Why I'm Grateful to Not be a Republican

I'm not saying anything about the symbolism of this.

A while ago I wrote a post about why I chose to become politically independent after over decade as a loyal Republican. Now, more than seven years later, I still feel that leaving the Republican party was one of the best decisions of my life. With the perspective of additional time, some things have clarified for me, and I felt like sharing them today.

First of all, I'm extremely grateful that I felt prompted to make this decision long before the fiasco that was our most recent presidential election. As I mentioned in my previous post, my departure from the party of my youth was due to disillusionment with the party system as a whole, as well as specific ways in which I saw Republicans behaving, that made it clear they no longer represented my values. It wasn't as much me leaving the party as it was the party leaving me. I'm grateful that it didn't take a Donald Trump to make me see that.

Had I been a Republican at the time of his run, I would have had to deal with the shame of following party leaders who loved to tout the moral goodness of their people, then turned around and supported a known liar, manipulator, and sexual assaulter, justifying it with the rationale that no one is perfect and we're not voting for a moral leader but a political one. To be clear, we're talking about a party that supported a candidate whose voice we all heard on tape, confessing to some of the most morally repugnant behavior imaginable. An admitted criminal. They wanted this man to be the leader of our nation for one simple reason: he's wasn't running as a Democrat.

Such a clear demonstration of tribalism over principle should have been embarrassing enough to drive every Utah Republican of good conscience to either rise in rebellion against the party, or to exit it via the shortest possible route. It still calls for a complete replacement of both party leadership and our entire congressional delegation. It represented utter betrayal of their constituents, and I'm glad I was clear before that fall.

In the wake of his election, Mr. Trump has added additional layers of reprehensibility to his name, without so much as an attempt at reform. He glories in his badness, and some Republicans have finally started standing up to him. While they are lauded for their courage when they do so, I can't help but wonder why. How much courage should standing against someone like Donald Trump take? More to the point, why did it take so long?

I'm sure there are many Republicans who are quietly waiting this out. They didn't cast their votes for Mr. Trump, and they've stuck with the party hoping for better options next time, or perhaps even planning to take a role in reforming things. I can sympathize with that perspective, and I applaud those who stayed with that purpose. It takes both the protest of leaving and the courage of staying to affect change. I'm simply grateful, as I watch the Republican-controlled congress twist itself in knots trying to accomplish anything it can use to justify its bizarre loyalty to the Trump administration (and digging itself ever-deeper holes as it does so), that I don't have to look at that farce and admit to myself, "yeah, that's my party."

My second reason for being grateful for neutrality is this: it's much more true to who I've always been. I became a Republican by default, being raised in a church and a community where anything else was looked on as axiomatic of corruption. Fortunately, that view in the church is starting to change, though it never should have existed in the first place. As for the community, if Utah Republicans still believe their party to have any kind of moral authority, they just aren't paying attention.

See that horn player in the back right corner? That's not me.

But I've always been a mediator between sides. In elementary school I was one of the few boys who dared to call a girl my friend, and spend time with her on the playground. In Jr. High I tried to be friendly to the popular kids and the outcasts. In high school I played the French horn, an instrument found in brass quintets, woodwind quintets, and even sometimes string quintets. I saw that as symbolic of how I tried to live - as someone with no one group of my own, but who bridged the gaps between the groups. That sounds trite, but it really was how I conceived of my identity. I tried to see multiple sides of every issue, and resisted being categorized in any way. My mixed racial heritage and the pride I was taught to take in my diverse family has been especially influential in the development of this view.

When, in my first election cycle as a voting adult, I received a well-meaning family member's instructions on how to simplify things by voting straight Republican, I remember feeling alarmed at the idea. Shouldn't I be considering all candidates, regardless of party? To my shame, I dismissed that feeling. In my limited experience, being Republican was simply the normal way to be. I understood that people of other parties existed, but not really within my circles. So I followed the advice, punched the party ticket, and voted without even looking at the options.

I'm glad to say I've never done that since.

I don't remember exactly what it was that caused me to first consider removing my name from the rolls of my party. I suspect it happened while I was serving a mission for my church. I met people of more different faiths, political affiliations, and worldviews than I'd ever considered existed. My eyes started opening to new perspectives on things I'd blindly accepted my whole life. In many cases, comparing my views with alternative ones only strengthened my beliefs. But in one important way, things changed for me. A seed of compassion was planted in my heart, and over the next several years, it grew. I realized that my political behavior was not in harmony with my understanding of myself (or my religion, but I'll get to that later). I was no longer the one in the middle, building bridges and aiding mutual respect. I had taken sides for no better reason than that everyone else around me was doing the same thing.

So I took a hard look at the party. I looked at the principles it claimed to espouse, and compared them with the fruits of long term Republican leadership in my state. I looked at the way the party was run. I remember the closed primaries sticking particularly hard in my throat. I realized that much of the behavior of Republicans in office was driven not by love (except of power), but by fear. I saw the same in Democrats and people of other parties, but that was irrelevant because I hadn't been looking for someone to join. I just needed to know if I should leave where I was. I felt that I should, so I did. I've never regretted it.

The Mesa, Arizona temple. I served a mission in this area.

My third and final reason for being grateful is that being not-Republican has clarified my faith. Freed from political dogmatism (though getting to the point where I felt independent took much longer than actually becoming independent), I've been able to reevaluate both the culture and teachings of Mormonism. I've been better able to see the differences between them, which makes the teachings easier to believe. My understanding of the scriptures has grown, as has my ability to live them without internal conflict. Questions of political difference have become irrelevant to me when dealing with issues of faith. I can ask questions more honestly, and receive answers more freely. I can more easily tell when an idea being taught is true, or merely accepted, and both are easier to understand.

Since learning to question my political affiliation, the act of asking questions about my church no longer makes me feel unfaithful. I've come to understand the essential role of questioning in the search for truth and that earnest questioning is different from doubt. It supports faith, rather than undermining it. I've also become better able to discern truth in every situation. As the founder of my church, the prophet Joseph Smith, once said, "One of the grand fundamental principles of Mormonism is to receive truth, let it come from where it may." Believing this more literally and fully has been a source of discomfort for me, but in the way that building muscle requires uncomfortable exercise, rather than in the way that eating too much sugar causes uncomfortable weight gain.

There is certainly a new level of awkwardness for me when political issues are raised at church, but I'm willing to accept that because there is also a new assurance that I'm in the right place. To be perfectly honest, if I'd been unable to make this separation, I don't know if I would be there right now.

Before I close, I want to make it clear that I'm not claiming my personal journey has been superior to others, or saying that the ideas I've mentioned above should apply equally to everyone. I'm also not claiming to perfectly live my faith now. I'm as weak and sinful as ever, although it's easier to admit that now, and easier to change. My path has been my path, and it would be arrogant to think it was the right path for anyone else. Political parties aren't of themselves evil, and I don't believe the Republican party is beyond redemption. In fact, as I pointed out, someone has to stay and redeem it. I'm also not endorsing any other party. There's a reason this post isn't titled "why I'm grateful to be a Democrat." My conscience simply says that, at this time, I personally should not give my allegiance to any of these groups. It's said that for years, and this post is intended as a reflection on some of the reasons I feel so happy to have followed it.

So as I daily marvel at the ever-deepening vortex of non-integrity caused by the clash of politics, morality, and truth in our country, I remain grateful before God to be not unconcerned, not uninvolved, not even unaffected, but blessedly unencumbered.