On Sep 10, 10:45 am, jane <
jane.pla...@gmail.com> wrote:
>
http://remnantculture.com/?p=4583
a republican comes clean/conservatives are sociopaths:As I came to
recognize that poverty is not earned/chosen/deserved/that our use of
force is far less precise than I had believed:I realized with a shock
that I had effectively viewed whole swaths of the country/the world as
second-class people.
"THE CONSERVATIVES" live in a counter-factual universe, the product
of the hermetically sealed "CONSERVATIVE" subculture. Trying to see
the world through the lens of "THE CONSERVATIVE", is like looking at a
fun-house mirror; everything’s backwards and distorted
he gained empathy and remorse. he was lucky. most conservatives are
al bundy, archie bunker, or homer simpson types who lack empathy,
remorse, pity, morals, ethics, or have a conscience. but their very
limited or nonexistent logic skills leave them selling shoes, and they
will not amount to much.
but a few are high functioning, clever, cunning, manipulative, and
quite dangerous. they must be kept out of power at all costs.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jeremiah-goulka/ex-republican_b_1870534.html
Jeremiah Goulka
Writer
Joining the Reality-Based Community
Posted: 09/10/2012 10:45 am
Or How I Learned to Stop Loving the Bombs and Start Worrying
Cross-posted with TomDispatch.com
I used to be a serious Republican, moderate and business-oriented, who
planned for a public-service career in Republican politics. But I am
a Republican no longer.
There’s an old joke we Republicans used to tell that goes something
like this: “If you’re young and not a Democrat, you’re heartless. If
you grow up and you’re not a Republican, you’re stupid.” These days,
my old friends and associates no doubt consider me the butt of that
joke. But I look on my “stupidity” somewhat differently. After all,
my real education only began when I was 30 years old.
This is the story of how in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina and
later in Iraq, I discovered that what I believed to be the full
spectrum of reality was just a small slice of it and how that
discovery knocked down my Republican worldview.
I always imagined that I was full of heart, but it turned out that I
was oblivious. Like so many Republicans, I had assumed that society’s
“losers” had somehow earned their desserts. As I came to recognize
that poverty is not earned or chosen or deserved, and that our use of
force is far less precise than I had believed, I realized with a shock
that I had effectively viewed whole swaths of the country and the
world as second-class people.
No longer oblivious, I couldn’t remain in today’s Republican Party,
not unless I embraced an individualism that was even more heartless
than the one I had previously accepted. The more I learned about
reality, the more I started to care about people as people, and my
values shifted. Had I always known what I know today, it would have
been clear that there hasn’t been a place for me in the Republican
Party since the Free Soil days of Abe Lincoln.
Where I Came From
I grew up in a rich, white suburb north of Chicago populated by
moderate, business-oriented Republicans. Once upon a time, we would
have been called Rockefeller Republicans. Today we would be called
liberal Republicans or slurred by the Right as “Republicans In Name
Only” (RINOs).
We believed in competition and the free market, in bootstraps and
personal responsibility, in equality of opportunity, not outcomes. We
were financial conservatives who wanted less government. We believed
in noblesse oblige, for we saw ourselves as part of a natural
aristocracy, even if we hadn’t been born into it. We sided with
management over labor and saw unions as a scourge. We hated racism
and loved Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., particularly his dream that his
children would “live in a nation where they will not be judged by the
color of their skin but by the content of their character.” We
worried about the rise of the Religious Right and its social-
conservative litmus tests. We were tough on crime, tough on national
enemies. We believed in business, full stop.
I intended to run for office on just such a platform someday. In the
meantime, I founded the Republican club at my high school, knocked on
doors and collected signatures with my father, volunteered on
campaigns, socialized at fundraisers, and interned for Senator John
McCain and Congressman Denny Hastert when he was House Majority Whip
Tom DeLay's chief deputy.
We went to mainstream colleges -- the more elite the better -- but
lamented their domination by liberal professors, and I did my best to
tune out their liberal views. I joined the Republican clubs and the
Federalist Society, and I read the Wall Street Journal and the
Economist rather the New York Times. George Will was a voice in the
wilderness, Rush Limbaugh an occasional (sometimes guilty) pleasure.
Left Behind By the Party
In January 2001, I was one of thousands of Americans who braved the
cold rain to attend and cheer George W. Bush’s inauguration. After
eight years hating “Slick Willie,” it felt good to have a Republican
back in the White House. But I knew that he wasn’t one of our guys.
We had been McCain fans, and even if we liked the compassionate bit
of Bush’s conservatism, we didn’t care for his religiosity or his
social politics.
Bush won a lot of us over with his hawkish response to 9/11, but he
lost me with the Iraq War. Weren’t we still busy in Afghanistan? I
didn’t see the urgency.
By then, I was at the Justice Department, working in an office that
handled litigation related to what was officially called the Global
War on Terror (or GWOT). My office was tasked with opposing petitions
for habeas corpus brought by Guantánamo detainees who claimed that
they were being held indefinitely without charge. The government’s
position struck me as an abdication of a core Republican value:
protecting the “procedural” rights found in the Bill of Rights. Sure,
habeas corpus had been waived in wartime before, but it seemed to me
that waiving it here reduced us to the terrorists’ level. Besides,
since acts of terrorism were crimes, why not prosecute them? I
refused to work on those cases.
With the Abu Ghraib pictures, my disappointment turned to rage. The
America I believed in didn’t torture people.
I couldn’t avoid GWOT work. I was forced to read reams of allegations
of torture, sexual abuse, and cover-ups in our war zones to give the
White House a heads-up in case any of made it into the news cycle.
I was so mad that I voted for Kerry out of spite.
How I Learned to Start Worrying
I might still have stuck it out as a frustrated liberal Republican,
knowing that the wealthy business core of the party still pulled a few
strings and people like Richard Lugar and Olympia Snowe remained in
the Senate -- if only because the idea of voting for Democrats by
choice made me feel uncomfortable. (It would have been so… gauche.)
Then came Hurricane Katrina. In New Orleans, I learned that it wasn’t
just the Bush administration that was flawed but my worldview itself.
I had fallen in love with New Orleans during a post-law-school year
spent in Louisiana clerking for a federal judge, and the Bush
administration’s callous (non-)response to the storm broke my heart.
I wanted to help out, but I didn’t fly helicopters or know how to do
anything useful in a disaster, so just I sat glued to the coverage and
fumed -- until FEMA asked federal employees to volunteer to help. I
jumped at the chance.
Soon, I was involved with a task force trying to rebuild (and reform)
the city’s criminal justice system. Growing up hating racism, I was
appalled but not very surprised to find overt racism and the obvious
use of racist code words by officials in the Deep South.
Then something tiny happened that pried open my eyes to the less
obvious forms of racism and the hurdles the poor face when they try to
climb the economic ladder. It happened on an official visit to a
school in a suburb of New Orleans that served kids who had gotten
kicked out of every other school around. I was investigating what
types of services were available to the young people who were showing
up in juvenile hall and seemed to be headed toward the proverbial life
of crime.
My tour guide mentioned that parents were required to participate in
some school programs. One of these was a field trip to a sit-down
restaurant.
This stopped me in my tracks. I thought: What kind of a lame field
trip is that?
It turned out that none of the families had ever been to a sit-down
restaurant before. The teachers had to instruct parents and students
alike how to order off a menu, how to calculate the tip.
I was stunned.
Starting To See
That night, I told my roommates about the crazy thing I had heard that
day. Apparently there were people out there who had never been to
something as basic as a real restaurant. Who knew?
One of my roommates wasn’t surprised. He worked at a local bank
branch that required two forms of ID to open an account. Lots of
people came in who had only one or none at all.
I was flooded with questions: There are adults who have no ID? And no
bank accounts? Who are these people? How do they vote? How do they
live? Is there an entire off-the-grid alternate universe out there?
From then on, I started to notice a lot more reality. I noticed that
the criminal justice system treats minorities differently in subtle as
well as not-so-subtle ways, and that many of the people who were
getting swept up by the system came from this underclass that I knew
so little about. Lingering for months in lock-up for misdemeanors,
getting pressed against the hood and frisked during routine traffic
stops, being pulled over in white neighborhoods for “driving while
black”: these are things that never happen to people in my world. Not
having experienced it, I had always assumed that government force was
only used against guilty people. (Maybe that’s why we middle-class
white people collectively freak out at TSA airport pat-downs.)
I dove into the research literature to try to figure out what was
going on. It turned out that everything I was “discovering” had been
hiding in plain sight and had been named: aversive racism,
institutional racism, disparate impact and disparate treatment,
structural poverty, neighborhood redlining, the “trial tax,” the
“poverty tax,” and on and on. Having grown up obsessed with race
(welfare and affirmative action were our bêtes noirs), I wondered why
I had never heard of any of these concepts.
Was it to protect our Republican version of “individual
responsibility”? That notion is fundamental to the liberal Republican
worldview. “Bootstrapping” and “equality of opportunity, not outcomes”
make perfect sense if you assume, as I did, that people who hadn’t
risen into my world simply hadn’t worked hard enough, or wanted it
badly enough, or had simply failed. But I had assumed that
bootstrapping required about as much as it took to get yourself
promoted from junior varsity to varsity. It turns out that it’s more
like pulling yourself up from tee-ball to the World Series. Sure,
some people do it, but they’re the exceptions, the outliers, the
Olympians.
The enormity of the advantages I had always enjoyed started to truly
sink in. Everyone begins life thinking that his or her normal is the
normal. For the first time, I found myself paying attention to broken
eggs rather than making omelets. Up until then, I hadn’t really seen
most Americans as living, breathing, thinking, feeling, hoping,
loving, dreaming, hurting people. My values shifted -- from an
individualistic celebration of success (that involved dividing the
world into the morally deserving and the undeserving) to an interest
in people as people.
How I Learned to Stop Loving the Bombs
In order to learn more -- and to secure my membership in what Karl
Rove sneeringly called the “reality-based community” -- I joined a
social science research institute. There I was slowly disabused of
layer after layer of myth and received wisdom, and it hurt. Perhaps
nothing hurt more than to see just how far my patriotic, Republican
conception of U.S. martial power -- what it’s for, how it’s used --
diverged from the reality of our wars.
Lots of Republicans grow up hawks. I certainly did. My sense of what
it meant to be an American was linked to my belief that from 1776 to
WWII, and even from the 1991 Gulf War to Kosovo and Afghanistan, the
American military had been dedicated to birthing freedom and democracy
in the world, while dispensing a tough and precise global justice.
To me, military service represented the perfect combination of public
service, honor, heroism, glory, promotion, meaning, and coolness. As
a child, I couldn’t get enough of the military: toys and models,
movies and cartoons, fat books with technical pictures of manly
fighter planes and ships and submarines. We went to air shows
whenever we could, and with the advent of cable, I begged my parents
to sign up so that the Discovery Channel could bring those shows right
into our den. Just after we got it, the first Gulf War kicked off,
and CNN provided my afterschool entertainment for weeks.
As I got older, I studied Civil War military history and memory. (I
would eventually edit a book of letters by Union Gen. Joshua Lawrence
Chamberlain.) I thought I knew a lot about war; even if Sherman was
right that “war is hell,” it was frequently necessary, we did it well,
and -- whatever those misinformed peaceniks said -- we made the world
a better place.
But then I went to a war zone.
I was deployed to Baghdad as part of a team of RAND Corporation
researchers to help the detainee operations command figure out several
thorny policy issues. My task was to figure out why we were sort-of-
protecting and sort-of-detaining an Iranian dissident group on
Washington’s terrorist list.
It got ugly fast. Just after my first meal on base, there was a
rumble of explosions, and an alarm started screaming INCOMING!
INCOMING! INCOMING! Two people were killed and dozens injured, right
outside the chow hall where I had been standing minutes earlier.
This was the “surge” period in 2007 when, I was told, insurgent
attacks came less frequently than before, but the sounds of war seemed
constant to me. The rat-tat-tat of small arms fire just across the
“wire.” Controlled detonations of insurgent duds. Dual patrolling
Blackhawks overhead. And every few mornings, a fresh rain of insurgent
rockets and mortars.
Always alert, always nervous, I was only in Iraq for three and a half
weeks, and never close to actual combat; and yet the experience gave
me many of the symptoms of PTSD. It turns out that it doesn’t take
much.
That made me wonder how the Iraqis took it. From overhead I saw that
the once teeming city of Baghdad was now a desert of desolate
neighborhoods and empty shopping streets, bomb craters in the middle
of soccer fields and in the roofs of schools. Millions displaced.
Our nation-building efforts reeked of post-Katrina organizational
incompetence. People were assigned the wrong roles -- “Why am I
building a radio station? This isn’t what I do. I blow things up…”
-- and given no advance training or guidance. Outgoing leaders didn’t
overlap with their successors, so what they had learned would be lost,
leaving each wheel to be partially reinvented again. Precious few
contracts went to Iraqis. It was driving people out of our military.
This incompetence had profound human costs. Of the 26,000 people we
were detaining in Iraq, as many as two-thirds were innocent -- wrong
place, wrong time -- or, poor and desperate, had worked with insurgent
groups for cash, not out of an ideological commitment. Aware of this,
the military wanted to release thousands of them, but they didn't know
who was who; they only knew that being detained and interrogated made
even the innocents dangerously angry. That anger trickled down to
family, friends, neighbors, and acquaintances. It was about as good
an in-kind donation as the U.S. could have made to insurgent
recruitment -- aside from invading in the first place.
So much for surgical precision and winning hearts and minds. I had
grown up believing that we were more careful in our use of force, that
we only punished those who deserved punishment. But in just a few
weeks in Iraq, it became apparent that what we were doing to the
Iraqis, as well as to our own people, was inexcusable.
Today, I wonder if Mitt Romney drones on about not apologizing for
America because he, like the former version of me, simply isn’t aware
of the U.S. ever doing anything that might demand an apology. Then
again, no one wants to feel like a bad person, and there's no need to
apologize if you are oblivious to the harms done in your name --
calling the occasional ones you notice collateral damage (“stuff
happens”) -- or if you believe that American force is always applied
righteously in a world that is justly divided into winners and losers.
A Painful Transition
An old saw has it that no one profits from talking about politics or
religion. I think I finally understand what it means. We see
different realities, different worlds. If you and I take in different
slices of reality, chances are that we aren’t talking about the same
things. I think this explains much of modern American political
dialogue.
My old Republican worldview was flawed because it was based upon a
small and particularly rosy sliver of reality. To preserve that
worldview, I had to believe that people had morally earned their
“just” desserts, and I had to ignore those whining liberals who tried
to point out that the world didn’t actually work that way. I think
this shows why Republicans put so much effort into “creat[ing] our own
reality,” into fostering distrust of liberals, experts, scientists,
and academics, and why they won’t let a campaign “be dictated by fact-
checkers” (as a Romney pollster put it). It explains why study after
study shows -- examples here, here, and here -- that avid consumers of
Republican-oriented media are more poorly informed than people who use
other news sources or don’t bother to follow the news at all.
Waking up to a fuller spectrum of reality has proved long and
painful. I had to question all my assumptions, unlearn so much of
what I had learned. I came to understand why we Republicans thought
people on the Left always seemed to be screeching angrily (because we
refused to open our eyes to the damage we caused or blamed the
victims) and why they never seemed to have any solutions to offer
(because those weren’t mentioned in the media we read or watched).
My transition has significantly strained my relationships with family,
friends, and former colleagues. It is deeply upsetting to walk on
thin ice where there used to be solid, common ground. I wish they,
too, would come to see a fuller spectrum of reality, but I know from
experience how hard that can be when your worldview won’t let you.
No one wants to feel like a dupe. It is embarrassing to come out in
public and admit that I was so miseducated when so much reality is out
there in plain sight in neighborhoods I avoided, in journals I hadn’t
heard of, in books by authors I had refused to read. (So I take
courage from the people who have done so before me like Andrew
Bacevich.)
Many people see the wider spectrum of reality because they grew up on
the receiving end. As a retired African-American general in the
Marine Corps said to me after I told him my story, “No one has to
explain institutional racism to a black man.”
Others do because they grew up in families that simply got it. I
married a woman who grew up in such a family, for whom all of my hard-
earned, painful “discoveries” are old news. Each time I pull another
layer of wool off my eyes and feel another surge of anger, she gives
me a predictable series of looks. The first one more or less says,
“Duh, obviously.” The second is sympathetic, a recognition of the
pain that comes with dismantling my flawed worldview. The third is
concerned: “Do people actually think that?”
Yes, they do.
Jeremiah Goulka writes about American politics and culture. His most
recent work has been published in the American Prospect and Salon. He
was formerly an analyst at the RAND Corporation, a recovery worker in
New Orleans following Hurricane Katrina, and an attorney at the U.S.
Department of Justice. He lives in Washington, D.C. You can follow
him on Twitter @jeremiahgoulka or contact him at
jere...@jeremiahgoulka.com. His website is
jeremiahgoulka.com. To
listen to Timothy MacBain's latest Tomcast audio interview in which
Goulka discusses his political journey, click here or download it to
your iPod here.