O P I N I O N
I pretended to be Dan Quayle in junior high school.
It was 1988, and my social studies teacher organized a mock election in our class. The event was replete with our own campaign speeches and ballot boxes and followed by an in-school celebration where, unfortunately, the candidate playing the former vice-president guzzled so much soda he puked in the trash can beside Mr. Hamill’s desk—certainly not winning the custodial demographic.
I can’t recall who played my running-mate, President George H.W. Bush (bringing the thunder of the gods), or which nerds were sadly cast as former Massachusetts governor Michael Dukakis and his running-mate Sen. Lloyd Bentson. I do remember, however, that our ticket won the mock election by a landslide—-despite my vomit episode. These results would later mirror the national vote, despite Dukakis/Bentson winning the heavily blue state of Rhode Island where I grew up.
I also can’t remember ever seeing the current levels of partisan gridlock, the venomous attacks, not only on the politicians leading the wagons, but attacks from fellow citizens on fellow citizens who dissent with opinions.
This political animus is now leading to rifts in friendships and families, and it has left moderates, like me, disgruntled with politicians, pundits and the political hacks on both sides of the aisle.
But I also never considered myself a moderate. Until recently.
In college and throughout my early adulthood, I fashioned myself a progressive. I grew my hair long and wore tie-dye shirts and burned Sandalwood incense and even went to a Dead show—weeks before Jerry Garcia died (nota bene: I still love The Dead). In the 90s, this was considered “woke.” But there was a problem with this posture.
I’m not a progressive.
While I still lean left—particularly on health care and social issues—I’m not about join to Antifa or set off Molotov cocktails to protest The Establishment. The real reason I positioned myself so far to the left back then was so I could date smart women with informed decisions.
And it worked.
My wife now is so far left she makes Bernie Sanders look like John McCain. However, while she’s spent decades railing against conservatives and everything Republicans espouse, I’ve been so slowly creeping toward the center.
While my ’90s girlfriends were braiding my ponytail, my parents would tell me the quote that has been attributed to dozens of people and seen many manifestations through translation: “If you’re not a liberal at 20, you have no heart; if you’re not conservative at 40, you have no brain.”
As a moderate in 2020, looking at the most important election of our lifetime, I’d like to add an addendum to that quote.
If you vote for Donald Trump in 2020, you have neither a heart nor a brain.
(Cue: The Wizard of Oz)
I have no qualms with voting for Republican candidates; in fact, I was particularly impressed with former Ohio governor John Kasich, whose fiscally conservative and socially moderate views I could support.
But as far as the current president is concerned, Donald Trump is a bloviate carnival barker without any semblance of a moral center or a modicum of empathy or decency, a narcissist who only values himself and his own self-preservation.
He’s not a Republican. He’s just a dangerous, insidious and mendacious asshole.
Is Joe Biden the best candidate the Democrats could run? Far from it. Would I love to see the two-party system obliterated and the handlers who control both parties exposed? Of course. Will I be counting my cartwheels on my way to the voting booth in November?
Absolutely not.
Joe Biden is bought and paid for by the same people who brought you Donald Trump. But if you ignore the propaganda positioning Biden as a left-wing socialist and look solely at Biden’s record, he is a moderate running in a country that’s become no place for old moderates.
And when I leave the voting booth in November, I’ll look for Mr. Hamill’s trashcan and reprise my old role.
