Seeing through compassionate conservatism's promises

I can't say that I've been watching every minute of CNN or MSNBC or any of those 24-hour cable news channels (Who could when The Real World and Undressed are showing on MTV?). I also haven't read every Times article on the campaign. But even while I have been tuning in to see what those wacky MTV execs will come up with next, there is one phrase that has not escaped my attention. George W. Bush, DC '68, has uttered it more times than Bill Clinton, LAW '73, has denied having sex with Monica Lewinsky. We all know the phrase. Say it with me: "compassionate conservatism."

It sounds like an amazingly appealing phrase. Coming from a Republican, it almost sounds lascivious. It tickles my ears with the catchiness of a Backstreet Boys song, so much so that I might be tempted to take the bait and sing the praises of George. But how will it be played out in the everyday life of our next president, or more generally, in a Republican administration?

To find out, we must look back into the annals of George W.'s years as the governor of Texas and his more recent history as a leader.

We find that the Texas state legislature proposed a hate crimes bill in 1999 after America was horrified by the news of an African-American man, James Byrd, Jr., being dragged to death behind a car by white supremacists. The bill would have given tougher penalties for crimes motivated by hatred based on a person's race, gender, or sexual orientation. Yet for some reason, Bush didn't want "special rights" for gays and therefore—according to members of the Texas legislature—surreptitiously killed the bill.

This summer, at the Republican Convention in Philadelphia, another example of George W.'s compassionate conservatism was unveiled. As Arizona congressman Jim Kolbe, the only gay speaker at the GOP convention, took the podium to make his speech, members of the Texas delegation gathered in prayer as a form of protest. Kolbe was not allowed to speak of anything "gay." Even with Kolbe's avoidance of that dreaded three-letter word, the "compassionate conservatives" were not appeased. One would hope that such a gesture might have awakened some inkling of compassion among the followers of Pat Robertson, yet one delegate asked why Kolbe was allowed to speak at all. Is it possible that the Governor might not have convinced the members of his state's delegation to listen to Kolbe without incident? In such a scripted, faux-inclusionary setting every move was carefully orchestrated by the Bush campaign. Bush's campaign certainly could have been more "compassionate" had the governor wanted it that way.

Perhaps most audaciously of all, in a 1999 meeting with Christian conservatives, Bush reportedly told the group that, if elected, he would not appoint any openly homosexual person to his administration. And so the displays of compassion go on and on.

Maybe my definition of the word compassion is too broad. In my mind it brings about thoughts of love and tolerance and acceptance and other fuzzy Care Bear feelings. Perhaps if I looked at compassion as more of a hate-the-sin-not-the-sinner catch-all, I would understand what Bush means. He could say, "Just because we are compassionate doesn't mean that we will accept all that God has deemed unholy." People are entitled to their beliefs and I can accept that.

What I cannot accept is intolerance. Of course, there are many other important issues that must be considered when we think to ourselves or pontificate to one another about who should be the next president. How should social security best be fixed? How involved should the federal government be in the implementation of prescription drug coverage? Whom do we trust to make decisions about a missile defense system? Who should be the recipients of a tax cut and how big should it be?

But in some ways, all of these things seem secondary. Compassionate conservatism reminds me of an Old Navy commercial. It is just so catchy that I want to rush out and buy, buy, buy, only to find wild and disillusioning disappointments. Can we accept living in a country in which a group of its citizens are treated as second-class just because of the gender of the person they choose to snuggle with? Can we all sleep soundly knowing that certain members of our society can be arrested for intimate acts with those they love? Can we condone steps backward in the fight for true equality for all?

I hope the answer is no. I hope that every voter takes a step back for just one moment to ask themselves, "What really matters in this election: false compassion or true equality?"

Ethan Guillen is a junior in Berkeley.

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