The Evolution Of A Campus Conservative Revisited

I arrived at Wash U in 2015 a doe-eyed Republican, having spent my first eighteen years in perennially red South Dakota. I grew up among climate change deniers, gay marriage opposers, and gun enthusiasts. I was practically weaned on Fox News. Though I managed to emerge from this environment with some socially liberal views (primarily regarding LGBT rights), I was generally conservative when I began college.

Throughout my first year at Wash U, I wearied of the flaming liberality of campus but found refuge in weekly College Republicans (CR) meetings. I admired my fellow CRs. They were well-read and didn’t blindly side with the Republican Party on every issue.

During my freshman year I published an article in WUPR titled “The Evolution of a Campus Conservative,” in which freshman me documented her conservative experience at Wash U. I explained how being surrounded by liberals made me look at both sides of an issue and learn to defend my views, I urged my peers not to write off conservatives as selfish and ignorant, and I described how, by participating in CR, I finally felt comfortable being conservative at Wash U.

As I concluded my penultimate semester of college, I read my article for the first time since it was published. I hardly recognized my freshman self. I don’t remember feeling comfortable as a Republican at Wash U, and I certainly don’t remember feeling secure in my conservative beliefs. Mostly, I don’t remember feeling strongly enough about conservative politics, or politics in general, to publish an article defending Republicans.

Many factors contributed to my transition from confident, engaged Republican freshman to confused, politically listless senior. I lived with militant liberals, took anthropology courses with worldly professors, read too much Buzzfeed, and, of course, witnessed Trump’s campaign and early administration.

The 2016 election cycle was fun for a while. I watched primary debates in the DUC with the CRs. I laughed at Trump, but once I realized he might win the nomination, the humor turned to dismay, and I resigned myself to another Clinton presidency.

I was politically engaged during the fall of 2016. As public relations chair for CR and one of a handful of openly conservative students at Wash U, I was interviewed by several journalists in the days surrounding the presidential debate held on campus. Because I was being questioned about my politics, I made sure to read the news and familiarize myself with the candidates’ platforms so I could defend my positions.

Despite my research, when it came to voting for president, I was lost. The things liberals called Trump—racist, sexist, etc.—were accurate. But I disagreed with Clinton’s fiscal positions, and I did not, and still don’t, believe her to be morally upstanding. Either I voted for a repugnant, politically laughable man or an ethically questionable woman with whom I disagreed on most issues. Ultimately, like many conservatives, I didn’t vote for president at all.

None of us CRs expected Trump to win. We believed the polls, and living on a liberal campus distorted our view of the reality of the country’s electorate. Election night was one of mixed emotions: disbelief that Trump won and disappointment that he would be president, joy about the conservative congress, relief that Clinton wasn’t in charge.

Additionally, I felt guilt. While I had mixed feelings about the election, my liberal peers were distraught. I read countless novel-length Facebook posts—some narrative, some polemical, and all at least somewhat self-indulgent—lamenting Trump’s victory. They were difficult to read knowing I hadn’t actively voted against Trump. I wondered if I should have voted for Clinton. Because I was registered in South Dakota, a vote for Hillary would have been as ineffective as my decision to not vote at all, and, though I despised Trump, I wouldn’t have wanted Clinton in charge. Nevertheless, my liberal surroundings, the sobs of my peers, the op-eds and Women’s March signs following the election riddled me with guilt until I forgot why I’d chosen not to vote.

These influences, which jarred my political identity immediately following Trump’s victory, have had lasting effects on my views, as have other factors. I disagreed with many of Trump’s actions as president and found his rhetoric absurd. I began to disentangle myself from CR. I stepped down as PR Chair, partly because I was studying abroad, but also because I was embarrassed to call myself Republican. Learning more about the effects of climate change in anthropology courses and LGBT and racial issues in writing classes, seeing mass shooting after mass shooting in the news, watching the Vagina Monologues—these experiences also nudged me leftward.

However, consulting both liberal and conservative news sources, talking to trusted conservative friends and family, and listening to the one-sided, self-congratulating rhetoric of some liberals has counterbalanced leftist influences. In the aftermath of the election I regretted not voting for Clinton, but after two years of reflection the regret has waned, though my political indecisiveness and disdain for Trump have increased. I know that voting for Clinton would have been just as counter to my convictions as voting for Trump.

[su_pullquote align=”right”]I now find myself in a sort of political limbo.[/su_pullquote]I now find myself in a sort of political limbo. I wouldn’t say I’m liberal. On the contrary, I’m fiscally conservative. But I am less adamantly so than I was as a freshman and certainly less confidently so. So what am I? I can’t call myself moderate, because I agree with the left on some issues and the right on others; rarely am I in the center. I’m socially liberal and fiscally conservative, so in many ways I agree with libertarians, but I’m not as extreme in my disdain for government.

So I guess I don’t know what I am or what I believe or who I should listen to. And my disorientation has led to civic listlessness. I didn’t request an absentee ballot for the midterm election; just the apprehension of political decision-making exhausted me. I’m not proud of taking for granted my democratic privileges or pleased that after only three years of voting eligibility I have forgone my civic duty. Mostly, I am frustrated—frustrated that I can’t articulate my political beliefs to myself, let alone others, frustrated that I don’t fit a single political identity, frustrated that I can’t talk politics with my conservative family and liberal schoolmates without being labeled a bleeding-heart liberal by the former and an ignorant bigot by the latter. I should clarify, while most students are respectful when they discover I am more conservative than the average Wash U student, many raise their eyebrows and bite their tongues in quiet skepticism. And the things I hear liberal students say about conservatives when they don’t know my political leanings, when they assume that, like most Wash U students, I am liberal, are condescending, narrow-minded, and contemptuous.

[su_pullquote]In an environment like Wash U, where it is so easy to be liberal, it takes a lot of discernment and gumption to be conservative, especially during the current administration.[/su_pullquote]In an environment like Wash U, where it is so easy to be liberal, it takes a lot of discernment and gumption to be conservative, especially during the current administration. So while I no longer identify as conservative, I admire the few Wash U students who do. But many conservative students do not feel comfortable at Wash U. Recently a classmate who knew of my political dispositions told me she was Republican; she’d never told anyone at Wash U before.

Another time, a senior overheard a conservative friend and I talking politics and said, “I thought I was the only one!”

[su_pullquote]There is a difference between arguing against opposing rhetoric and stifling it altogether, and many at Wash U are guilty of the latter.[/su_pullquote]Something about Wash U’s environment silences dissenting opinion. There is a difference between arguing against opposing rhetoric and stifling it altogether, and many at Wash U are guilty of the latter. Wherever you stand on the political spectrum, you should be concerned that students can go three years at Wash U without knowing that other conservatives exist on campus or feeling comfortable expressing their political identity. I’m not trying to evoke pity for conservatives. I’m only reflecting on why it is difficult to be conservative at Wash U and why it was easier to just relinquish my political identity. And I’m reminding students that liberal views are not the only ones that exist, even on our “enlightened” college campus.

The left’s rhetoric is loud, and their ideals are admirable. It’s difficult to face such a force without questioning your convictions. I do not know to which political party I belong, how I will vote in the next election, or how to feel about border security or healthcare. But I do know I am not racist, sexist, or hateful. I also know that making people with dissenting opinions feel judged and unwelcome only incites resentment and frustration.

Though much has changed since I wrote my article in spring 2016, I stand by at least one thing I wrote: I urged my peers to be open-minded towards people of opposing political beliefs. I wish I could say, after four years of college, that I’ve grown politically confident, that I’ve learned how the world works and who I should believe. This wasn’t the case, but at least I can be secure knowing that I kept an open mind, that when I saw a problem with my party or beliefs I allowed myself to adjust, that I sought to make everyone feel welcome regardless of their politics. I encourage my peers, conservative and liberal, to do the same—to allow themselves to evolve and to think for themselves rather than blindly following their party. Who knows, with two more years of Trump and six years of grad school I may end up, as my family fears, a Democrat. I doubt it, but at least I know I’m adaptable.

Abby Baka ’19 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. She can be reached at abbybaka@wustl.edu.