The Party's over: How the Extreme Right Hijacked the GOP and I Became a Democrat - Softcover

Crist, Charlie; Henican, Ellis

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0142181552 ISBN 13: 9780142181553

Verlag: Plume, 2014

Inhaltsangabe

Juicy stuff” (Miami New Times) from the former Republican governor of Florida on why he went with his heart and changed political parties.

Charlie Crist was the popular governor of Florida and a rising Republican star. But the changing political landscape left him with a life-changing choice: Join the Tea Party madness? Or stay true to his bipartisan, commonsense beliefs? Charlie knew what was right and became a Democrat in 2012.

The Party’s Over is the inside story of one brave leader’s refusal to surrender to hatred and zeal. From the Florida capital to the presidential campaign trail to Barack Obama’s White House, Charlie Crist tells what really derailed his former party, sharing very frank opinions about Sarah Palin, John McCain, Mark Rubio, and other top-tier Republicans. Crist has a uniquely insightful perspective on what works and what doesn’t, offering a hopeful vision to getting Washington back on track.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

CHARLIE CRIST is the former Republican governor of Florida. After running for the U.S. Senate as an Independent in 2010, he began working with the Democratic Party. In 2012 he became a member. He is currently running to reclaim the Governorship as a Democrat. He lives with his wife in St. Petersburg.

CHARLIE CRIST is the former Republican governor of Florida. After running for the U.S. Senate as an Independent in 2010, he began working with the Democratic Party. In 2012 he became a member. He is currently running to reclaim the Governorship as a Democrat. He lives with his wife in St. Petersburg.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Introduction

Thank you!” I called out to the massive crowd in front of me. “What an incredible night! Optimism is in the air.”

I was deep inside enemy territory. That’s what my old friends were telling me. It was Thursday, September 6, 2012, a couple of minutes after 8:30 P.M., and I had never stood before a throng so huge: more than twenty thousand men and women, a loud and raucous mix of anticipation and fun, in the TV glare of the Time Warner Cable Arena in Charlotte, North Carolina—every age, race, region, and hat style you could imagine. Most of them were jammed onto tiny folding chairs. Others were crowding the narrow aisles. As I peered over the top of an oversize, wooden podium, I could see hundreds—was it thousands?—of white-on-blue Obama-Biden posters and many, many pole signs. “MINNESOTA.” “TENNESSEE.” I found “FLORIDA” off to my right. Halfway back in my home-state delegation, one poster said “I-4 Obama,” a little play on the highway that connects Tampa and Daytona Beach, always a crucial swing-vote corridor. But as I moved through my opening pleasantries, I have to say, the applause sounded a little tepid to me.

I got the distinct feeling that the audience was holding back. It was as if all these people were taking a careful measure of me, trying to decide whether I’d fully earned the right to be here.

Were they happy to see me? Were they asking themselves, “Who the hell is this guy? Who invited him?” I hadn’t seen any polling data or focus group reports. But I’d been around this business long enough to know: People with résumés like mine weren’t supposed to speak at Democratic National Conventions. This wasn’t the way that game was played.

I’d been the low-tax, pro-life, pro-gun Republican governor of Florida. As a young state senator, I’d been such an anti-crime crusader, people called me “Chain Gang Charlie”—and I considered it a compliment. Heck, I’d named my boat Freedom. Was that Republican—or what? I’d risen through the ranks from education commissioner to attorney general to governor, always running with an “R” next to my name. In the 2008 presidential campaign, I’d worked diligently for John McCain, even making his short list for vice president. At various points along the way, I had referred to myself as a “Ronald Reagan Republican.”

And here I was with a prime-time, Thursday-night speaking role at the 2012 Democratic National Convention, preparing to sing the praises of Barack Hussein Obama. That’s how many of my old party mates liked referring to him, as if he weren’t just a president from a different party but a highly suspect, otherworldly creature and probably a Muslim too.

No, this wasn’t politics as usual.

I was addressing this Democratic crowd the same night the president was. My slot was after Caroline Kennedy and just before John Kerry and Joe Biden. The big addresses from Michelle and Barack Obama were coming right after that. You’d have to look long and hard in the annals of American politics to find a fish more out of water than I was that night.

I’d even joked with my wife, Carole, when I first got the call from Jim Messina, who was managing the president’s reelection campaign: “Didn’t anyone do a background check?”

I wasn’t even invited when Republican delegates gathered August 27 to 30 for their national convention in Tampa, just a short drive from my rented condo in St. Petersburg. Why would I be? I wasn’t one of theirs anymore. They were brimming with Tea Party fervor and anti-Obama zeal. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have enjoyed what I had to say.

“What an honor to be here with you to stand with President Barack Obama,” I told the Democratic crowd.

A small fan was whirring at my feet. I always like a fan at the podium when I give a big speech. You have no idea how hot those TV lights can be. But I could still feel tiny beads of sweat forming on my forehead. I don’t usually get nervous giving speeches. My heart was pumping now.

Before I got to the business at hand, I wanted to address the elephant in the room. Never before, I thought, had that old expression been quite so apt.

“Half a century ago,” I began, “Ronald Reagan, the man whose optimism inspired me to enter politics, famously said that he didn’t leave the Democratic Party, but the party left him. Well, listen, I can relate. I didn’t leave the Republican Party. It left me.”

It had been a while, I was sure, since Ronald Reagan was quoted so approvingly at a Democratic convention. “Then again,” I added, “my friend Jeb Bush recently noted Reagan himself would have been too moderate, too reasonable for today’s GOP.”

People clapped at that. Right there, I could feel it. I had the attention and the support of the room. We might have come from different places. But I could tell—and they could tell—we were talking the same language and talking the same way. It had taken me a while to get here, but I felt thoroughly at home.

I had already changed my registration from Republican to Independent. By the time the year was over, I would officially be a Democrat. But despite those changing labels, I felt the same way I always had. I had the same basic values. I’d never been an ideologue. It was just that, in an ugly bow to extremism, the party I’d grown up in had abandoned people like me. And the place I was heading, I was happy to see, wasn’t run by enforcers with mandatory checklists.

Standing at the podium in Charlotte, I wanted to share with the Democratic delegates some of the causes I cared most about. Not the divisive, hot-button issues so many Republican politicians seemed suddenly obsessed with—birth control, abortion, gays, and guns. Not the nasty caricatures that fueled so much of talk radio and cable TV news. Just as I always had, I wanted to talk about issues that touch all people’s lives, whatever their party might be.

So I did.

“We must create good middle-class jobs so we can have an economy built to last,” I said. “We must rebuild our roads and bridges and improve our public schools. And particularly important to me and my state is the challenge of saving Medicare and Social Security so we can keep our promise to seniors.”

These shouldn’t be divisive issues at all.

“As a former lifelong Republican,” I said, “it pains me to tell you that today’s Republicans—and their standard-bearers, Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan—just aren’t up to the task. They’re beholden to my-way-or-the-highway bullies, indebted to billionaires who bankroll ads and are allergic to the very idea of compromise. Ronald Reagan would not have stood for that. Barack Obama does not stand for that. You and I won’t stand for that.”

I was laying everything right out there. It sure felt great. I had to mention the hug.

“One of the president’s first trips in office brought him to Fort Myers, Florida, where I was proud to embrace him and his plan to keep our teachers, police, and firefighters on the job,” I said. “Well, that hug caused me more grief from my party than you can ever imagine.”

Embracing Barack Obama had made me an instant pariah in the eyes of some Republicans. Yet the president and I, coming from different places, had been on similar journeys all along.

“I’ll be honest with you,” I told the Democratic delegates. “I don’t agree with President...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Plume
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2014
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0142181552
• ISBN 13: 9780142181553
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 341
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar