In response to last week’s column criticizing a certain shared attitude of conservative voices, several folks wrote in to accuse me of doing the same thing. When a column expressing opinions criticizes others for theirs, this is a reasonable claim. Certainly, on occasion I knowingly set up straw men, usually by stating only the most extreme position in such a way that the wording and logic discredit it. Sometimes I do so out of ignorance. Other times it’s because, hours past deadline, with the column hundreds of words too long, I edit it down so quickly as to mutilate ideas. Writing about complex ideas in a limited space is never that easy. Some of my columns are polemics; their purpose is not to be reasonable. There are times when I forget to actually make the point or words drown the ideas.
But there are some differences. Differences from the would-be-radio-talk-show-host letter writers, from the hosts themselves, and from pundits, both liberal and conservative, reactionary and radical.
I believe in democracy – not simply when those I vote for are elected, but all the time. Whenever this country has seen a significant party shift, even when those triumphant at the polls are politicians I oppose, some part of me is pleased. By no means am I so sure I’m right, or that everything I believe is legitimate.
I oppose Republicans, along with conservative ideas and policies, but I don’t regard them as traitors or want to see them disenfranchised. I believe in the two-party system – which means I expect and demand an active, aggressive opposition party.
I do not find those expressing opinions I disagree with laughable or pathetic. I don’t feel sorry for them, though I may feel troubled, upset, or disturbed by their ideas. Any idea I disagree with is not traitorous. There are many positions I think are in the worst interests of the United States, but I am not so wrapped up in the purity of my vision as to be smug beyond all questioning. Any historic development, even those I most vehemently oppose, is likely to yield positive as well as negative consequences (though quantifying any of them is usually more a philosophical than academic exercise).
I do not hate George W. Bush and deeply resent the charge that I do. He is a pathetic president; his domestic and international policies are devastating; his championing of restricting rights (judicial, health, reproductive), coupled with an assault on separation of church and state, show a deep disrespect for the Constitution. I disagree with much of what he stands for as a politician and have no respect for how he makes these decisions. Rather than exhibiting the overt corruption charged by some, our president is completely uninterested in ideas or deep thinking. Surrounding himself with those who tell him exactly what he wants to hear, Bush achieves his decisions intuitively. Once he has, because of his distaste for thinking, he rarely re-examines his positions. But I don’t hate the man – though I do despise his ideas. I hate very few politicians and/or leaders. My dissent is not personal. Ironically, those who scream the most about the irrational Bush-haters who despise everything this president does, regardless of value, are, as often as not, Clinton-haters.
Before the charge, “See, you’re doing it again, labeling others as you resent being labeled,” perform a quick experiment. Ask someone who doesn’t like Bush why they don’t. The list will probably include the invasion of Iraq, tax cuts for the rich, the destruction of the social safety net, assaults on women’s rights, and pro-industry, anti-environment policies, as well as that he is a spoiled rich boy who has availed himself of every societal privilege offered. Now ask a person who despises Clinton. The list may well include national health care, the championing of the social safety net, and demoralizing and downsizing the military. But if this is being asked without awareness of this column, it’s bound to also include Whitewater, Hillary, draft dodging, immorality, womanizing, Monica Lewinsky, and perjury. Which list is more issue-oriented and which more personal?
I am proud to have friends both conservative and liberal, both Republican and Democrat, both radical and reactionary. I’ve only become/been labeled as a deep-dyed liberal in the context of the fanaticism of the current administration and its supporters. The more political Chronicle staffers have long regarded me as a not-very-closeted conservative. I believe in capitalism and think an equitable future for the world is more dependent on an emerging middle class than on any revolutionary movements. I don’t hate the rich. The much-derided division between the richest and poorest Americans is a statistic of little interest. The discrepancy between the incomes of the poorest Americans and what is needed for a reasonable standard of living is of overwhelming importance.
I do despise extremists, especially because they’ve polluted the debate. An obvious example is the abortion issue, with the absolutely opposed on one hand and the overly insistent on the other, to the extent that any even reasonable discussion of health consequences or restrictions for the underaged is impossible. The latter are too painfully aware that the former engage in such discussions only as a means of achieving another step toward complete prohibition. (Exempted from this consideration is such a malevolently political construct as “late-term abortions,” which even anti-abortion doctors will tell you is an ideological position rather than a medical option.) But I feel exactly the same about gun control, with the fanatical gun abolitionists also viewing any reasonable restrictions as steps toward strict prohibition while the gun rights loyalists decry any discussion. Extremist minorities have so strictly set the agenda on many topics that reasonable discussions don’t occur.
Discussion, moderation, and compromise have become political positions denounced by many. Respect for others and the acceptance of principled disagreements offer a too-troubling complexity. There truly does seem to be an across-the-board distaste for contemplating the positions of those with whom one disagrees.
Believing in democracy is difficult because up close it allows for such dangerous activities. Over time, however, the genius of the people will prove wiser than any dictator, ideologically cohesive cadre, or skillful demagogues. “Over time” is the crucial phase: A lot might have to go wrong until we the people begin to correct it. But we will. And who else is there to trust?
Just dealing with myself – a mass of ideas, beliefs, emotions, and reflexive responses – demonstrates the problem. Ideas are unconsciously delineated by emotions, while actions taken for what I think are one set of reasons are probably authored by entirely different concerns. This is not simple autobiography but an appeal to accept our complexity and contradictions, the unknowable distinctions between our subconscious and conscious, the distance between who we think we are, or what we are doing, and what we do. All of this is compounded by an underlying, dense catalog of biological, historical, moral, religious, social, and political ideas. Humans are a boiling stew, so it should come as no surprise that democracy is a colossal mess. Think of the audacity of the core idea: that the hundreds of millions of us can live together and cooperatively administer government, acknowledging (ever-shifting) majority beliefs while respecting and protecting (ever-shifting) minority ones – the historically audacious conceit that we are all empowered. Democracy is a declaration of independence by human intellect over reflexive emotion.
This is why I find the comparisons of Bush to Hitler so odious. In January 2005, a new president will be inaugurated. The American people’s deep-seated commitment to core constitutional rights will allow for nothing else. In the letters (“Postmarks”) online, there is one accusing me of charging that the last election was “stolen” because of the Florida electoral mess. I never said that. After the election issue was resolved, I did write that, once again, the system had worked as it was supposed to work. My business partner Nick Barbaro yelled at me with anger and a passion I hadn’t witnessed in probably a decade (though times had changed – no one ended up at minor emergency). He cited the explicit Republican manipulations, the Supreme Court’s ill-advised decision, and Gov. Jeb Bush’s dishonest intervention despite his promise not to as some of the many examples of how the system had not worked.
Let’s begin by acknowledging that one’s interpretation of the Florida mess is a partisan litmus test. It’s not just that Republicans have one reading and Democrats another quite the opposite, but that people who tell you that they are not partisan will quickly reveal their actual leanings when discussing the situation.
I would love to see this whole discussion now abandoned – if for no other reason than if the victory had gone to Gore, I know how sick to death I would be by now over the much more persistent and hysterical daily attacks on his presidency from the right.
The system worked because, despite the blatant political dishonesty and aggressive partisan maneuvering, and no matter your particular take, when it was over – without violence, rioting, imprisonment, exile, or overt persecution – power was transferred. The government continued to function. The constitutional structure, though stained with graffiti, continued to function, with the legal structure of our society basically unchanged.
This is a column of opinion. It commits the errors, displays the arrogance, and offers the narrow opinion of just such columns. But at its heart it loves this country, the Constitution, democracy, and the American people – all of them. 
This article appears in July 9 • 2004.