Tea Party On

Meet the new face of the Republican Party in northern New Mexico.

The face is engraved on a silver coin that is available for a $50 donation, but worth approximately $15 melted down.

The face is smiling. The face has a neatly trimmed beard. The face belongs to a man wearing a necktie. He stands beneath the Statue of Liberty. His rolled-up shirtsleeves reveal tattoos on each forearm. One says USMC. The other says IVAW, which stands for Iraq Veterans Against the War.

The arms hoist a banner that says "R3VOLution."

The face on the coin belongs to Adam Kokesh. He is the underdog in a race to unseat Democratic US Rep. Ben Ray Luján, son of the speaker of the New Mexico House of Representatives and, to conservatives, the personification of what's wrong with politics.

Sitting in a plush chair, under a portrait of himself in uniform, Kokesh catches the coin bearing his face, flipped across his office by a visiting reporter. Seeing his own face on a coin, he says, has been the strangest experience of his campaign. More than a fundraising gimmick, the coins carry a symbolism for those in the know. The 1-ounce silver pieces were minted by a Texas company, the American Open Currency Standard, which promotes the hoarding of precious metals as a hedge against the declining value of the dollar.

Kokesh belongs to a nationwide group of so-called "liberty candidates." These are candidates who are affiliated with the anti-government Tea Party, yet who are running as Republicans, the party in control of the White House for 19 of the 28 years Kokesh has been alive. The "R3VOLution" slogan is borrowed from the 2008 presidential campaign of US Rep. Ron Paul, R-Texas.

What is this promised revolution? Kokesh calls his philosophy "voluntarism," but his views, like Paul's, are better understood as radical libertarianism. Both men believe membership in the United Nations threatens US national sovereignty.

Both question the constitutionality of the federal Department of Education. Both doubt the future of the Federal Reserve's "fiat currency"—better known as the US dollar.

"I keep my savings in gold and silver," Kokesh says. "Within our lifetimes, we are going to see the end of the dollar as we know it. I can promise you that."

If it seems strange that Kokesh has based his campaign in a city as famously liberal as Santa Fe—where registered Democrats outnumber Republicans nearly 4-to-1—think again. The perceived impotence of President Barack Obama, combined with the perceived corruption of New Mexico's Democratic leadership, presents an opportunity for unorthodox Republicans like Kokesh.

Among his admirers is Asenath Kepler, who led a vigorous mayoral campaign in the race that ended March 2 with help from local Tea Partiers and fellow Republicans.

"I like Adam a lot because what he is doing is asking big questions. He's not just walking in lockstep with the Republican Party," Kepler says.

Indeed, she thinks "Young Turks" like Kokesh are redefining the party as one more focused on financial issues, like taxes, than on social ones, like abortion.

Perhaps the highest-profile exponent of New Mexico-style Republicanism is former Gov. Gary Johnson, who occupied the Roundhouse from 1995 to 2003. Reflecting on his time in Santa Fe, Johnson tells SFR it is a city not of liberals, but of "undiagnosed libertarians."

If that seems dubious, consider the improbability of Johnson's re-emergence. A decade ago, his anti-establishment views put him at odds with national Republican leadership. Now he's touring the country in what looks like the early stages of a presidential bid.

"What's changed is that people are genuinely outraged," Johnson says. "I happen to be one of those that are angry."

{::PAGEBREAK::}

Just as Barack Obama's "hope" and "change" message resonated with idealistic college students and jaded trade unionists alike, the Tea Party's simple "liberty" platform broadens its appeal.

Liberal critics have dismissed the Tea Party as "astroturf"—a front for old-guard corporate Republicans hoping to derail Obama's domestic agenda while poisoning the national debate with subtle racism. It may indeed have begun as hype, but even outsiders now acknowledge the Tea Party's Pinocchio-like transformation from an imitation grassroots movement to the genuine article.

According to its own myth, the Tea Party movement began in February 2009, when CNBC's Rick Santelli, reporting from the Chicago Board of Trade, went on a tear about the federal policy of "subsidizing losers." Santelli didn't mean Wall Street banks, which President George W Bush had gifted with a $700 billion bailout.

By "losers," he meant homeowners facing foreclosure, whom the recently inaugurated President Obama had proposed aiding with a relatively modest $75 billion program. "This is America," Santelli said. "How many of you people want to pay for your neighbor's mortgage that has an extra bathroom and can't pay their bills?"

Watching Santelli from home was Sheryl Bohlander, the retired vice president of a temporary legal staffing firm and, with her husband Jim, a retired Cargill executive.

Both are leaders in the Santa Fe County Republican Party. Inspired, Bohlander organized Santa Fe's first Tea Party protest on April 15, 2009: Tax Day. It drew approximately 700 people, by Bohlander's count—enough to fill the Plaza.

Some held signs with the party's acronym, "Taxed Enough Already." A few were dressed like Colonial-era Bostonians, looking out of place—if not out of time—on the historic Plaza. (Bohlander says the most flamboyant Tea Partiers hailed from out of town. "Whether we will openly, aggressively invite them back, I don't know.")

Among the invited speakers was former state Sen. John Grubesic, a Democrat whose animosity toward Gov. Bill Richardson gives him something in common with the Tea Partiers. But when Grubesic started talking about the need for taxes in a civilized society, he was not merely booed—he was shouted down. Afterward, Grubesic says he received anonymous, threatening messages at his office.

"They didn't like that I didn't just sit up there and bash Richardson. That's what they'd thought I was going to do," Grubesic recalls. "They just didn't want to pay taxes at all."

As Grubesic took his seat, Gary Johnson, who was waiting for his turn, shook his hand. Grubesic got the impression that Johnson felt the Tea Partiers were "out there."

"I'd never really witnessed a reaction like that to anyone speaking politically. It was vociferous, and it was—it wasn't pleasant at all. I was surprised by that," Johnson tells SFR. "What surprised me was just how angry it was…Since then, I'm seeing it everywhere."

In the 10 months since the first protest, Bohlander says the Santa Fe Tea Party's email list has doubled to 1,500 people. Admittedly, it's a loose-knit bunch. Reached by SFR, one Santa Fe Tea Partier was unaware he was listed online as a local coordinator.

Yet, as public anger rises, their ranks grow. It's an anger that's about more than taxation. There is also the widespread fear of impending economic collapse. Among some, there is fear of civilian disarmament, martial law and—no joke—concentration camps. But mostly, the anger springs from a sense of marginalization, however justified.

"A lot of us don't feel like we have our voices heard," Matt Kennicott, chief of staff for the New Mexico House Republican Caucus and Santa Fe Tea Party participant, tells SFR.

More so than their allies in Washington, DC, conservatives in Santa Fe know what it's like to be out of power.

{::PAGEBREAK::}
 
The cultural contrast between Santa Fe's ruling political party and the minority outcasts is stark.

On Feb. 21 inside the cavernous Elks Lodge, a few hundred Dems gathered to raise money for the re-election of Mayor David Coss, a former union organizer.

The audience is a who's who: There are lawyers, judges, gay and lesbian activists, local business advocates, artists, city councilors, county commissioners, state representatives, the new city manager, the outgoing county sheriff, retirees and recent college grads. There too is Ben Luján, the powerful state representative, and his son, Ben Ray Luján, the freshman US congressman. And taking the microphone to wild applause is the guest of honor, Dolores Huerta, who organized the United Farmworkers Union with César Chávez and is a board member of the Democratic Socialists of America. That's right—a socialist.

The attitude is festive. Disdain for the opposition flows freely. "They're all in the insane asylum—that's where the Teabaggers are going," a local businessman says, using derogatory slang for the Tea Party.

The previous day, a far smaller crowd of Republicans had gathered at the women's club across the street. In contrast to the Democratic fundraiser, with its cash bar and free enchiladas, the menu is bland: bottled water, potato chips and mild cheddar cheese cubes. And whereas the Dems can boast a clear diversity of ages and races, this group is overwhelmingly white and elderly. "The type is too small!" an 80-something man shouts during a slide show presentation on the party's finances. When the subject of outreach on Twitter and Facebook comes up, someone else shouts, "Don't want it!"

Finance Chairwoman Joanne Morrissey announces the recipients of the 2010 Patriot Award for service to the party: Jim and Sheryl Bohlander. There is, unfortunately, no plaque. "The engraving place lost the plate. I think they were Democrats," Morrissey says.

This group has a camaraderie forged by experience living in the minority. The Santa Fe Federated Republican Women like to tell a story about a member who found it harder to come out as a Republican than as a lesbian. Another lady "moved back to Texas because her car got keyed one too many times," Morrissey tells SFR. Such tales of adversity are commonplace.

"I have been laughed at for how I could possibly believe that life begins in utero," Barbara Damron, an organizer of the defunct Buckaroo Ball whose husband, JR, is running for lieutenant governor, says.

Local cabinet-maker and Tea Partier Dan Bergman keeps his views quiet for fear of blacklists and boycotts.

"I wouldn't go out and tell people you're Republican in Santa Fe. It's like asking for a fight," Bergman says. "If you go down to the Cowgirl and start talking about politics, they'll gang up on you."

A liberal dog pile can happen anywhere. Michigan resident Toni Lee Fiore, who owns a time-share in Santa Fe with her husband, was chatting with strangers recently at a shop in the Railyard. The subject turned to politics, and it emerged that Fiore was "more libertarian" than liberal. The news prompted an "odd guy" from Antiques at the Railyard to pipe up: "This guy said, 'Yeah, all of the conservative groups are in mental institutions here.' I thought, 'That's kind of nasty,'" Fiore recalls. "I say, 'Well, you don't like capitalists? Who's going to come in here and buy your painting, or your silly-ass sculpture for $10,000 or $20,000?"

Fiore, who expects to retire in Santa Fe, posted her reservations about the city's "in your face" liberalism to an online forum. She tells SFR she got several sympathetic replies from local conservatives, who hide their identities "for fear of reprisal." For right-leaning Santa Feans like these, the Tea Party brings hope that a change is going to come.

"I don't think Santa Fe will ever be considered a conservative or libertarian city, but…if you would've told me that Massachusetts would vote in a Republican senator, I would've said, 'No way. No way. It'll neeeeeevvver happen there,'" Fiore says. "I think 2010 is going to be a real eye-opener…There's going to be an awakening."

Such confidence is premature. But it's true that Republicans, particularly the libertarian breed, have an opening.

{::PAGEBREAK::}

To understand conservatives' opening, one must look beyond voter-party head counts.

Of Santa Fe County's 87 electoral precincts, there are only three in which Republicans hold the narrowest possible majority: 51 percent of registered voters. Countywide, they are outnumbered by those who "decline to state" a party affiliation.

But as former Gov. Johnson notes, the rise in registered independents is part of a nationwide trend—a trend that favors Tea Party allies.

"There's a migration away from the Republicans and a migration away from the Democrats into that independent category. And that independent category is first and foremost about common sense," Johnson says.

Brian Sanderoff, president of Research & Polling, Inc. in Albuquerque, says New Mexico independents tend to vote with the "political winds." Those winds are eroding the turf Democrats conquered in 2008.

"The Republicans have some opportunities in 2010, for a number of reasons," Sanderoff says. "First, there's a frustration with incumbents and, in New Mexico, most of the incumbents are Democrats. Two, the liberal base is somewhat deflated. Three, the conservative base is more energized—partially because they're mad at the president."

Hypothetically, even if every independent in Santa Fe County allied with the Republicans, such a coalition would comprise only 25 percent of voters. That's too small to take over elected offices. But the minority has already proven itself strong enough to shape policy—particularly when Democrats fail to inspire.

Kokesh headquarters has the feel of a frat house, albeit a tidy one composed of paranoid poli-sci majors. Alongside the usual campaign paraphernalia, there are brochures for the Oath Keepers: police officers and soldiers who have sworn to disobey any orders "to impose martial law," to force Americans into "detention camps" or to "invade and subjugate any state that asserts its sovereignty."

Despite such grim visions, Kokesh comes off as cheery and earnest. "For a frat house, we're a bunch of nerds," he says. Indeed, there's no evidence that girls have been anywhere near the place. The only booze in the kitchen consists of two bottles of cheap red wine and a decorative bottle of Iraqi gin.

The bookshelf in his office is full, but Kokesh says he mostly reads the internet. He calls it hitting "the Truth button." One of his favorite sites is Freedom's Phoenix, which recently featured articles about the evils of socialized medicine, the 9.11 "inside job" and, of course, the Tea Party.

Kokesh recognizes that the Tea Party's program is unformed enough that it could go any direction. And he acknowledges that its vagueness is similar to that of the Obama campaign, which attracted liberals from all walks of life with its all-things-to-all-people approach.

But there's an important difference, he says.

"There's no philosophy behind 'change,'" Kokesh says. "But there is a philosophy behind 'liberty.'"  SFR

For SFR's extended interview with Adam Kokesh, click HERE.

Extended interviews with Gary Johnson and Bob Wright will be posted over the coming week.

Santa Fe Reporter