I was seventeen when Ayn Rand captured the hearts of my best friend, Sven and his other male friend. “We’re libertarians,” they proclaimed proudly, though I had no idea what that meant. When I asked, they responded that I ought to read Atlas Shrugged, because it would open my eyes to the Way Politics Really Were. They also told me that it was a philosophy based on individual liberty and reduced government interference. I said I supposed I was a libertarian, too, then. But I never read the book.
I didn’t think I was interested in politics at all. After all, watching C-SPAN was not the highlight of my afternoon, the way it was for them. In the no man’s land that is trying to find a job before turning 18, taxes were the furthest thing from my mind. I knew that the government was an evil, parasitic entity that would eventually sell itself to the Pope and commission the army to exterminate True Believers just before the Rapture. But I didn’t seek out that knowledge, or any other knowledge. Somewhere along the way, I’d picked up the idea that politics were a male game that could not possibly be interesting to me, a girl. I also heeded my pastor’s repeated warnings not to get involved in politics, because the secular realm was “Satan’s kingdom” and there was no point trying to change the system.
We were not dominionists. We were premillennialists of the most extreme sort: “The world is going to hell, so let it. We’ll be gone soon enough anyway, and then it will all burn up.”
Despite this, and despite my constant attempts to change the subject, I ended up in lots of conversations with my libertarian friends. And this was how I learned that I wasn’t actually a libertarian or apathetic. The conversations below are paraphrased, because it’s been too long for me to remember them word for word: