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I am … not sure how to put this – a liberated apolitical. I offer this openly not to fan the flames of rhetoric, nor incite bipartisan hysteria, but to inform. In the current climate of global hot air and misty rainbows; of chicken soup in a book and inspirationally chiding guides to a more tolerant you, I think it’s time for each of us to step back, gain some perspective – tear down that ticket fence. Let’s put away the demagoguery and paulistphobic hate speech. We must come together in this experimental great nation of ours and raise our voices in unity to proclaim; “Libertarians are people, too!”
I hope this doesn’t change anything. I’m the same person I always was; just more disoriented than my straight ticket friends. And like many brave freedom fighters before me who blazed trails through hostile camps booby-trapped with explosive world views and vitriolic partyism, I didn’t realize what I was or who I was until I was forcibly pressed by talking-point to freely exercise my right to choose-or-get-out. But I chose to stay; to fight this rampant institutionalized unconstitutional constitution called party affiliation of the lesser evil. I believe there are others out there who are struggling with this issue. Trying to find themselves. Wondering why this happened, why they don’t feel anything. I was there. I feel that pain more than sax players. I come forward now to give representation without vexation. This is my story. I dedicate it to all the apoliticals out there who are asking, “Am I alone?” I’m here to tell you – No, you are not! And you don’t have to be partisan anymore!
Confessions Of a Closet Politically Apathetic Apartisan:
I wasted much of my life trying to fit in prestamped boxes; wearing sticky notes that pinched. They never suited me. I had a habit of falling out or losing tags so I’d tape tighter. But the more ticket tape I wrapped, the more tightly split I wound up. Nobody likes a split ticket so it clearly wasn’t working for me. I didn’t know what to do or where to turn. (This was before political science pre-approved the hypothesis of genetically determined party disengagement so there were no support groups or half-way houses.) I started reading all the right books, changing positions to the left. Still I was dissatisfied. This may sound radical but I even dabbled in bipartisanship for a brief time (silly youth, silly college houses). Empty. So wrong. Something was seriously misaligned in my political essence but I couldn’t grasp what it was. I felt queasy around balloons and hats and elephants and jackasses, yet instead of taking a different course; just saying ‘no’- I threw myself in deep.
Looking back, I should’ve abstained but I didn’t believe I had referendum options. There was a lot of fear pressure. Everyone was doing it, only one way or the other. I drank the kool-aid knowing it was poison, and became a junkie. I got buzzed on the political buzz. I attended parties unable to walk the platforms in a straight line; hyperventilated when someone raised the “issues.” It was bad. I even got hooked on slogans, slapping bumper stickers on anything I could get my hands on. It was all cover. I needed to survive and bumper stickers kept me going. I felt safe, knowing I’d get a thumbs up and a free ticket for expressing myself without ever having to engage. Engagements terrified me. So many issues and I already had enough of my own. There were frequent close calls. I remember feeling people were on to me. They just knew I wasn’t playing straight. Sometimes I was even approached. “Hey, are you register …” I’d look away, quickly cut them off; breathing heavy, sweaty palms. “Yeah. I’m affiliated. You want a button, man?” I lived like this until I could live it no more. The final straw was the gallup.
Like many others, I eventually got into hard polls. Sometimes they were real uppers. Other times downers. It was a rollercoaster of highs and lows with shady pundits in shadowy lobbies ready to pump you with the cause in your darkest hour; the most vulnerable moments when you might be thinking the unthinkable – ‘No opinion.’ After awhile, though, I started paying attention to what I was really signing off on. This wasn’t me. This can not be who I am. I lapsed into a slump. I had the shakes, even refusing to get the vote out. I fell off the bandwagon. I just didn’t want to party anymore. That’s when I first met Dr. Ron. He came upon me independently, while I was on the sidelines watching the parade go by. “Are you floored, lonely, politically unattached?” At that moment, I knew I was no longer a partisan. I was a far-out outcast worth my weight in gold. Yes I am!
Many of you never heard of Dr. Ron. It’s not your fault. He has poor wealth coverage which leaves him, like many Americans, out in the cold unable to buy basic airtime or receive needed media attention. Without this fundamental right to control his own production, Dr. Ron has had to bear these burdens out of pocket, in unconventional ways. For this, they’ve attacked his metal standards and refuse to invite him to parties. We’ll be taking a closer look at Dr. Ron in future posts.
[Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are not necessarily the views of the author. And if you or your loved ones have been injured or hurt by taking too many sound bites, it’s your own fault.]