14 bad Republican arguments against impeachment

The accusation is simple and direct: Donald Trump, in his role as president, held up military aid to Ukraine – which had already been approved by Congress – “asking” that the nation first commit to investigating Trump’s political opponent, Joe Biden, and Biden’s son. Republicans’ arguments against impeachment, by contrast, have been all over the map. If they can’t seem to settle on one, it may be because they’re all so flimsy. I decided to address each in turn, exposing each for the fallacy it is.

1. There was no quid pro quo

Actually, there was. Trump’s own words (“I want you to do me a favor, though”) linked military aid to a preconditioned investigation of the Bidens, along with a conspiracy theory involving the 2016 election. Mick Mulvaney, Trump’s acting chief of staff, that the money was held up in part because of Trump’s demand for an investigation into 2016. When a reporter pointed out that “what you just described is a quid pro quo,” Mulvaney responded: “We do that all the time in foreign policy.” He later tried to retract that statement, but it was already out there.

2. It’s perfectly normal

“Get over it. There’s going to be political influence in foreign policy.” – Mulvaney

On the contrary, most commentators can’t remember a president ever withholding taxpayer funds in exchange for an investigation into a political opponent.

3. It’s all being done in secret

The Democrats are taking depositions behind closed doors, and not allowing Republicans to know what’s happening.

Except that 1) Republicans were present for the depositions, which were subsequently released in their entirety and 2) public hearings are being held. Predictably, this argument was largely abandoned about the time the public hearings were announced.

4. Democrats haven’t taken a formal vote

Then they did. And they abandoned this argument, too.

5. The whistleblower must be identified

Never mind the law that protects whistle4blowers from being identified.

“I consider any impeachment in the House that doesn’t allow us to know who the whistleblower is to be invalid.” – S.C. Sen. Lindsey Graham

This, despite the fact that the substance of the whistleblower’s statement has been affirmed by several other sources.

NFL referees are literal whistleblowers. They’re relatively anonymous; fans tend to focus on the players, unless the refs make a mistake. As with politics, those fans are inherently biased in favor of their own teams. But imagine the following scenario:

A referee makes a call against the home team. The coach is unhappy with it, and decides to challenge it. This triggers a video review of the play, based on a number of camera angles. Each of these angles, however, clearly affirms that the referee’s call was correct. But the fans aren’t satisfied. Even after the game is over, they keep calling for the referee to be brought forward in publicly questioned about why he made the call. And the coach, unwilling to admit his own mistake in calling the wrong play, encourages them. Never mind the video evidence. It doesn’t matter. What matters is publicly shaming the referee for making the proper call.

This is what the Republicans want to do with the whistleblower. If the NFL were in charge of the impeachment hearings, such an action would result in nothing – except that the coach would get a hefty fine for questioning the officiating. But Donald Trump has poisoned the water by smearing the officials (career diplomats and other civil servants) as “Deep State Never-Trumpers,” that even the most absurd arguments seem credible to his fans, who are all too willing to blame the ref.

6. The right to face your accuser

Kentucky Sen. Rand Paul and other Republicans have suggested that the president has this right, based on the Sixth Amendment. There’s just one problem with this rationale: The amendment makes clear that it applies to “all criminal prosecutions.” And impeachment is not a criminal prosecution.

7. It will cause a “Civil War like fracture”

Trump himself said this. But it isn’t an argument, it’s a threat thinly disguised as a prediction. It’s also not the only time he’s used this tactic: He also warned that the economy will tank if he isn’t re-elected.

8. The money was eventually released

“You’re going to impeach a president for asking a favor that didn’t happen – and giving money and it wasn’t withheld?” – Nikki Haley

Yes, the same way we indict people for attempted murder that wasn’t successful and attempted bribes that weren’t accepted.

9. Trump’s Ukraine policy is inept

“What I can tell you about the Trump policy toward Ukraine: It was incoherent, it depends on who you talk to, they seem to be incapable of forming a quid pro quo.” – Graham

Graham seems to be suggesting that negligence is just fine. But people go to jail for negligent manslaughter all the time. Graham’s a lawyer; he should know this. How many Ukrainian soldiers died because Trump held up aid to that nation? Even if it were “only” negligent, the cost was counted in human lives.

10. Let the voters decide

The argument has been made that “it’s too close to the election” to impeach a president. But this ignores one important point: The crux of the accusation is that Trump was trying to interfere in that election. If he’s not checked now, who’s to say he won’t do so again?

11. Trump had a right to ask

Trump “honestly believes that there may have been corruption in Ukraine, and before he turns over $400 million of American taxpayer money, he’s entitled to ask.” – La. Sen. John Kennedy

“Asking” about corruption is quite different than insisting that a country investigate alleged corruption as a condition for receiving money. Alleged corruption on the part of a political opponent. Alleged corruption that had already been debunked. For money that had already been appropriated by Congress.  

12. Zelensky didn’t feel pressured

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky didn’t feel pressure to comply with Trump’s request. He said so himself!

But if Zelensky didn’t feel pressured, why was he preparing to comply? Out of the goodness of his heart?

Ask a shop owner who’s paying money to a mobster in a protection racket whether he feels pressured. He’ll tell you that, of course, he does not. Because if he admits it, his “benefactor” will withdraw his protection. In withholding military aid, that’s exactly what Trump was doing. It should be pointed out that a traditional protection racket is different, in that the “protection” is from the mob’s own “enforcers.” But the result is the same.

And it’s not as though Trump hasn’t made veiled threats to those supposedly under his protection, such as Marie Yovanovitch, the U.S. Ambassador to Ukraine, who was removed from her post by Trump. In a conversation with Zelensky, Trump called her “bad news” and saying, in vague but ominous terns that “she’s going to go through some things.”

13. Inappropriate, not impeachable

“I believe it was inappropriate, I do not believe it was impeachable.” – Texas Rep. Mac Thornberry

Wrong. One of two explicit grounds for impeachment named in the Constitution is bribery (the other being treason). Offering something of value in exchange for dirt on a political opponent is bribery. Threatening to withhold it is extortion.

Even Trump doesn’t like this argument, calling it a “fool’s trap,” but for a different reason: He maintains the phone call was “perfect.”

14. It was a perfect call

This is Trump’s favorite argument, because he sees himself as perfect.

But even most Republicans won’t go this far. Perhaps because it comes from an egotist who has made more than 14,000 false and misleading statements since taking office. Still, Trump appears to actually believe this one. That’s even more troubling when one considers this quote from Chinonye J. Chidolue: “Perfection is a lie, and lying to others is explicable, but lying to oneself is the highest form of deceit.”

Trump seems to be doing both.

We'd rather play the victim than pursue the truth

Welcome to the Victim States of America.

Somewhere along the way, we stopped judging disputes based on reason and a search for the truth, and instead started basing our decisions on who can whine the loudest – and longest.

I suppose it’s easier that way. We don’t have to think; all we have to do is grease that squeaky wheel. Except, in this case, it just makes the wheel squeak louder.  

In yet another byproduct of our increasingly polarized culture, we prize loyalty to our “tribe” over a dedication to truth, and never has it been more apparent than in the current impeachment proceedings.

Democrats announced they would be pursuing impeachment before they’d read the whistleblower complaint against Donald Trump. Then, when it did come out, Republicans dismissed it without even appearing to consider how damning its contents were.

Nebraska Sen. Ben Sasse, a Republican, hit the nail on the head. “Democrats ought not to be using the word impeach before they have the whistleblower complaint or before they read any of the transcript. Republicans ought not to be rushing to circle the wagons to say there’s no there there when there’s obviously lots that’s very troubling there. The administration ought not to be attacking the whistleblower as some talking points suggest they plan to do.”

Sasse counseled “lots of deliberation” but also acknowledge that “this place is terrible at deliberation.”

How we got here

“This place” might have meant Congress, Washington or the nation at large, and it would have been equally accurate.

There are, of course, reasons why we’ve exchanged deliberation and reason for loyalty oaths and litmus tests.

First, as mentioned above, it’s easier. You don’t have to think. You just let your tribal leaders do the thinking for you. Of course, you shouldn’t be surprised if you find they’re picking your pocket and shackling your wrists in the meantime.

Second, those tribal leaders have succeeded in making “deliberation” look like gridlock. They’ve done this in part by stonewalling the release of information, so that the process becomes so drawn out and tedious that no one has the time or patience for it. (This is especially true in an era when people often work two or three jobs to make ends meet, and those who don’t have been indoctrinated in a culture of instant gratification.)

Third, they’ve raised the bar for independent judgment so high that it’s almost impossible to reach. Anything short of absolute proof can be debunked as “doctored” or “fake news.” The upshot of this is we stop trusting ourselves to make informed decisions, so we abdicate that power to (surprise!) those same tribal leaders who thirst for it the most.

Fourth, they deflect. Instead of defending themselves, they point the finger elsewhere and say, “See, he’s doing it, too, and it’s even worse!” (One has to wonder whether the folks who do this have ever heard the saying “two wrongs don’t make a right,” or whether they did hear it and simply don’t care.) We don’t have time to weigh charges and counter-charges, so we ignore the whole thing and retreat to our own camps and, yes, those tribal leaders.

Fifth, we rushed to judgment and cried wolf so many times that no one’s listening anymore. The media, chained to their instant-update news cycle, contributes to this. So do political spin doctors eager to take the first shot. When they’re wrong, they lose credibility. And they create a vicious circle: The lack of deliberation has made us even less inclined to engage in it.

Skepticism gives way to cynicism, to the extent that everything coming out of the “other” camp can be dismissed as propaganda, no matter how much evidence there might be to back it up. We don’t have time to sift through all that, weed out the facts from the spin, and make an informed decision when we don’t even know if we have all the information we need to do so.

Is it any wonder we’ve disengaged from politics? Who wants to spend all day listening to people whine – and deciding who’s the bully and who’s the victim?

When Supreme Court nominee Bret Kavanaugh was accused of sexual harassment, his most effective argument was a self-righteous tirade about how he was the one being harassed. Clarence Thomas had done the same thing under similar circumstances a couple of decades, when he characterized allegations against him as “a high-tech lynching for uppity blacks who in any way deign to think for themselves.”

The irony is that Thomas’ argument itself didn’t involve “thinking,” but was fallacious. He was attacking the messenger by questioning motive, rather than seeking to refute the allegation itself. He made it a question of identity – prejudice against “uppity blacks” – rather than reasoned argument. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone comment on the irony of that supposed defense, but maybe it’s because we’ve become so used to people playing the victim that we barely notice it anymore.

Thomas and Kavanaugh now sit on the Supreme Court, which is supposed to be the most deliberative body in the land. Its members are supposed to think, not engage in ad hominem defenses. What does it say about our society as a whole when even members of our highest court seem to rely on such flawed excuses for reasoning?

Loyalty over truth

Some people are shocked that Republicans are defending Trump in the light of what appears to be very compelling evidence against him. But they shouldn’t be, because we long ago stopped judging people based on rational argument and substituted Trump’s own standard for “truth”: blind loyalty. Trump has used this standard for his entire career, and comparisons to mob culture are entirely accurate.

But Trump recognized something he has used to his advantage: That culture was spreading. The nation was catching up – or more accurately, falling back – to the kind of tribal culture he’d exploited on a smaller scale all his life as a real estate developer. Whatever his other shortcomings, he knew how to make it work for him. And as it came to dominate American culture as a whole, newcomers accustomed to operating by more conventional political rules found themselves out of their league.

Not only does Trump know how to create blind loyalty, he also recognizes it and is able to call it out in others. He then exposes it and discredits them for the very things he himself is doing – often more flagrantly. And because that loyalty has bound so many people to him, they refuse to call him out for his hypocrisy, no matter how blatant it might be. He really could shoot someone on Fifth Avenue and get away with it.

Nobody whines louder about being the victim than Trump, who laments “PRESIDENTIAL HARASSMENT” in all caps and blames the media, the Democrats, and anyone else who dares to criticize him for all his woes. The only thing he seems to be more emphatic about is how great he (says he) is.

Who we’ve become

But this isn’t just – or even primarily – about Trump. He’s a symptom, not the condition. He could never have thrived if we hadn’t created a culture based on litmus tests and loyalty oaths long before he came along. Trump is Nixon redux, but in a time and culture far more vulnerable to Machiavellian bullshit. For this, we have only ourselves to blame. We began rushing to judgment long before Trump and others like him began using their cattle prods on us. We exchanged reason for outrage and humility for hubris. We ditched patriotism in favor of partisanship.

We’ve become so comfortable playing the victim and blaming others that it’s almost become second nature to us. We do it in government, in our personal lives, in our professional interactions. It’s become second nature.

But in exalting our own victimhood, we’ve abandoned what got us here: a spirit of determination that didn’t care what obstacles others put in our way. We didn’t waste time blaming the people who put them there; we tackled those obstacles head-on. We overcame them or died trying. It was what we used to call the American spirit. Flawed, yes. Cruel at times, to be certain. But we were not victims. Never victims.

Until now. Now we all want to do is play the victim – and in a sense, that’s what we are: victims of our own ignorance and stubborn refusal to face the truth.

And we’ll keep being victims until we’ve decided we’ve had enough.

Trump's undoing in Ukraine scandal: the word "though"

As I watched the coverage of the unfolding impeachment inquiry against Donald Trump, I kept waiting for someone on cable news to mention one word.

They repeatedly referred to Trump’s use of the word “favor” in a summary of his conversation with the Ukrainian president, and that word is, indeed, very important. But they never mentioned a word that’s just as crucial in determining Trump’s intent.

The word right after “favor.”

“Though.”

In the exchange between Trump and Volodymyr Zelensky, as laid out in a summary released by the White House, the Ukrainian president says his country is grateful for U.S. financial aid because it wants to use the money to buy more defensive weapons.

That’s when Trump responds, “I would like you to do us a favor though.”

The word “though” explicitly links what Trump’s about to say with what Zelensky said that preceded it. That’s its purpose - its raison d’etre. Otherwise, there would be no need for its presence in the sentence. Trump could have easily said, “I would like you to do us a favor.” Full stop. Indicating the beginning of a new and entirely separate thought.

But that’s not what he said.

He said, “though,” inextricably linking the “favor” (working with Rudy Giuliani to investigate Joe and Hunter Biden) to the military aid just referenced.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, “though,” in this context is an adverb that means “despite the fact that.” In other words: Despite the fact that you’re preparing to buy weapons from us, we want you to do us a favor. The clear implication is that the purchase of weapons is not enough to close the deal – to make the two sides “even.”

When used as a conjunction, “though” means “even if (introducing a possibility)” or “however; but (introducing something opposed to or qualifying what has just been said. ‘her first name was Rose, though no one called her that.’” (again, quoting Oxford).

In the case of the Zelensky-Trump conversation summary, “though” serves as a de facto conjunction that indicates Trump’s request for the “favor” qualifies or is even opposed to what has just been said. It introduces the possibility that the request will not be granted – or would not have been granted – without the condition being met.

But whether it’s used as an adverb or a conjunction is, in fact, immaterial. In either case, it links the two thoughts, creating a dependency of Zelensky’s action upon Trump’s condition (the favor). Such dependency is the essence of a quid pro quo, which Oxford defines as “a favour or advantage granted in return for something.” Yes, it even uses the word favour (albeit with the British spelling)!

I’m surprised the pundits I watched missed this. Perhaps others picked up on it, or have figured it out since then. But the word “though” is the key to this entire puzzle.

Remember when Bill Clinton, when asked about the status of his relationship with Monica Lewinsky, famously responded: “It depends on what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is”? The distinction was deemed laughable.

But there’s no distinction at all in the Trump-Zelensky exchange. Whatever the tense, there’s a quid pro quo here. “Though” means “though.” Period. Full stop.

Depression isn't what it seems: Facing the demon head-on

Hello, my name is Stephen, and I live with depression.

If that sounds like an Alcoholics Anonymous introduction, it’s intentional. Depression, like alcoholism, is a condition, and it’s something I deal with on a daily basis.

That doesn’t mean I’m “down” or “blue” or melancholy as I’m writing this. You can live with depression without being those things at any given moment. And, conversely, you can be those things without living with depression.

Depression doesn’t always look the same. It’s a cliché that all those who live with depression mope around all day like Eeyore and some can barely drag themselves out of bed. Certainly, this can be the case. I’ve been there. But more often, I deal with depression by doing the opposite: by staying busy.

People who live with depression can be some of the most productive people you’ll meet. At times, they seem to live at an almost frenetic pace. Think of Robin Williams or Wil Wheaton. We often have successful careers, and those who don’t know us well may be shocked to find out we deal with depression. How could I possibly be depressed? I held down an office job for three decades, and I’ve produced a dozen books in the past two years.

But I’ve lived with depression that entire time. In fact, I’ve lived with it as long as I can remember.

Paradox?

It seems like a contradiction. In fact, it seems so different than the kind of depression that keeps you in bed all day that clinicians have created a separate label for it: “high-functioning” depression. Supposedly, it’s less severe. Now, I’m not a clinician, but I know from personal experience that this is utter B.S. Obviously, Robin Williams’ depression, as “high functioning” as it appeared on the outside, was pretty severe.

Depression is depression. Clinicians have fallen into the trap of creating separate labels for the same condition based on the way people react to it. We don’t do this when people manifest different symptoms of the same physical illness, and we shouldn’t do it for depression, either.

To use another analogy, when faced with a dangerous situation, the human fight-or-flight response kicks in. Some people will choose to “fight,” while others will opt for “flight.” Yet, the danger is the same in both cases; the only difference lies in how each individual reacts.

My hunch is that “high-functioning” depression is viewed as less severe for one reason and one reason alone: It’s less visible. It’s more socially acceptable. It’s less ... inconvenient to society as a whole. (Hey, that person ain’t on welfare. It can’t be as bad as all that!). So, it’s easier to brush it under the rug and pretend that everything’s OK.

Focal points

I’ve always been a highly focused person. I tend to zero in on a task, put my head down and go for it. I dedicate the bulk of my attention to achieving that goal, and I don’t let myself get distracted. I’m driven. That’s the secret to my productivity.

But there’s a downside to this ability: When I focus on something negative, it’s just as liable to take all my attention as that book I’ve worked so hard on. It might be something insignificant, like trying to find a misplaced set of keys, but if it’s a problem I can’t solve, I get stuck looking at it. I start spinning my wheels. I feel like I’m revving my engine while my gears are stuck in neutral. And if the problem remains a problem for any length of time, it becomes a symbol of every other problem I’ve been unable to solve. Then, all of a sudden, all those problems – even those I’m no longer facing – gang up on me to make me feel ...

Overwhelmed.

Worthless.

That’s what I focus on. It’s like a snowball effect. There’s a tendency to overthink and overanalyze every aspect of things in an attempt to reach a solution, to the point that I become stuck inside the problem rather than approaching it from an objective point of view. Eventually, my engine burns out, and I’m left in the unmotivated, can’t-get-out-of-bed state that most people think of as depression.

Which is something I can’t allow myself to do, because I know the world won’t stop turning on my account, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to create even more problems for myself by becoming paralyzed.

That’s where my ability to focus becomes an asset (yes, it’s very much a double-edged sword). Because, once I’ve burned myself out dedicating all my attention on that insoluble problem, I can shift that focus elsewhere: toward a problem I know I can solve; a challenge I know I can meet.

Some people might work on the car. Others might clean house. Me? I tend to write books. The important thing is, it’s a task that’s within my control – something I can use to rebuild my sense of accomplishment and self-worth. At least temporarily.

Happiness

Robin Williams said that “all it takes is a beautiful smile to hide an injured soul.” But with me, at least, the smile isn’t usually fake. The thought that I’m “making progress” and “doing something productive” puts me in a genuinely good mood, and I’m liable to laugh, crack silly jokes, make funny faces and do all those things genuinely happy people tend to do.

The problem isn’t that it’s fake. The problem is, it doesn’t last.

The moment another scary obstacle appears on my radar screen, my focus is hijacked right back to that dark place of, “Holy hell! What do I do now?” The more often this happens, the easier it is to rush back there at the drop of a hat. So, each time a familiar trigger arises – financial worries, a familiar criticism or whatever – the more quickly I wind up in an almost panicky state, spinning my wheels and revving my engine again.

Even worse, I start anticipating bad news because I’ve received it often enough that I want to be prepared the next time it comes. (Especially if I’m stuck in a pattern I don’t know how to change.) So, at the same time I’m staying busy, trying to keep myself “up,” I’m expending even more energy preparing myself for the next crisis, which I’m sure is just around the corner. It’s not that the happiness I’m feeling isn’t genuine, it’s just that it never lasts.

And I become accustomed to it not lasting. In fact, it becomes more fleeting over time, because I spend more and more of my energy bracing for the next crisis, and less and less actually enjoying the interludes between them.

Instead, I am drawn to perfectionism: The idea that, if I just prepare perfectly for every challenge, I’ll never have to deal with those feelings of fear and inadequacy again. This worked well enough in school: I always prepared for tests thoroughly and arrived on time for class; as a result, I chalked up nearly a 4.0 grade-point average in college. But life as a whole doesn’t work like that. Perfectionism is, ultimately, a fool’s errand. But in the near term, it can still sound better than admitting defeat – even if it does leave you continually on edge.

More labels

This may sound more like anxiety than depression, but it’s really just a stage an overall process that’s more like a vicious circle or a roller-coaster ride than anything else. It is exhausting. And the more I engage in it, the more drained I feel.

Clinicians have a name for this, too. They call it “bipolar depression” – an alternating series of highs and lows. But as with the other labels, I don’t find this one particularly helpful. Again, it isn’t really a separate sort of depression, it’s just a way of reacting to it. Most people experience emotional highs and lows depending on how their lives are going. That’s human. Overlaying depression with a common human experience doesn’t enrich my understanding of it; it’s just another way to label people and dismiss what they’re going through.

It may feel helpful to the clinician, but it’s of little use to the person going through it.

Then there’s the idea of drawing a distinction between “chronic” and “situational” depression. In other words: Are you living in a continual state of depression, or are you simply unsettled by temporary circumstances? This is just as unhelpful, because it equates depression – falsely – with the blues or feeling down. It’s like equating alcoholism with drinking. The underlying issue is always there beneath the surface, whether or not it’s triggered by something external: liquor for the alcoholic, a “situational” trigger for someone living with depression.

You can’t deal with any condition effectively by identifying and targeting its symptoms; you have to get to the root of the issue.

Avoidance

One way of dealing with the snowball effect I described above is to rush back into that feeling of fear and anxiety whenever a new crisis – or perceived crisis – appears on the horizon. Another way is to simply avoid it and pretend it doesn’t exist.

There are times when I don’t rush back into a feeling of melancholy when I see a new problem arise – or that same old one, rearing its ugly head yet again. In fact, I do just the opposite: I don’t want to deal with it, so I stay focused on the distraction that’s keeping me afloat (usually writing; sometimes just mundane chores).

Again, these are simply two different reactions based on the same underlying depression: the feeling of fear that I won’t be able to deal with something, and that some sort of catastrophe will befall me as a result. The feeling of being out of control. I can retreat to a place of busyness, or I can withdraw to a place of solitary self-pity.

This is where positivity comes in. Staying positive can be a great tool in keeping depression at bay: Focusing on the good stuff in life has a way of making the bad stuff a little less scary. The people I find deal most effectively with depression are those who remain consistently positive, and I try to do the same myself. But I have to be sure of my motives: Am I staying positive in order to fight depression, or as another means of avoiding the real problem?

Brutal honesty with myself is the only thing that will work to keep me from slipping into the avoidance trap, and that takes a lot of energy, too!

Faith

So, what, exactly, is depression? And what’s the best way to deal with it?

To me, depression is an underlying sense of unease that can surface at any given moment. It’s not a single “thing,” but a molten stew: a blend of thoughts and emotions that can include insecurity, fear, self-pity, hopelessness, anxiety and sadness. Perhaps a few other things, too. And in different proportions for different people.

I’m becoming convinced that best treatment for these underlying causes is something I’ve had problems with all my life: faith. It’s a word that’s always led to disappointment for me in the past. Faith in religious dogma? That’s always felt inadequate to me, either too vague to be of use or too specific to apply in any universal sense. People? They’ve let me down repeatedly. Hell, I’ve let myself down (perfectionism doesn’t work).

So, what does that leave?

It leaves the one thing I keep coming back to: faith that I have a purpose here. Faith that I can make a difference. Maybe I won’t be a bestselling author or a prize-winning journalist, an “expert commentator” or a noted historian. But I can make a difference in people’s lives. How do I know? Because I’ve done it. I’ve said a kind word that made a difference. I’ve helped people recall cherished childhood memories. I’ve entertained people with my stories.

I may not be remembered past this lifetime, but the impact I’ve made will live on through the lives of those I’ve touched. And that’s what’s most important.

Yes, I live with depression, but I also have a purpose. That’s something worth believing in.

Founders' foresight: The two-party system is destroying us

“The spirit of 1776 is not dead. It has only been slumbering. The body of the American people is substantially republican. But their virtuous feelings have been played on by some fact with more fiction; they have been the dupes of artful manoeuvres, and made for a moment to be willing instruments in forging chains for themselves.” – Thomas Jefferson

The two-party system is broken. Perhaps it was inevitable.

What’s amazing is that it’s taken us almost 250 years to reach this point. Actually, though, we’ve been here before. It pushed us to the brink during Vietnam and Watergate, and over the edge during the Civil War.

And now, here we stand once again, staring into the abyss of the chasm between us.

Because we’re divided. In two. And we hesitate to lay the blame where it belongs: squarely at the feet of an inherently toxic two-party system. We hesitate because this system has become so deeply ingrained in our political reality that we view it as an essential part of our culture. But it’s not essential. In fact, quite the opposite. It’s nowhere in the Constitution, and John Adams even warned that it was the Constitution’s worst enemy.

Said Adams: “There is nothing which I dread so much as a division of the republic into two great parties, each arranged under its leader, and concerting measures in opposition to each other. This, in my humble apprehension, is to be dreaded as the greatest political evil under our Constitution.”

Thomas Jefferson, who was Adams’ rival in this emerging two-party system, agreed: “The greatest good we can do our country is to heal its party divisions, and make them one people.”

These two brilliant, gifted and esteemed rivals agreed, yet they couldn’t stop it. So now, it’s up to us.

Yes, it’s gotten worse

Why is the two-party system, in Adams’ view, “evil”? Because it encourages binary choices. Such choices leave no room for nuance or subtlety, and they create an atmosphere where extremism can thrive. Where we vote a party line, either because we’re too lazy to think for ourselves, or because the choices are so extreme – and we find one of them so unpalatable – there seems to be only one viable option.

Why does it seem worse now?

Because we’ve added unlimited money and endless propaganda, disguised as free speech, to the equation. And that’s a recipe for disaster.

Unlimited money is available via unrestrained campaign contributions. Propaganda is spread more quickly and effectively than ever – through conventional media saturation, social media pressures and election cycles that never end.

We’ve come to this place by accepting the lie that free speech is somehow absolute. Of course, it’s not. You’re not supposed to be able to slander someone, to perjure yourself in court, to yell “Fire!” in a crowded theater, to willfully incite others to violence ... No right is absolute. But a binary system encourages the belief in absolutes, even in the face of common sense, so is it any surprise that we’ve started interpreting free speech in those terms.

What’s worse is we’ve created a vicious circle. Not only does our binary system strengthen a false belief in absolutes. This belief, in turn, encourages us to think in binary terms. “I’m right, you’re wrong” – regardless of the facts behind the argument. Ad hominem fallacies become the rule of the day: The identity of the person doing the arguing becomes more important than the merits of the argument itself. This is why political parties in a two-party system, and their leaders, cast aside “bedrock principles” at the drop of a hat for the sake of winning.

The party that once believed in free trade becomes protectionist. The party that once encouraged slavery wants to consider reparations for slavery. The party that once railed against incurring debt runs up the biggest debt in history. The party that organized provocative protests on college campuses wants “safe spaces” on those same campuses to insulate people from provocation. These aren’t subtle shifts in ideology. They’re 180-degree turnabouts, and they often take place abruptly – over a few short years, not decades.

This isn’t how thinking people act to new information presented in a marketplace of ideas. It’s how people react to peer pressure in a binary system where the “marketplace” consists of just two vendors. These two share a mutually parasitic monopoly on ideas, each of them selling only absolutes that condemn the other, but each needing the other to serve as a scapegoat.

We’ve forgotten we agree

In a world of absolutes, there’s no room for agreement. There’s only us and them. Winning and losing. But this world of absolutes is not the world we live in.

Yes, we have our differences. Thomas Jefferson said, “Difference of opinion leads to enquiry, and enquiry to truth.” But, alas, this concept is being lost, due to the false binary choices being foisted on us in the current environment. Difference of opinion is no longer an opportunity to learn, but an excuse to attack and defend. It’s no longer a reason to discuss, but a reason to condemn.

Binary systems emphasize what we don’t like about each other – and encourage us to like it even less. And all this angst and fury does something else, as well: It obscures the fact that we actually agree on most of the important stuff. This is, I believe, the greatest tragedy that’s been foisted on us by our binary political system. Because the truth of the matter is, we actually agree on most things.

• We believe in the Golden Rule, or some variation of it.

• We believe in equal opportunity and equal treatment under the law.

• We don’t want our environment poisoned.

• We don’t want to die because we can’t afford medicine or a hospital stay.

• We preferred the late 20th century employment model to the “shareholder is god, employee is dirt” construct.

• We believe in education.

• We believe in “live and let live” within the law.

• We believe success should be based on merit, not on gaming the system.

• We believe in taking care of our own.

• We believe hard work should be rewarded, and those who can’t work should have help – but that those who lie about being unable to work shouldn’t get it.

• We believe in science, and we believe there’s something more out there that we don’t and maybe can’t understand.

In all these things, we are united. E pluribus unum: Out of many, one. Many people. Many ideas. Many approaches.

We still are the UNITED States of America. Those who feed (and get rich) off our toxic binary system want us to forget this. They don’t want us to focus on the many things that unite us, but on the few that divide us.

Expletive for emphasis: Fuck that.

It’s time for us to remind them who’s in charge in a democratic republic. It’s time for us not only to take back our country, but to recover our soul.

Positivity: the antidote to perfectionism

For all the talk about positivity, bad news has a bigger impact – and sticks with you longer – than good news.

That’s why it’s important to be even more positive: because the alternative isn’t a whole lot of fun. Trust me, I know. That alternative, or at least one of them, is becoming a perfectionist, living your life in a minefield of hesitance and fear. That minefield has been my life for far too long, and I’m just now realizing why.

It’s no mystery why politicians use negative ads or the news media highlight negative news stories. They work. They attract attention. For all the hand-wringing about attack ads in politics and bloody car crashes on the 6 o’clock news, people still watch them more than the positive ads and feel-good stories they say they want.

It makes sense why they work, too. It’s evolution. Think of yourself as a gazelle at the watering hole. Are you going to be thinking to yourself, “What a nice day it is outside! The tall grass is so wonderfully green and silky! The birds are singing such a lovely song!” Or are you going to be thinking. “There’s a pride of lions around here. Somewhere. And if I don’t pay attention, I’m going to end up as someone’s lunch meat.”

Right. This is why political ads aren’t just negative, they’re scary. The scarier the better, to appeal to your internal gazelle. Hordes of immigrants are massing at the border, planning a full-scale invasion! If Goldwater’s elected, he’ll get us into a nuclear war with the Soviets (cue video of H-bomb exploding)! Dukakis let a convicted murderer out on furlough! They’ll take away your guns! Your health care! Your religious freedom!

On and on it goes. Whether there’s truth to any of this is beside the point. The point is what’s being emphasized – the negative – and why.

The fairness factor

All this fear and negativity will drive you crazy. So, as a would-be antidote, we came up with the concept of fairness. This concept, we tell our children, will insulate us to some extent from the mean ol’ world out there. The police will protect us. The courts will protect us. Our institutions will protect us. And if all else fails, we’ll get justice at the pearly gates or karma will kick in.  

Excuse me for being blunt about this but ... what a crock of bull.

Life ain’t fair. Police corruption is real. So is judicial corruption, gridlock and bias. Our institutions? They’d work a lot better if the people in charge would support them rather than trying to find loopholes and undermine them to further their own agendas. The hereafter may or may not exist, and it’s a bit long to wait for justice even if it does. As to karma, whether you believe in it or not, it has zero to do with protecting people, doling out vengeance or righting wrongs.

Fairness is, in short, a placebo we take to convince ourselves that life isn’t as dangerous as it really is.

(Hey, Provost, you talked about positivity. Hold your horses, I’ll get there. Eventually.)

The ‘perfect’ solution

If we’re paying attention, we realize soon enough that all these external controls meant to guarantee fairness are no guarantee at all. So, we take matters into our own hands by doubling down on something else our parents told us. Call it the Protestant work ethic, the American Dream or pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. Whatever you call it, it promises that, if you work hard, you’ll get ahead. If you graduate from college, you’ll get a good job. If you excel, you’ll get rewarded.

It’s automatic.

Pardon me if I repeat myself, but ... what a crock of bull!

Hard work can facilitate success, but guarantee it? Not in this world. You’re far more likely to lose your job because of the boss wants to pad his bottom line than you are for subpar performance. It’s far easier to lay people off because you want to make more (or lose less) money than it is for “cause,” which can precipitate lawsuits and cost the company even more! Perish the thought! Is it any wonder that some mediocre employees survive cost-cutting while some who excel are led to the unemployment line?

Oh, and if you embarrass the company publicly, it’s even worse. You say it was unintentional? That you’re an otherwise exemplary employee? It doesn’t matter. The minute some segment of the public starts calling for your head, you become the sacrificial lamb du jour. (If you’re lucky enough to have your faux pas featured on Twitter, you’ll probably get death threats, too.) Forgiveness? That’s for patsies. Zero tolerance is the name of the game.

The illusion of control

Still, as soon as you realize that the external “guardians of fairness” – ordinances, karma, the legal system, etc. – don’t work on any consistent basis, your only real option is to buy into the “hard work” approach. At least it offers you the illusion of control. And if you can just avoid making that one catastrophic mistake, then maybe, just maybe, you’ll survive.

If you can just be good enough, maybe you can rise above it all. Sounds a bit egotistical when you put it like that, doesn’t it? And really, even if you were to succeed (hint: you can’t), is that any way to live? Now, you’re not just a gazelle at the watering hole, you’re a deer in the headlights. Welcome to the continual stress and panic of perfectionism.

Truth be told, we don’t live at watering holes anymore. Life is still dangerous, but the dangers are different. Simple fight-or-flight responses don’t work as well in the modern world, where lions are no longer a threat, but stress-related illnesses such as strokes or heart attacks certainly are.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t control everything. You will make mistakes. And even if you lived a “perfect” life (whatever that means) the entire rest of your days, some external factor could bring you down. Even if you made zero mistakes, someone would always be there to accuse you of something you didn’t do, or blame you for their own mistakes and insecurities, because it’s easier than looking at themselves.

You don’t just stop being a perfectionist in one day, though. It’s a learned defense mechanism that you’ve reinforced over several years in your quest to survive. Ironically, if you were to demand this of yourself, you’d be setting the same kind of expectation that made you a perfectionist in the first place!

So, what’s a recovering perfectionist to do? If negative news takes a big bite out of our attention, the best possible course, it seems to me, is to overwhelm it with positivity. With appreciation. With wonder. With creativity. With beauty. This works, really, whether you’re a perfectionist or not. So do the following ideas for perfectionists and those who are around them.

Perfectionism is the placebo. Positivity is the antidote.

Tips for perfectionists

• Let go of the expectation that hard work guarantees success. But don’t stop working hard. Pursue your dreams. Enjoy the process. Savor each moment as a success in and of itself.

• Don’t dwell on past failures or past injustices. Process them, learn from them, then move on.

• Focus on the positive. You don’t live at the watering hole anymore. You can afford to look around at the soft green grass and listen to the birds singing. That’s a great gift.

• Remember that you are not your mistakes. They are not your identity. Don’t personalize them.

• Acknowledge your inherent worth as a unique and gifted individual. Value yourself for who you are, not what you can do!

• Instead of working to avoid mistakes, work to create beauty.

• Embrace your sensitivity. Don’t apologize for it. Instead, make it work for you by creating empathy toward others and an awareness of the world at large.

• Be thankful. Learn to appreciate the good things in life and focus on those. Since bad news makes more of an impact on us, overwhelm it with an avalanche of positivity.

• Don’t expect others to be perfect. Some perfectionists direct their demands outward, but if they’re unrealistic for you, they’re just as unrealistic for others.

• Stop worrying. Start living. Let the chips fall where they may.

Tips for dealing with a perfectionist

• Focus on his or her positive attributes. Perfectionists become so committed to avoiding mistakes, they often define their self-worth based on what they do rather than who they are. Support them in turning that around.

• Avoid nitpicking and micromanaging. Don’t look over their shoulder while they’re working. This only magnifies their fear of failure. Unless something’s important, don’t make a big deal about it.

• Remember that it takes a lot of good words to overcome a few bad ones, so be effusive with your praise and selective with your criticism.

• Keep criticism constructive; present it as an opportunity to improve rather than a condemnation for past behavior.

• Don’t bring up past failures repeatedly. As a perfectionist, the person’s first instinct is to try to “fix” the problem, but since the past can’t be fixed, the person is likely to feel hopeless.

• Don’t criticize the person for being too sensitive or call them names. And avoid making fun of them. Sensitivity isn’t a crime. Encourage them to use it as an asset.

• Don’t project your own frustrations with yourself or unrelated issues onto them. They’re already their own worst critic; making them responsible for more things they can’t control can feel debilitating.

• If they do something nice for you, thank them. Don’t immediately tell them how you think it could have been done better.

• If you disagree on something, don’t be dismissive: Instead of saying the person is wrong, ask how they came to think the way they do. Show an interest and listen to the answer. Even if you still disagree, affirm the other person’s right to self-expression.