Day 284 – Recently I’ve had to turn down some invitations to speak at events because the primary season has me under water. Why do I need to attend events to answer your questions? I can help you out right here.

Have questions about political Interent strategies? I might have answers.

Day 279 – For those of you who just haven’t had enough of the SC ballot crisis, here is another quick segment for you. Phil and I give our take on the latest Palmetto State scandal.

- Wesley Donehue

Day 278 – You really missed out if you didn’t make it to Pub Politics 100. It was one big blowout.

I’m sorry that it took so long to get the video up. The staff has been pretty slammed with primary season going on and a lot of these side projects have been pushed to the back burner. Why do you think we haven’t done a show in 3 weeks?

I’ve said this a lot, but I want to say it again. THANK YOU for all the support. I feel so blessed to have such great friends who come out every week to see us raise hell.

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!

- Wesley Donehue

This week’s South Carolina political circus can be taken as a life lesson – your actions can have big consequences and impact far more people than you realize. Run through the different scenarios before you act.

Oh, and I got a haircut. Sorry Derris, it had to be done today and I couldn’t get to Orangeburg. Nothing but love for you, little homie.

- Wesley Donehue

A quick THANK YOU to you amazing people who have given me such positive feedback since my last few Man Project posts.

- Wesley Donehue

Day 262 – No. I’m not asking you to become Muslim.

Today I write from Istanbul, Turkey. More on that tomorrow.

Failure sucks. Alas, I have failed.

The purpose of this project was to, and still is to, log my year-long journey to become a better person. I strived to blog every day, but at Day 243, I hit a wall.

Honestly, it had everything to do with telling you guys part of my personal story. It wasn’t planned. It just happened. And when it did, I started getting flooded with calls, Facebook messages and emails from people telling me their personal stories. From a young Christian having an internal battle with his own homosexuality to a young lady molested by her father, some of these messages left me in tears, literally.

So many people are facing tough days. Some are still facing them. Some have overcome yet still try to reconcile their memories. All of them have one thing in common – they want to be better people, they want more than what they had or have.

After those emotional posts, blogging every day about wearing striped socks and how to tie a bow tie seemed pretty damn trivial. Every day, for nearly two full weeks, I’ve opened up my laptop to type, but my fingers remained still. This blog seemed to have become something new, and my daily activities were no longer enough.

Sure, I can keep telling stories about my past, but is that even enough? I do not think so.

The stories lay a foundation. They are meant to show you that life can suck and that you can face unthinkable circumstances, yet you can be more. You can be everything.

That’s the purpose of this blog. It’s not just to log my journey anymore. It’s to help you start yours.

Today, I’m entering Phase 2 of my year-long journey. I’m now going to quit being so self-centered and selfish. It’s not about MY journey. It’s about OUR journey. It’s about using our stories to motivate each other.

I’m going to stop blogging every day so that I can spend my time writing more meaningful posts. I’m also going to use a new platform, Rally, to help raise money for charities helping people going through Hell. Lastly, I’m going to activate an email list to alert you when I’ve posted a new story.

Will you join me? Just fill out this form now.

Day 243 – I hate black people, Mexicans and Arabs. Gays too. And women.

No, I don’t hate women. I just hate giving them choices. Also, anyone who doesn’t worship Jesus Christ.

Obviously none of that is true.

The only kind of people I dislike are the people who hate, the ones who are too closed-minded to see differences, hear arguments and experience the world.

But that is the stereotype we Republicans face. We were all born rich and raised in country clubs, thus the reason of our hatred for the poor. We hate handouts because we don’t want the poor to catch up. We enjoy running the world. Entitlements threaten our superiority.

Many say that stereotypes exist because they’re true. And I guess there are some rich Republicans who hate the poor and racists who hate pretty much everyone. But I’ve seen those people in both parties and among many races. Hatred, like morality, isn’t monopolized by any one classification of people.

Yet, that stereotype still exists.

Last week I was stereotyped as a country club Republican and by now you know that’s not true. I am a Republican because I was born poor. I’ve seen how government should work and how it shouldn’t.

Government killed my father. Not literally and placing the blame on anyone but himself is even against my personal beliefs of self-responsibility. Still, I know that he could have worked. He should have worked. He didn’t.

Instead he sat his lazy ass on the couch all day, soaking up every bit of government welfare he could get his hands on. He popped pills, he smoked crack and he did exactly what one does when they have nothing else to do because government gives them the opportunity to do nothing.

Eventually my father became an utterly dependent slave of government entitlements. He died so broke that I had to personally pay for his funeral. Not only did my father not leave anything to me, but he actually cost me, even in death.

Accept for one thing. He left me with an unending desire to be more than him. While in college at the University of South Carolina, I found that most students were running toward something. They ran toward money, being a lawyer, being a doctor, being a fraternity boy, parties, whatever. I wasn’t running toward anything. I was running away from something, as fast as I possibly could.

Then you look toward my mother who used government as it should be used. She took government handouts and raised two children until she could get back on her feet. Welfare was temporary. It was a safety net. It was used for people who could not help themselves at the moment, providing an opportunity for them to help themselves.

Yes, there is a place for government. Yes, government should help people. Government should help people learn to fish for themselves. Because as my father proved, when you give a man a fish, he’s going to ask for another and another and another, until that day he becomes so dependent on your fish that he cannot possibly fish for himself.

Today I write from San Francisco, California, one of the most liberal cities in America. I love this city. I love its freedom, its diversity, its energy and its creativity. I don’t hate its homosexuals, its atheists or its Chinese. I just hate the idea that man cannot help himself. That’s why I’m a Republican.

- Wesley Donehue

What do you get when you put a soulful African American female in front of a southern rock band?  The Alabama Shakes.

Today is a cheat day. No time for writing, so I’m just going to introduce you to my latest obsession.  Get to know The Alabama Shakes. I have a feeling they will be around for a while.

Listen. Love.

- Wesley Donehue

Day 241 – I have a fascination with barbershops. I’ve always wanted to own one. A place for gentleman to gather, smoke cigars, drink whiskey and bullshit about the news.

My father was a barber. My mother was a cosmetologist.

Daddy didn’t work when I was growing up. I’ve told you that. He did, however, work as a barber before I was born. Or when I was a baby. Hell, I don’t remember. Please forgive me if some of my facts are off. He cut my hair all the time. I do remember that.

My parents divorced, and my mother went to Farah’s Beauty School because she refused to let me and my sister grow up in the ghetto. It wasn’t good for me. I was her guinea pig. Perms, or “body waves” as she called them, were supposed to make me look like Brandon Walsh. Instead it made me look like a white Ice Cube with a giant brown fro.

The experiments ended, and Mom became a cosmetologist. I frequented the salon and rarely went a week with out “getting my whig busted.”

Thus, my fascination with barbershops.

For years I’ve told Elizabeth that I want a barbershop shave. Today she finally had enough and demanded that I indulge at FSC barbershop in the Mission district of San Francisco. I would love to describe the different lotions, hot towels and phases my face went through during the experience, but truthfully, I have no idea what he was doing. I just know that my face was in Heaven for about 30 minutes.

If ever my face was completely rocked off, it was today.

For years I’ve thought about that Barenaked Ladies song and asked myself what I would do if I had a million dollars?  I finally found my answer. I would get a shave every week.

- Wesley Donehue

Day 240 – “What do you mean there are different kinds of cheese?” That would have been my question if I had stopped by Mission Cheese as a child. I didn’t know that there was anything beyond the bright yellow square covered in plastic film.

But today I sat in a cheese shop, drinking wine and coffee, and snacking on some of the most glorious cheeses in America. Humboldt Fog, Bayley Hazen Blue and Mont St. Francis, served with fig, jelly and pressed coffee.

Sounds pretentious, huh?

That’s because it is.

I sat there thinking that this is a far cry from the North Charleston apartment complex on Otranto Drive where I hid in a bedroom watching Star Trek reruns, too scared that I would be beat up if I went outside.

I wasn’t the only white kid in the minority-dominated Section 8 housing, but I was the nerdiest. I was also scrappy. I held my own in a few fights. Sure, I came home with some black eyes, but my opponents also went home with bloodied lips. I never went down easy. Eventually, they learned that it wasn’t worth it. I wasn’t worth it.

Honestly, I wasn’t worth much. And I had even less.

We ate a lot of cereal. Grilled cheese was a dinner staple. Just that bright yellow stuff. Who knew we could even get something else?

We probably couldn’t. What we could buy was limited by the federal government because it was feeding us. We might as well have been wards of the state. Not just me and my sister, but my mother too – until she had enough and went to cosmetology school. Then things finally changed.

Today I sat at Mission Cheese remembering a specific incident when my mother wanted to buy the week’s groceries at the Piggly Wiggly. The walk was too much, and public transportation is still to this day nearly nonexistent in the Charleston, South Carolina area.

The one item my mother did walk away with after her divorce was a car. Now that I think about it, I don’t think she had it while married. I think my grandmother may have given it to us. I don’t remember what kind of car it was, but it looked like a giant black bug. No, not like a VW Beatle. It looked more like a giant cockroach.

We had that roach, but we didn’t have gas to put into it. My mother literally had no money. Not one dime. She looked between the couch cushions. Nothing.

I walked in with my piggy bank full of nickels, dimes and pennies that I was saving for baseball cards. I handed it to my Mom.

She started crying, whispering “I can’t take your savings.” I’ll never forget my reply, “I can’t take not eating.” I was serious, but she burst out into laughter. And I laughed.

That day we just barely made it to the Circle K gas station where we put $3 gas in the roach. Then we bought cheese.

- Wesley Donehue

Day 239: Over the last three days I’ve bared my soul and told you things that very few people in the world know. These are the facts that drive my daily life. It’s what motivates me to build a company and to travel the world.

Neither of my biological parents had opportunities to do cool things. My step-father, Robert, who became more like a real father, never could do much until later in his life. All three of them died way too early.

I don’t want to find myself lying on my death bed thinking “ I should have done that.” It’s EXACTLY why I’m doing as much as I can right now.

I’m slammed up busy today showing Elizabeth all that I’ve discovered in San Francisco. We are having an absolute blast. I’ve written a lot recently so today I’m going to leave you with material written by someone else.

A friend tweeted out this article from the UK Guardian and I found is fascinating. According to the article, “ a palliative nurse who has counseled the dying in their last days has revealed the most common regrets we have at the end of our lives.”

I want to know from you, right now — what are you doing to make sure you don’t have regrets when you come to the end of your life?

Here are those top 5 regrets:

1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
“This was the most common regret of all. When people realise that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made. Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it.”

2. I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.
“This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship. Women also spoke of this regret, but as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.”

3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
“Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.”

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
“Often they would not truly realise the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.”

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.
“This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content, when deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.”

Back to my question — what are you doing to make sure you don’t have regrets when you come to the end of your life? Tell us!

Wesley Donehue

Day 238 – It doesn’t happen as often as it used to, but at least once a month I think to myself “I haven’t checked in with Mom in a while. I should call her.” I pick up the phone and realize that she’s dead.

We were just two weeks before Election Day 2004. Senator Jim DeMint’s polling was fluctuating after making a remark about unwed pregnant teachers on top of constant attacks by Inez Tenenbaum regarding his support of the Fair Tax, which would raise sales tax by 23%. Elizabeth and I were on the way to a rally for Senator DeMint in Walterboro, SC hosted by SC State Senator Larry Grooms.

Just five minutes out from the event, my phone rang. I saw it was my sister so I ignored it. She called again. I ignored it. She called a third time, I ignored it. Then she called Elizabeth. I looked at her and said “ok, answer it.” Elizabeth’s face turned pale white. I heard my sister yelling over the phone. I asked “what’s going on?” Elizabeth looked at me and replied “she’s saying your Mom is dead.”

Until that point, I could not tell you the last time I visited Walterboro, the place I was born, the place I was raised until my parents divorced. Now I was back in Walterboro receiving news that my mother was dead. It was almost prophetic. The place where so much disaster happened in my life was delivering yet another blow.

My sister had found my mother dead. Bible opened in her lap. She was covered in pain patches, some of them opened, laying on the floor, as if my mother had eaten their filling. Because she had.

My mother had a large heart. While giving her eulogy, I remarked that it was that big heart that killed her. She was loving and giving. So many of my friends considered her a second mother.

It was that large heart that also created a drama queen like no other that has ever reined on this planet. She could stir up trouble, she would argue just to argue, she lived within the thinnest skin I’ve ever seen. She would get worked up and then start eating pills like tic tacs to calm down.

Perhaps it was caused by the drama-filled childhood she faced. Maybe it was the rough divorce. Or maybe it was the pain of being a single mother trying to escape poverty. It was most likely a combination of all these things.

Where my father was the living (and dying) reason we should not have government entitlements, my mother was the reason that we should.

After the divorce we found ourselves dead broke. Had it not been for the government, we would have been homeless. But Mom refused to live off other people’s money. She didn’t sit on her butt all day, watching soap operas and talking about Oprah, like nearly everyone else in our apartment complex. She went to cosmetology school, learned how to cut hair and got a full time job. To her, government mandates were a temporary safety net that caught a falling family.

One day I came home from school very upset. I made good grades. I scored high on my SAT. While many of my friends stayed out partying, I spent my time working at a grocery store and studying. Still, my high school guidance counselor told me that my parents did not make enough money for me to attend college. She tried to convince me to attend the local technical college saying “there is nothing wrong with being a plumber.” Seriously, that’s what she said to me.

True, there is nothing wrong with being a plumber, but I wanted to attend a four-year college. It was the one time I remember completely collapsing into my mother’s lap and crying. She reminded me “if we could get through what we went through together, we can figure out how to get you to college.” She immediately started researching scholarships and student loans. She did exactly what she did when she found herself with two small children, alone, desperate and hungry. While my mother could not afford to send me to college, she did provide me the support I needed to keep moving forward.

Mom was drama. Mom caused more problems than I could count. But Mom loved me and my sister with every single ounce of her being. I wish I could call today to let her know that I’m very far from Walterboro.  Tonight I saw the Golden Gate Bridge.

- Wesley Donehue

Day 237 – I write as I fly back to Columbia, South Carolina from New York City. I will arrive home around midnight, only to leave for San Francisco at 5:30 am.  I hope to get at least two hours of sleep tonight, but that is unlikely as I’m sure Elizabeth will be up packing half the night. I’m so excited that she will be making this trip out to San Francisco with me.

Yesterday I wrote a very personal blog post in response to a Democratic operative who challenged my beliefs based on the opportunities I was provided. I wrote that I had no opportunities, and in fact, I had the very opposite.

I write today, having not yet released that post, so I do not know what the reaction will be. I have been holding it based on sheer nervousness. The last thing I want is sympathy. I just want to tell stories so that other kids going through Hell realize that escapes exist. Even if one kid reads my post and acts, I will have accomplished my goal.

I wrote that I would not be talking about my political ideology, instead, I would be building a foundation. Today I begin writing about my ideology with the tale of two parents. We begin with my father…

__

My father and I sat by a fire under a large mossy oak tree, listening to Hank Williams Jr., in the front of my grandmother’s single-wide mobile home.

We call my grandmother “Mimi.”  Her real name is Luvita. She is a country woman who remarried after her husband, my grandfather, died of cancer. Her new husband, Richard, who we called “Pappy,” was the grandfather I knew.

Pappy loved me, I’m told, from the day I was born.  He took me fishing and hunting, and on summer days, bust open watermelon from his garden for my me and my sister to share. Always covered in salt, of course.

Pappy worked at a stockyard in Walterboro, SC, shoveling pig shit and herding cows all day. I never remember a time he didn’t have alcohol on his breath, which most likely contributed to him removing a trigger guard from a shotgun, sticking the barrel under his chin and kicking the trigger. I’ll never understand why they had an open-casket funeral.  The image of his half-plastic face still haunts my dreams.

Until her death, my mother tried to convince me that my father killed Pappy. It doesn’t seem too far-fetched. I discount nothing. Still, it seemed like a lot of work to make a murder look like a suicide. Wouldn’t have he just used a pistol instead of a shotgun?

At this point in my life, the drama of my parent’s divorce was having serious effects on my health. My heart began beating erratically and at one point, a Walterboro physician told me I needed open-heart surgery. Luckily, a MUSC cardiologist had a differing opinion, suggesting my mother reduce the stress in my life.  That didn’t happen.

My mother’s father was, and still is a paramedic. In fact, “Granddaddy,” as we call Ryan Still, is currently the oldest working paramedic in South Carolina. The man has always been a beast.

One afternoon, shortly after my trip to MUSC, I started having chest pains and shortness of breath. Granddaddy took me to an ambulance and ran an EKG test to monitor my heart. Across the ambulance radio a woman’s voice said “shooting in Hendersonville, down highway 17, mobile home on the right immediately after the big curve.”

The woman never gave a specific address, but I knew. It was my grandparent’s home, my father’s home, the yard where my father and I sat under that oak tree. Nothing was ever the same after Pappy killed himself.

My father and I sat under that oak tree and I asked him “why don’t you go to work like Pappy?” He replied “because the government pays me to hang out with you all day.” I was eight and my political beliefs were already forming.

Daddy was quick with a basketball. I remember him schooling boys half his age on a blacktop. He could have played at least college basketball. He was that good. He could run, he could jump and he could pass a ball like John Stockton.

But for some reason he was labeled “disabled” by the federal government.

Before my birth, he was a barber, but looking back, I don’t recall my father ever having a real job. I have a tinge of memory that tells me he sold insurance for a couple months, but that was not long term. I also remember him being paid to preach at various churches. That too didn’t last, and much more on this topic in later blog posts.

He sat home and watched TV all day, smoking Salem cigarettes and becoming bored. The boredom was overcome through pill popping which later turned to harder drugs like cocaine. That led to prison.

He could have worked, but he didn’t. He took advantage of your work. He lived off your money.  And by the time he went to prison, he was living off mine too.

He is not alone.

Yesterday I wrote “when visiting him on his death bed, the doctor told me ‘it wasn’t the cancer that killed him. The drug abuse never gave his body a chance.’”  I honestly believe that had my father worked, he would still be alive today.

- Wesley Donehue

Day 236 – I write from a coffee shop in Greenwich Village, New York City, where I have sat for the last three hours writing memos, email copy and mail copy for my clients. I hopped a cab and told the driver “drop me off at the most artsy part of the city.” This is where I landed.

I explored for about an hour, stopping by Gray’s Papaya for a hotdog, before the rain forced me to Joe The Art of Coffee for retreat.

I just stepped outside and looked down the street where I saw the Empire State Building peaking out over top a series of skyscrapers. The skies told me it wasn’t quite time to leave my shelter and I sat back down for more work.

While writing a mailer for SC Representative Mike Forrester, my thoughts drifted to the awesomeness of this experience. There was a time in my life when I thought I would never see such things. New York City, the greatest city in the world, was always going to be beyond my reach. It was left for television, movies and of course, Dick Clark. I was stuck to live out a life in a single-wide trailer.

Last week blogger Benton Wislinki provided a thoughtful response to my blog post “Join me in not being robot,” stating:

However, perhaps there exists the potential that Dems think people are born at different starting points or with major disadvantages (e.g. socioeconomic factors or disabilities) and so they promote entitlements to help people who don’t stand on the same ground that you were born on and walk upon to date, Wesley. Your assumption that all are created equal is how you are able to espouse that people should “be different.” Maybe, just maybe, they want the opportunities you’ve had, friend.

Benton has a point, but his premise is completely wrong and its because he’s wrong, that I hold certain political beliefs. I will explain those political beliefs in a future blog post, but this post is not meant to discuss politics. It is meant to build a foundation.

It has come to my attention that in order to write about who I am, or where I want to go, I must write about where I have been, as uncomfortable as that may be.

There are things that I cannot, or will not, discuss at the moment. Perhaps later. I will just say for now there were things my sister and I should have never seen and I took on this profession because I do not want other children having those same type experiences.

I am a white, bow tie wearing entrepreneur who hangs out with politicians and because of this, I find that Benton is not in the minority. Most people believe that I was some country club kid born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I lived a great deal of my childhood in a single-wide trailer, living solely off government entitlements. After an abusive marriage, my parents divorced and my mother raised me and my sister on every government handout we could acquire. We lived in Section 8 housing. We ate off food stamps. We lived off Medicaid and welfare.

My sister and I visited my father frequently until he stopped paying support and dropped off the map, only to land in jail for possession of cocaine and crack, among other things. When visiting him on his death bed, the doctor told me “it wasn’t the cancer that killed him. The drug abuse never gave his body a chance.”

My mother tried to overcome, but the beatings caused chronic back problems, which led to pill addiction, which led to death by accidental overdose in 2004.

My mother did remarry before dying, and after years of not liking each other, Robert and I became closer when I left for college. He died of a brain tumor in 2008.

I have what I have because I work as hard as I can. I left home on my own. I paid for college. I started my own company.

I’m not rich. I’m not overly-successful. Frequent trips out to San Francisco, where I see 23-year-old millionaires, show me these facts.

However, I have freedom to do what I want, when I want, how I want. These are all the riches I need at the moment. I’m chasing the New American Dream.

I now have what I never had as a prisoner of a single-wide trailer. Today that’s a view of the Empire State Building from a coffee shop in Greenwich Village.

- Wesley Donehue

PS – Social media is not for therapy. It is, however, for storytelling. Now I’m ready to tell you some stories because a lot of kids are going through Hell right now and they are being forced to believe there is no escape, when in fact, hard work creates escapes.

Day 235 – During a SXSW panel I heard Chip Conley describe the three levels companies reach. They are:

Level 3 – Transformational companies meet their customers’ unrecognized needs

level 2 – Successful companies meet customer desires

Level 1 – Companies that merely survive meet customer expectations

Level 3 companies change the world. There is no better example than Apple who showed us all that we need lightweight laptops, iPods, iPhones and iPads. Or Facebook who showed us we all need to be connected.

Which company do you want to be a part of?

- Wesley Donehue

Day 234 – Over the past year I’ve gone way out of my way to bury the hatchet with known enemies. In politics, enemies are very easy to accumulate. People take opposition personally, even when its just business.

For example, former Lexington County Chairman Rich Bolen is running against my friend incumbent State Senator Ronnie Cromer. I like Rich a lot. He’s a good guy. But Ronnie Cromer is one of the best members of the State Senate. Not only is he a strong conservative and workhorse, but he’s an honest and ethical gentlemen. As I’ve told you before, at this point in my career I’m learning that honesty is just as important as ideology.

I don’t believe that Rich is running for the right reasons. I’ve said that publicly and Rich knows not to take it personally. He understands why I’m backing Ronnie, but he is the exception to the rule. Most candidates would take that incredibly personal. That’s caused a huge accumulation of enemies in my life.

This afternoon I met one of those former enemies out for a few drinks to bury the hatchet. There are a lot of good reasons to have honest-to-God enemies. Political fighting isn’t one of them so there is no reason to be fighting wars on so many fronts just because someone’s ego or feelings were bruised.

In this case, the fighting started getting in the way and I saw no particularly good reason for it to continue. It was petty, childish and downright wasteful. All I have is my time and I find it valuable. No time for nonsense, so I ended it.

Three points today:

1. Pick your enemies for good reasons and not because of some petty BS.
2. Bury the hatchet with your enemies as soon as you can and quit wasting time and braincells.
3. Buzz me if you think we’ve had beef in the past. I’ll buy you a couple beers and we can chat about it.

Life is too short for pissing contests.

- Wesley Donehue

Day 233 – Call it perfect timing, but as I was about to begin writing this post, Governor Nikki Haley posted on her Facebook wall “I will be on Facebook for a bit traveling in the car. You have to have a legitimate profile to get an answer. No anonymous names. Questions or comments?” Right now, as I type, she is answering questions from constituents.

All I can say is AWESOME!

I’m stoked to see Governor Haley using the Internet to hear from taxpayers but I must ask – has the Internet hurt progress?

I would argue that it has.

Remember, I’m one of the nation’s loudest advocates for technology in politics. Just last year Campaigns and Elections named me one of their GOP Innovators of the Year. And here in South Carolina, I helped draft the original roll call voting bill that puts every legislative spending bill on the record.

I love transparency, but I do believe it has hurt progress.

For starters, it creates momentary hot issues while hurting long-term planning. It was described well by Mayor Bloomberg in the New York Times today:

The mayor noted that technology, despite its benefits, can add new pitfalls to an already grueling process. “Social media is going to make it even more difficult to make long-term investments” in cities, Mr. Bloomberg said.

“We are basically having a referendum on every single thing that we do every day,” he said. “And it’s very hard for people to stand up to that and say, ‘No, no, this is what we’re going to do,’ when there’s constant criticism, and an election process that you have to look forward to and face periodically.”

Later, Mr. Bloomberg noted that long-term urban planning “requires leadership, and standing up, and saying, ‘You know, you elected me, this is what we’re going to do,’ and not take a referendum on every single thing.”

Secondly, politicians always pander when being watched. It’s just reality. Put a camera in a politician’s face and they are going to ‘turn on.’ Now they must always be ‘on’ because everyone has a camera in their pocket and a Twitter and Facebook platform at their fingertips.

Deals don’t get cut in public committee rooms or on the floors of legislative bodies. Deals get cut in back rooms.

Eeww…those dreaded cigarette and whiskey filled back rooms. So shady, right?

Right. I agree with the concept. It should all happen in public, but it doesn’t. It just doesn’t. Argue with me all you want, but I’m right. Openness prevents politicians from being real. They become actors performing for their constituencies.

Toss out the bums!! Toss ‘em all out! Elect real people!

Good luck with that. Legislators are real people and when you toss them out and replace them with other people, those people will become actors too. It’s part of the human genome. We are all actors when being watched and that acting increases ten-fold when the audience is increased to the size of the entire population.

Pandering increases. Fighting increases. Politicians stick to the talking points rather than finding common ground and solutions. And then the stalemates happen.

Governor Haley is enjoying Facebook today, but this morning she was attacked by Tea Party leaders in The State for “caving” on an important Budget and Control Board restructuring bill. The truth is that Governor Haley helped develop the most significant government reform South Carolina has seen in decades. But she’s being attacked for working behind-the-scenes on a compromise. The attacks on her are disgusting. We don’t live in a dictatorship. We live in a Democracy where compromises must happen to advance the ball.

The question then becomes – is the Internet more harmful than helpful?

I would argue, absolutely not! Sunshine is a disinfectant that governments at all levels desperately need. While transparency hurts the ability to compromise, it also hurts the ability for politicians to engage in corruptive and unethical behavior.

Now, don’t go attacking me as being the anti-Internet Internet guy. Everything in life has its drawbacks, even when its awesome. Now, where did that key lime pie go?

- Wesley Donehue

Day 232 – I started this one-year blogging project to make myself a better man. As I continue blogging every single day, I find myself looking more to “what is a better man” than “how can I be a better man?”

Obviously that foundation must be built, that question answered.

Some would say that answer lies within character traits like honesty, faith, and courage.

Others may say that it lies within actions like work, charity and success.

Still, others may find it in relationships with friends, coworkers, spouses, children and God.

I think the answer has changed over the years and I’m starting to believe it has a different definition for every person.

My original premise was “become a better man in America’s South” because I knew from the very start that men are judged differently across the nation, and obviously around the world. Here in the South, we have a different perspective on life. Today I was asked on by Alex Witt on MSNBC “why do presidential candidates pander to southerners by saying “y’all” or eating grits while not doing the same on the west coast or in the northest?”

I answered “we are different here. We find pride in where we are from. When you ask a southern who he/she is, one of the first things they will say is ‘I’m a Southerner. You don’t find that in many other places across the county.’”

I believe that. We are different.

And that’s my point. We are all different. Perhaps it is that difference itself that defines “a better man.”

Sound complicated?

Sorry about that. Let me boil it down for you. I’m saying – perhaps being different is what makes someone better.

How can a man be better if he is simply the same as everyone else around him? How can a man set an example for others when he is being like them? How can a man change the world when he’s doing the same thing that everyone else is doing?

Maybe being better means being different.

- Wesley Donehue

Day 231 – Most people believe that political ideology is linear. It’s not. Political ideology is circular. Liberalism and libertarianism meet around back and with just a few accidental steps, one can cross over to the other side.

I am a conservative Republican.

There have been times when people call me a “RINO,” Republican In Name Only, because I have supported moderates. Or because I have this uncanny ability to think for myself instead of signing on to some platform that fringe elements have created, as if we live in some kind of society where we must all be programmed to think alike.

When you stray from the agenda, or when you refuse to sign the dotted line, you are ridiculed and called names. You aren’t a true conservative. True conservatives don’t stray. They stay the course. They think alike.

To me that sounds like liberalism. Liberals push entitlements, the idea that everyone has a “right” to social equality. Everyone deserves comfort. Everyone deserves a nice car. Everyone deserves cable TV. Everyone deserves nice clothing. Everyone deserves everything without working for it. In other words, everyone should be the same.

Those who disagree with my premise will no doubt say “but liberals believe that equality should be redistributed by the government and libertarians barely believe in government at all.” They are correct, but you cannot get to level 2 without addressing level 1, which we find built on the same foundation – everyone should be the same.

I don’t believe that. I believe that people are different and they should be different. We should think differently by thinking for ourselves without being brainwashed. We should be rewarded differently by working differently, which means actually working.

We aren’t robots. Whether you believe God created our minds or that our minds evolved from some primordial soup, you cannot deny that because we can think differently, we should be different.

Our nation is now being driven by a New American Dream where anyone can have the freedom to do anything. That dream should not be mandated by agendas or government. It should be based on our abilities to think and act for ourselves.

- Wesley Donehue

PS – I’ve always wanted to start a movement. Maybe I’ll start one for people who can think and act for themselves.

Day 230 – Do you remember when HIV and AIDS was going to be the big plague that finally ended civilization? I remember the horror stories and movies that predicted our final days. We couldn’t get it under control. It was on track to be the number one killer of humans.

Luckily medicine advanced quicker than we first thought and HIV and AIDS now seems to be under control. But it is only under control when treated and there are still many Americans, and countless Africans, who cannot get access to medical treatment. In fact, South Carolina’s poor population and rural areas create the perfect environment for AIDS growth, giving our state another horrible statistical rating.

Occasionally we mix things up on Pub Politics. This week we talked to world renowned HIV expert Dr. Helmut Albrecht and SC State Representative Joe Neal, who has been pushing AIDS funding at the Statehouse.

Check it out:

- Wesley Donehue