It was dark, and I was lost somewhere in the depths of West Ashley. Things were getting strange – a barren Home Depot across from an empty Lowe’s, two snarling dogs pulling a fat man in a wheelchair along the highway, and a wrong turn on a street that turned to dirt so fast I peeled out and nearly blew a tire. I stopped in front of a trailer where a group of six men were drinking Coors and roasting a massive pig over a fire pit. I could barely see their faces, and the flitting light made them look like wild and rugged country folk. They eyed me cautiously while I asked for directions, skeptical of my four-door city sedan, but lightened up when I told them I was heading to the Charleston for Ron Paul headquarters. I asked what they thought of the Republican presidential candidate.
“He’s an old bastard,” one said, and took a long sip of beer. “But he don’t give you no bullshit. Tells you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear.”
This appreciation of the 76-year-old politician’s blunt, sometimes brutal honesty seems to be a common thread among supporters. He seems infinitely more “real” than the other candidates in debates, and his speeches would be better labeled as talks. Recently, Paul came to the College of Charleston for a rally in the Stern Center garden where he was met by a crowd of hundreds of students, many of whom skipped class to attend. The garden was nearly filled to capacity, and people were hanging out of balconies of surrounding houses and perched on fences. As Paul entered through a back gate, he was greeted by applause and cheers more thunderous than I have ever heard at a political event. It was so loud that the noise was picked up by the podium’s microphone and could be heard through the speakers. This kind of ruckus is typical of Paul fans – a political radio host once told me never to overestimate the number of Paul supporters at an event based on noise, because they are the “loudest, rowdiest bunch of animals out there.” A chant of “President Paul!” broke out, and it was carried for a good thirty seconds until the candidate began.
“Sounds like to me that the spirit of liberty is alive and well in Charleston!”
Ranting more than speaking, the candidate wound his way through the ills of government and his plans to fix them. You like Paul the same way you like your disgruntled, crotchety grandfather who constantly complains about the newspaper and tells funny stories that open with “back in my day.” His voice is folksy but fiery, like a gold prospector from the 1850s, and his demeanor is homespun and not pretentious. The content of the speech seemed to resonate with the crowd as Paul riffed on small government, disengagement from foreign wars and occupations, elimination of the income tax, and an audit of the Federal Reserve. The loudest applause came after his calls to end the drug war, repeal the Patriot Act, and prevent the passage of the Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA).
The students’ energy was uplifting, but eerie. How could a Republican who wants to eliminate the Department of Education, opposes universal health care, and is anti-abortion (though doesn’t support a federal law banning it) draw this kind of crowd on a relatively liberal college campus?
One student dressed in a Grateful Dead t-shirt was still undecided about who he would vote for, saying probably Obama but maybe Ron Paul if he gets on the ballot. “He’s really damn smart, and knows what’s going on. You can’t pay for stuff with money you don’t even have.”
Another ex-Obama supporter mused that both parties are guilty of “passing the buck” to the next generation.
“We print more money, destroy currency in the long run, borrow money from China, and now we’re the ones who are waking up and realizing we can’t do that anymore.”
Others focused on the drug issue, and that Paul has acquired a “coolness” that fellow candidates lack.
“Yeah, a lot of people probably like him because he wants to legalize drugs,” said Clair Hollingsworth, “but I also think he has voter appeal like Obama did in his campaign. He’s not the underdog, but he has a lot of unexpected ideas.”
In 2008, Obama tapped into the youth vote, with 66 percent of young voters casting their ballot for him in the largest-ever showing for a presidential candidate in this age group. He was charismatic, easy – a cool young president – and he hit social media hard. Ron Paul seems to have a similar youth appeal, and my goal was to find out why. Tipped off by a member of the college’s Youth for Ron Paul group, I set out for the Ron Paul headquarters.
After thanking the men for directions and refusing some pork and a beer, I backtracked and continued along the road. It was pitch black now and I could barely make out street signs, let alone numbers on buildings. Again, I went too far and had to turn around. I was getting really frustrated. How could this little office in the middle of nowhere, West Ashley be the statewide headquarters for a national presidential hopeful who had taken second in the New Hampshire primary? After passing my third trailer park of the night, I spotted an old lit-up church sign that read “Charleston for Ron Paul 2012” and pulled into the dirt parking lot.
The place was not what I had in mind. It was a simple one-story house, its brown roof missing shingles and decorated with the kind of flags you find at used car dealerships. The only light in the area came from a dim streetlight and the house itself. I had pictured some decently swanky office in a shopping center or commercial park with rows of desks set up, filled with computers and neat-looking banners and men in suits. As I walked up the steps, it seemed more likely that I’d find a small band of nutjob gun freak libertarians dishing out signs and phone lists to college kids willing to soak up any sort of political ideology that sounded remotely against the status quo.
Neither turned out to be the case. The door opened into a room that was bare except for a couple tables and a TV playing CNN in the corner, and there were a few groups of twenty-somethings chatting and more making phone calls from cell phones. One was standing alone reading a pamphlet, and I approached him.
Adam Elamir, a tall, soft-spoken 23-year-old college graduate with a degree in political science, made the journey to Charleston from the suburbs of Bergen County, New Jersey. He had flown down that day to help out the Paul campaign during primary week. Adam, a self-proclaimed “Obama zombie” in 2008, said that “change sounded awesome, but I wasn’t thinking for myself.” After studying political science and economics in college and on his own, he became a Republican.
At first, he just wanted to get Obama out of office. He believed Republican candidate Mitt Romney could do that, but also thought his and other Republicans’ foreign policy was flawed. Adam said if Mitt Romney gets the Republican nomination he will probably vote for him over Obama, but may not vote at all.
“If I were to choose between Mitt Romney and Obama I’d be voting for who would do the less damage to this country. I’m tired of doing that, you know?”
He then abandoned the mainstream Republican Party and got into Ron Paul after reading one of his books, Liberty Defined. Like most Paul supporters, he hasn’t looked back since.
“Ron Paul really did influence me to get into politics. I’ve become a big political junkie. I’d never think a politician would have that much influence on me. He’s turned into a rock star, like a big NFL player. It’s good though, he’s forcing people to educate themselves with his teachings, and it’s really good for the youth. Plus, he makes a lot of sense, has great foreign policy, and, most importantly, has a real plan.”
Adam said he would remain in South Carolina until the primary results are in, after which he might head to Florida for its primary on January 31. I asked him where he was staying, and he didn’t know. He mentioned that some Ron Paul organizers might have free room and board somewhere, but didn’t seem worried. “I’ll find something,” he said with a smile.
I made my way to the back of the house and entered a small makeshift office, walls plastered with maps of Charleston and signs and pamphlets scattered everywhere. Sitting behind the desk was a wiry Kurtz-like man named James who directs Charleston for Ron Paul, the grassroots operation that has replaced the lack of an official Paul presence in the state. The all-volunteer organization is independent from the official campaign and self-funded by donations from supporters, which pay for water, electricity, refreshments and the wealth of campaign materials they distribute. James, forehead permanently wrinkled from his hectic duties, was busy mapping out a sign route for some volunteers and pointed me to a man probably in his mid-forties talking to three college kids from Clemson who looked at him with reverence as he spoke,
Glen Bradley, a member of the North Carolina House of Representatives, was at the original “Tea Party” in December 2007, which was actually a “money bomb” for Ron Paul put on by supporters. Since then, he says, the Tea Party has been “stolen by the GOP” and “twisted into something much different from Ron Paul’s message” – which is to leave nearly everything up to the states. Bradley came to South Carolina to help with the campaign and has found the youth turnout astounding.
“I find that young folks still have the critical thinking skills to say, ‘this guy’s honest, I’m going to follow him.’ But by the time you’re in your 40s or 50s, you’re so used to them being corrupt that you don’t care what they sound like.”
Like Adam, college students and other youth who make the quest to Paul headquarters – a fairly common occurrence – are on a pilgrimage of sorts, to find what they have been sheltered from all their lives, to find truth and realness in a world of illusion and deception. It is a place where their voice matters, where they can actually do something. Many are the same kids who were swept up by Obama’s promises of Change in ’08, his fresh and youthful perspective, and now feel abandoned by the president’s pursuit of senseless wars, refusal to protect civil liberties, and bailing out of banks and other corporations.
Voting for Ron Paul, too, allows a generation forsaken by both sides of the political spectrum to fight back in a meaningful way. The wizened, quirky old man is an outlet for the frustrations experienced by a youth that has felt its voice go unheard. He is real, and he speaks the truth – something everyone, even those who don’t support Paul, would agree we need more of today.
