Wow, this is hard.
I had to gather my thoughts as I sat down to write this letter because my anger and disappointment in you is so overwhelming, it was obscuring my ability to be rational.
Then, it finally came to me.
I realized that I needed to travel back to a time and place when I believed in you.
Las Vegas, 2012.
It is from that very place, where I begin.
However, before we venture back to your Las Vegas campaign headquarters on W. Tropicana Ave., let’s go a bit further back in time.
I’ve been a Republican since I cast my first vote for George H. W. Bush. However, even before that, in high school I was a proud member of The Young Republicans and volunteered on Reagan’s second campaign, spreading the good-conservative-word to lost souls.
So, it only made sense that when you won the primary and were handed the mighty GOP torch that I would heed the call and race to your side to fight the good conservative fight.
I spent my free time sitting in that bleak strip-mall storefront on W. Tropicana Ave., calling lists of hostile independents and angry “Republican-leaning” Democrats, repeating my pre-written spiel so often I could say it with my eyes closed.
Weird, why was everyone so mad?
I shook off the negativity – jerks be damned, we had work to do – and on the brighter side of the rainbow, anytime we’d get a caller who supported you, we’d tap a bell in the center of the table.
Ding, ding, ding!
I couldn’t care less about the people screaming how they’d rather write-in Ron Paul’s name than vote for a “Cold-hearted Wall St. asshole like Mitt Romney!” None of that mattered because this was an EPIC FIGHT to regain our country from the evil clutches of Obama, and you were carrying the torch of conservatism!
Ding, ding, ding?
Damn that stupid bell.
It didn’t ring very often.
Some days I hardly heard it.
That’s ok – no one said it would be an easy fight, so I kept calling.
And the most remarkable thing happened, Mitt. People seemed to get angrier.
One call, in particular, shook me to the very core of my “conservativeness.”
I’ll never forget that man.
Ring, ring, ring.
“Hello Sir, my name is Amy, and I am calling today on behalf of the Mitt Romney campaign…..”
“Mitt Romney doesn’t care about me,” the gruff old man shouted into the phone. “Oh, yes, he does,” I softly begged to differ, eager to spread the “good word” to another lost soul. However, he quickly cut me off. His voice was broken and trembling – I could hear the tears soaking through his words.
I held my breath as he began, “No little lady, he’s like the rest of them DC politicians. They only care about themselves – face it,” he whimpered, “We’ve lost our country.”
No, no, Mitt cares….He’s just….He has….He wants….
Holy shit, why is everyone so damn mad?
Fast forward to today and I get it now.
The Ron Paul supporters were years ahead of the rest of us in seeing the lies, corruption, and shadiness of the Grand Ole Party. It took people like me another four years of deception and trickery to finally admit that I belonged to a party of neocon globalists who were destroying America.
That old guy was right. You didn’t care about him, or me.
And so it came to pass, election day arrived, and you failed. Looking back on it the loss seems so obvious, however, back then I was devastated and didn’t understand where we went wrong.
I’ll admit I cried.
Now, though, I realize what happened. You didn’t fail because you went off “script,” or altered the establishment status quo.
You failed because you remained the same rigid, neocon globalist you’d always been during a time when the notion of change was whirling around us like a tornado.
You failed because you snubbed the Ron Paul supporters, dismissing them and their desire for reform with an arrogant flick of the wrist. It’s the same smug disrespect you show millions of Trump supporters each time you descend from your Park City mansion to give a speech or an interview condemning Donald Trump.
When you attack him, you attack us, Mitt.
We’re a team.
Ding, ding, ding.
You had your chance – twice – and you failed.
My god, it was over back on W. Tropicana Ave. in Suite 106, across from that crappy Starbucks that never had sugar-free vanilla lattes.
Times have changed, Mitt, and the future has gone ahead without you and your archaic neocon pals.
Today, we the people have a brighter, sharper candidate – someone who has successfully harnessed the winds of change to his advantage and is soaring in ways you could never imagine.
So, Mitt, while I know it hurts to say goodbye, it’s time for us to fly.
Enjoy Park City – it’s where you belong.
Ding! Ding! Ding!