on fixing the system from the inside out.

“You understand,” I would say, “that Democrats haven’t been any better at fixing the system than the Republicans over the years.”

Of course most of them knew that, though they were loath to admit it. The Democrats might be nicer people, but they’re just as corrupt as the GOP. You can’t save the country by electing this guy over that guy, though you can certainly destroy it faster that way. The entire system needs changed, and neither party is serious about that.

Once, they (the Young Dems) were having a vote drive and asked me to find them some particularly biting and incisive political cartoons they could use as advertising (everybody knows to come to me for that sort of thing). They were expecting some cheap photocopies, but I found and enlarged 35-40 of them, each big and polished enough to be a sign in itself. They were very impressed. Derek, the president, said, “Wow, thanks! We didn’t expect all this.”

“Well, Derek,” said I, “I never do anything halfway. If I did, I’d be a Democrat.”

Some of them were more nearly radical than others, of course. I distinctly remember one night at TJ's, a local pool hall (which I recommend, by the way; the draft is cheap and the tables are kept in pretty good condition). A few of the members had gotten drunk and wanted to do something to make a statement. But of course they were just kids, so the best they could think of was to go around and egg the houses of rich people. I was enlisted to prevent them from doing this. “This is not a radical action,” I said. “This is petty vandalism, and it will accomplish nothing except that you will get caught and you will look stupid, and the Republicans will have something embarrassing to use against you in the next election.”

One of the Dems, whose name I’ll leave out because he’s actually planning a career in politics, said, “Well, how about we go around and burn down their houses then?” Everyone laughed, but he was serious. So I took him aside.

“Well, isn’t that radical enough for you?” he asked. He seemed genuinely hurt that I wouldn’t let him do it.

“Yeah, that’s pretty radical.”

“You’re not worried about a bunch of dead rich folks, are ya?”

“Shit no,” says I, thinking fast. “The only good rich guy’s a dead rich guy. The problem with killing rich folks, though, is that you gotta kill ‘em all at once. If you only kill a few at a time, they’ll figure out what you’re up to. And remember, they own the police; and if it comes to it, they own the government and the Army as well. There just aren’t enough of us to kill all of them tonight. We’ll have to bide our time.” That seemed to mollify him a bit. I bought him a beer and then sent him home to bed.

Every rich person in Huntington, by the way, owes me a drink for that. I’ll be at Hank’s when you’re ready to pay up.

* * * * * * *

Anyway, I had a blast with the Young Democrats until they got mad at me for showing up drunk at a Meet the Candidates get-together they’d worked very hard on. (As a general rule, if you don't want me to show up drunk, don't invite me.) I harangued a few candidates about living-wage ordinances and so forth for a while, and at least a couple of the candidates seemed to enjoy the wrangling, but the Young Dems were pretty mad. They can be very humorless people.

Not that the College GOP (and I always pronounce that acronym as a word rather than saying G-O-P, which is very satisfying and really pisses them off; you should try it) is any better. I first encountered them en masse during the great public brain-washing leading up to the Iraq War, though I’d known a few of them individually for some time (a few martyrs who liked to see me as a lost soul in need of saving, which, come to think of it, is how a few of the Young Dems saw me as well). The GOP was putting up flyers all over campus promoting the war, and some of the Young Dems (those who also belonged to MAPS, which I think stood for Marshall Action for Peaceful Solutions) were putting up anti-war flyers. The GOP was coming around and tearing down all the MAPS flyers, which is an affront to open public discussion but was also, in retrospect, emblematic of the way the Administration was framing the discussion nationally. A real practical educational experience, that coulda been. Wish I had mentioned it to my PoliSci professors.

Anyway, I hadn’t put up any of the original flyers, but I felt that retaliation was called for, and I didn’t trust the Dems to do it right. I am not the sort of person who goes around tearing down flyers, because everyone has a right for his voice to be heard. No, I needed something more creative. And with the help of desktop publishing, a strong sense of irony, a magic marker, and a copy of Strunk and White, I found it.

I had noticed that the GOP flyers had many spelling & grammatical errors on them, as well as some intensely fallacious logic. I’m not saying that the GOP is stupid, you understand; just, you know, maybe whoever was responsible for copy-editing that stuff before the public sees it was having a bad week. So I went around correcting all of their flyers and then appending homemade stickers saying “I checked the SPELLING…you check the FACTS!” It was fun. They finally caught me doing it, though, and were kinda pissed. However, it turns out that blue-penciling isn’t actually a violation of school rules, while removing other organizations’ flyers is. So, they let it go.

Mostly, I was irritated with both organizations more or less all the time, though I liked many members of each individually. MAPS was different from the other two. It was affiliated with neither party; their only focus was on peace. I know, members of the GOP are saying, “Sure, they say they’re non-partisan…but I bet they hate Bush!” Of course, they opposed Bush’s invasion of Iraq, but they opposed Clinton’s intervention in the Balkans, too. There’s an integrity to that that appeals to me. I attended several of their meetings, and even developed a genuine fondness for a couple of the members, Abe and Maggie.

Even crazy Dave McGee was kinda fun sometimes. But he left the organization, and maybe that was best for all involved. He had a bad habit of getting drunk and belligerent, and in a non-partisan organization that’s dedicated to “peaceful solutions,” a senior member who occasionally walks into Calamity Café and slaps the help is something of a detriment. He’s started a new organization locally now (an arm of ACT UP, I believe), and I hope he does well, though I haven’t seen him for a while.

I mention Dave because he was typical of all the clamor going on the country. Dave really meant well, really felt that the work he was doing was important (and it was); he genuinely believed he was right and that, therefore, everyone who disagreed with him was either stupid or wicked. All the voices we hear are like that, and for the most part, so are our own. A new voice would be refreshing.

* * * * * * *

I’m thinking of all this, of war and politics and the campus organizations and the petty sniping, because of one of the College GOP guys that I got along with. He got sent to Iraq not long after the war began. He’s home now, safe and healthy (barring any psychological scars he might be carrying; there weren't any obvious ones). I ran into him at the bar the other night, and he and I talked for a bit. He began by saying that he knew I didn't agree with our being over there, and he hoped I didn't hate him for going, which I assured him I did not ("We were never mad at you, brother; we were mad at the Doofus-in-Chief"). He had grown a bit since I'd last seen him, in the sense that he had learned to question what was being told to him. He told me he still supported the President, but had developed serious doubts about the war.

He told me stories, of course, as returning soldiers do. He told me about engagements and battles. He told me about liberating prisons; he told me about shelled-out hospitals and schools, too. He believes that the cause was just but the execution was not. He told me about being fired upon in the streets of Baghdad, and how the “soldiers” shooting at him turned out to be young boys. He said to me, “I didn’t return fire. I’m not killing a twelve-year-old just to save my own life.”

And I thought, I wish this had been the sort of voice we'd been listening to all along.