I should know. I’ve catfished hundreds of thousands of dollars from special interests. I never quite met their expectations, but I always knew what they wanted. And one thing federal PACs don’t want is you looking behind the curtain at their corruption. They are fine with your chanting “drain the swamp” and denouncing D.C., but then they want you to do nothing as they make a few cosmetic adjustments that don’t drain the swamp but turn it into their personal mud bath.
If petty distractions and temptations are the problem, it helps to take a step back and remember how much more enticing the original idea of America was. It’s still inspiring. Our Founding Fathers did not commit treason against the Crown of England only for our generation to turn around and prostitute ourselves to globalist corporate interests. Our Founding Fathers pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor to the cause of liberty. They wouldn’t have accomplished much if a couple of steak dinners had been all it took to steer them off course. We still hear a lot about “fortune” in Washington, at least in the material sense. It’s harder to find honor or sanctity.
The PAC donation process—with its expectations of exchanging favors for money—renders public service, which should be among our most noble vocations, dangerously close to the oldest profession. I’ve never turned tricks for Washington PACs, but I’m done picking up their money from the nightstand. That’s why, as of 2020, I will never again accept a donation from a federal political action committee. Not one red cent. The American people are my only special interest.
I don’t want to alienate my party, and I still greatly prefer the Republicans to the Democrats. But I’m the only Republican returning to Congress to make this “NoPAC” pledge. I’m joined in this pledge by California Democrat Rep. Ro Khanna.
Now, many other Democrats morally preen and posture for swearing off corporate PAC money—but they still gorge on union PACs, ideological PACs, and something ironically called “leadership PACs,” which are mostly PACs for letting politicians and former politicians donate to each other. Talk about insider money!
Real leadership is telling people the truth. The truth is not that one party is out to get you and the other one is coming to your rescue. The truth is that Washington is partying on your dime—and the parties aren’t even that much fun. Their ultimate purpose is to connect the real special guests (corporate lobbyists and the like) to the vast pool of taxpayer dollars, with the campaign money and party dues of us politicians as a mere admission fee—and any resulting government projects (including changes in law or regulation), if something actually gets done, as the evening’s entertainment.
It’s not a great way to govern. It’s not even the most direct way to have a good time. It is terribly distracting, though, and even if you have no firm political philosophy, you would do well to treasure those few politicians who are adept at ignoring it all. Some people really enjoy it, and those are the ones you need to be worried about, whether they style themselves as right-wingers, left-wingers, or—sometimes worst of all—moderates.
As for me, I suspect I’m not going to be a lifer here. I’ve never missed the distractions of D.C. when in my beloved home state. Every day I spend in Washington, I miss the easy smiles, warm sands, shimmering emerald waters, and friendly greetings of my true home. I’ll get done what work I can for the American people and my constituents back in Florida, and then at some point, I expect I’ll get the hell out of here.
Meanwhile, like President Trump, I’m happy to fight the good fight—especially at a time when it can make a real difference.
CHAPTER TWO
LIGHTING THE TORCH
Holt is home to five hundred of my constituents along Interstate 10 in Northwest Florida. They farm, hunt, wear overalls, and love the USA, which more than a few of them have fought for. They wear blue collars if they wear collars at all. Their Ford pickups are covered in red mud and sport colors that never run or fade.
The center of commercial activity in Holt is the Stuckey’s filling station, where my blue Jeep idled in the parking lot. I had pulled off the interstate to secure a good signal as I awaited the voice of the most powerful man in the world.
“Congressman Gaetz, this is the White House operator. Please hold for the president.”
I love President Trump. I may never love another president. But this call worried me. For the first time, I had disagreed with the president publicly, on television. He doesn’t love that.
Earlier in the day, the president went on record regarding special counsel Robert Mueller. He said he thought Mueller would treat him “fairly,” which, of course, Mueller and his associates did not. Wishful thinking, Mr. President.
How to react to Mueller’s appointment was the subject of much debate in the Republican conference at the time. The then speaker Paul Ryan and GOP icon Rep. Trey Gowdy surmised that Mueller was an unquestionable, unimpeachable hero. The thinking went: we should all praise Mueller, confirm the legitimacy of his team’s investigative work, and pray that Trump hadn’t done anything criminal. Besides, they thought, a President Pence—one of Congress’s own—wouldn’t be so bad. What couldn’t be done at the ballot box could be done in the witness box.
Everybody looks for a scapegoat to excuse their own misdeeds. They didn’t find any witches on this witch hunt, but they were prepared to drown Donald Trump and members of his family all the same. The president was innocent, but that was precisely the point. The process was the punishment—both for the president and for the people who voted for him. The deep
