Take James Carville. Or hell, John Fetterman. Even Bill Maher. These guys often say things that make me wince, rolls my eyes, or wonder what planet they're from. But every once in a while, even if it is rare, they drop a line that hits.
So, what do I do with that? Pretend I didn't hear it? Toss it out because the political playbook says they're hacks, and I'm supposed to stay in my lane?
That kind of purity test feels more like self-sabotage than using my own common sense.
If I tell someone I'm not being herded like a sheep—that my politics are my own—I have to mean it. It can't just be a badge I flash when it's convenient to do so. That principle has to live in how I think, not just what I say.
That means I have to listen. Really listen. I have to sit with what I hear, let it rattle around, and form an opinion that's mine—not just something that's spoon fed by a tribe, a group of my fellow think-alikes, or a pundit with a punchline on my favorite news outlet.
Otherwise, I'm just another echo pretending to be a voice.
And this cuts both ways. I can disagree with my own side just as easily as I can agree with the other. That's not betrayal—it's being human. It's being honest. It's doing the work of thinking for yourself.
Because the moment I let someone yank me around the stage on strings, it's no longer my dance. It's someone else's choreography I am dancing to. The act stops being mine.
Yeah, it's a dressed-up way of saying I refuse to be a puppet.
This, I think, is where the political conversation has gone off the rails. It's turned into a one-way street, paved with loyalty tests and echo chambers. And for what? Not progress. Not clarity. Just noise.
You can't stand for something if you don't know why.
We've split ourselves into camps so deep as a country, it's beginning to feel like trench warfare. And that kind of division doesn't serve us—it sabotages us. When emotion or blind loyalty drives the way we think, it fogs our judgement almost every time.
There are good ideas and there are bad ideas. From both sides. That's not radical—it's reality.
But we've got to hear them all. We have to be willing to. Let them stand on their own legs. Decide for ourselves what holds up and what crumbles. Not just echo what we're told, or tiptoe around the fear of challenging the status quo we're supposed to defend.
How many times do I have to hear it? I take a different stance, maybe echo a point from the other side, and suddenly it's, "Who's side are you on?"
As if thought has to come with a team jersey.
Can I disagree with Donald Trump? Sure. Can I agree with John Fetterman? Also, yes. Why not? If I dismiss everything the other side says out of reflex, I might miss something worth hearing. And if I blindly nod along with my own side, I might help to usher in something I should've stood against.
We've got a two-party system. Fine. Most of us lean one way or the other. But we don't have to be a two-party People. Loyalty to a party isn't the same as loyalty to the country. Or to principle. Or to our own damn judgement.
We owe something bigger than just blind loyalty to any one or any thing. Or, for that matter, absolute opposition.
We owe it to common sense. To the common good. To the idea that thinking for yourself isn't treason—it's the bare minimum.
Politicians thrive on division. It wins them votes, airtime, and power. But most of us? We just want a country that makes sense. One we can live in, build in, and even laugh in. A place that offers real opportunity and lets us chase happiness without tripping over chaos.
We want a country that works.
But it won't work if we're silent. It won't work if we're siloed. It only works when we speak up, think together, and aim for something bigger than party lines or pundit points.
We don't need perfect unity. We need honest effort. Shared purpose. A collective voice that's loud enough to matter and clear enough to move things forward. We are not Republican or Democrat. Left or right. We're Americans.
They chose division. We can choose not to accept it.
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©2025 Jim Bauer
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