by Matt Gaetz
Fortunately, China has laid out their playbook for us. They are making state-directed investments in key areas in a way we would be wise to copy: artificial intelligence, genomics, and drone technology. We should take the Chinese seriously and take seriously what they say their aims are. We can frustrate their objectives precisely because they telegraph their punches and issue state directives. What they cannot learn they steal. What they cannot steal they bribe or buy. We must block these sales and undo the bad sales already done, particularly in the areas where the Chinese have expressed great interest. The Obama regime should never have allowed BGI to buy Complete Genomics, and we should not allow DJI or TikTok to compete in the United States.
We must keep secret our advances and even entertain classified patents. This’ll mean sourcing more technologies away from the universities and Big Tech, instead trusting and empowering American companies and engineers. We beat the Soviet Union by out-innovating them and by making sure we always kept the informational advantage. We can make so many impressive things that the Chinese can’t possibly steal it all, but we must see to it that the greatest minds of our generation are not wasted merely clicking ads or liking photos. Our best minds should be working on bold ideas for the national betterment—just as China’s already are.
It doesn’t matter whether you believe the Wuhan virus started in a lab or in the wet markets. China behaved negligently. Where China misbehaves, we should send our trial lawyers after them and map out what they own here. The Chinese elite—and they are all in the government over there—send their kids here and own property. That gives us leverage, though. We must never allow our children to be placed under house arrest by the Wuhan virus and made into de facto Uighurs, begging a high-tech central authority to be let out of their homes.
Free men and women breathe air that is both free and nontoxic, while their kids fish in clean rivers as they please. But to remain free, we must think clearly about the problems we face before it is too late. The price of freedom—and enduring American exceptionalism—is vigilance, not wishful storytelling.
CHAPTER TEN
Sports Fan
I love sports. My own baseball career ended early due to a lack of talent. Now in my late thirties, watching sports isn’t some nostalgic look back at “the glory days.” For me there were few to none. Sports allow those of us who grew up too fat, too slow, or too uncoordinated to admire talent in others that we do not ourselves possess.
Unjealous admiration of our fellow Americans who can do things we can only dream of is heartwarming and unifying. We end up loving them even though we don’t know them (we do the same with politicians, but I digress). Jerseys of all-stars are purchased; posters appear on our children’s bedroom walls. We internalize our affiliation with the achievements of our favorite teams and players. “I believe that we will win!” We are part of the team. Don’t wash the lucky jersey! Our cheers and jeers through the television matter, we tell ourselves. The coaching advice we hurl from bleachers is impactful. It must be heard and precisely followed.
Perhaps there is a reason sports and politics so often collide. Both have become more tribal than our religion or the competing companies where we work. After all, aren’t we all more likely to switch jobs and work for our competitor than we are to ever become a Yankees fan? Are we surprised, then, that race and sports and politics often end up as featured ingredients in the gumbo of our spiciest national conversations?
Sports are a force for good in America. In 2006, I spent a semester taking classes at Florida State University Law School to accommodate jobs in the Florida Legislature and at the Republican Party of Florida. My boss was then state House speaker and sports superfan Marco Rubio. And, yes, we all knew Marco was a special political talent then, though we did have trouble finding him during one intense budget negotiation while the Miami Dolphins were on the draft clock.
One of my best friends this semester was FSU basketball’s starting wing, Jason Rich. Seeing sports through his eyes gave me perspective on life I appreciate to this day. Basketball got Jason paid and laid. He was the best player on an ACC team—what would you expect? Mostly, though, it got him out and up. Sports was his opportunity and my friend seized it.
Jason and I had been asked to join a diverse group of student leaders at FSU. We met every Monday night at the law firm of now-famed civil rights attorney Ben Crump, one of the group’s founders during his student tenure. Ben was always generous to mentor and encourage his fellow Seminoles. Ben Crump would become the third financial contributor to my campaign for state representative in 2010. “We don’t agree on much, Matt. But we love FSU—and I’m counting on you to be a leader for all people, not just those who agree with you,” he said as he wrote out two thousand dollars in donations.
You always remember those who were with you at the beginning. As I write, Ben and his partner Daryl Parks continue to productively discuss proposals to improve policing with me. I’m glad they do. It makes me better to listen, even when I don’t agree.
Jason Rich and I studied leadership together, prayed together, ate and drank together, smoked together, and chased women together. He lent me his couch when I struck out at the nightclubs (not a rare occurrence). I memorized the names of his eight siblings over a weekend with friends at my family home in Seaside, Florida. Through all the fun, I’ve never observed a more driven human. Excellence in athletics comes from intense personal sacrifice. Perhaps we mythologize athletes so much because they can do so much that the rest of us can’t.
Jason and I grew up fifty miles and a world apart. I was in lily-white Niceville, Jason in a mostly nonwhite area on the outskirts of Pensacola; both are in my current congressional district. Jason always knew he was going to excel in basketball—that was the easy part for him. Like fellow Pensacola Seminole guard Ralph Mims, he was ultimately plucked out of Northwest Florida and enrolled in a prestigious prep school for future professional athletes.
Harder for my buddy was thinking about life for his siblings—how, without sports, he’d be hustling on the street. It was a sort of survivor’s guilt that drove Jason to lead in other aspects of his life. While he had a few too many knee surgeries to make it in the NBA beyond off-season scrimmages, Jason made money deploying his craft in Europe and across the world. He still calls from Rome, Athens, and Switzerland to discuss investment ideas—always with the goal of benefiting his family in Pensacola.
Many professional athletes, like Jason, are black. They have a perspective on black life in America that many they interact with don’t—including me. They shouldn’t get siloed as “athletes” that have somehow surrendered their right to social and political activism.
More people should be engaged in our politics, not less. I don’t have a right to tell athletes to stay out of politics any more than they have a right to shut down obsessive sports fan internet message boards. They have a far greater right to be in “my lane” than I do theirs. That doesn’t mean I have to agree with their political views any more than they indulge my perspective on the absurdity of the sacrifice bunt. Why give up a precious out?!
Kneeling during the national anthem is an overgeneralized indictment of America. I won’t support any athlete or sports league that participates. The un-woke version of Drew Brees was right—it is “disrespectful” to those who have loved this country enough to die for her. America is the greatest nation that has ever existed. Just ask everyone trying to break in. Sure, we’ve made horrible mistakes. All nations do. Our founders recognized we would always strive to be a more perfect union, and we still must. I’m talking about improving policing, specifically.
Refusing to stand for a great nation is not a sign of strength, but of naivete over the blessing that comes with being born an American of any race, background, sexual orientation, gender, or creed. Americans are the peers of kings—we should treat ourselves and one another with respect.
Sans overgeneralizing that America is a
horrid, racist nation, protesting over policing concerns doesn’t bother me, sports or no sports.
Following Michael Brown’s death in Ferguson, Missouri, St. Louis Rams players were motivated to be heard. As they were announced before kickoff one game, some came out of the tunnel with their hands raised in the “Hands up, don’t shoot!” gesture. Athletes should be able to use their platform like this. They were making a real point about an event and a tragic outcome.
By contrast, riots following the murder of George Floyd in June 2020 were not a form of protected political speech. It isn’t “protest” when you’re throwing a cinder block through the window of a Nike store and walking out with a pair of Air Jordans. Politics doesn’t demand that any of us rob a Cheesecake Factory or burn houses of worship. This wasn’t the politics of reformers; it was the thuggery of a permanent criminal element. It wasn’t appreciated by George Floyd’s brother, either.
I believe God worked through Philonise Floyd. I told him that during a hearing of the House Judiciary Committee. He had rejected calls to defund the police, condemned destructive riots, and shared deep, sincere empathy with the victims, citing the words of Martin Luther King. We had a productive discussion about policing reform during the formal and informal hearing moments. Perhaps it helped that his attorney was none other than Ben Crump.
I’m listening, Ben.
The late José Fernández will always be my favorite major league pitcher. A fire fastball with movement. A slider that left hitters with gumby knees. A changeup that dove down and in on righties and fell off the table for lefties. He could hit, too. The Marlins, without payroll for a competitive starting lineup much less quality reserves, would even use him to pinch-hit—almost unheard of for an ace pitcher. Tragically, he died in a boating accident that killed three people, possibly a result of his cocaine use. I’ll remember him for how he lived.
Fernández was jailed as a teenager for trying to escape Communist Cuba. He finally got out, went to high school in Florida, and got drafted by the Marlins, my favorite team. The vitality and joy he brought to baseball cannot be adequately addressed in this book. He was electric in every way. His pitching performances sold out stadiums even when the team around him was otherwise hard to watch.
I fell in love with Jose Fernández when I saw a documentary chronicling his U.S. citizenship ceremony. He said that being an all-star MLB pitcher wasn’t his proudest achievement—being an American was. I often saw the experience of José Fernández through the lens of my own son.
Well, I say son. It’s complicated.
Nestor arrived in Tallahassee from Cuba when he was twelve. He didn’t speak a word of English. He had waited eight years to come to America legally. Finally, the approval for him and his mother had been granted, but she didn’t make the flight. She would die ten days later in Cuba. Her trip to the consulate to pick up the visas would be her last heroic foray from her deathbed following a long, terminal battle with breast cancer. She had gotten him on the plane, to a new life in America.
I had been dating Nestor’s sister May for six months. We fell in love quickly. She and I even conspired to smuggle some life-extending drugs onto the Communist island where people die who shouldn’t. I’d thank the Cuban-born doctor who helped us by name, but I’m not certain the Board of Medicine has a statute of limitations for conspiracy to smuggle drugs into Cuba. Most of the drugs are heading the other direction.
May was the successful events director at a capitol city restaurant. I ended up holding lots of events there. My dear friend and fellow State Representative Brad Drake told me, “She must be one of the ten best-looking women in Florida—and this is one good-looking state.”
My Spanish was rusty—it would get better—but sports is an international language. When I first met Nestor I brought two gloves and a baseball. He brought an outsized hug. After playing in the park, he asked May and me, “Somos una familia?” We were family, I assured him with tears welling in my eyes. That was seven years ago.
May and I didn’t work out for reasons more my doing than hers. She has continued her career and we remain close friends. Nestor lives with me and has just graduated high school. Though we share no blood, and no legal paperwork defines our family relationship, he is my son in every sense of the word. I could not imagine loving him more. He will enroll in university to pursue a nursing degree in the fall. His achievements are my own proudest moments on earth.
During a heated debate on police reform in the House Judiciary Committee, Rep. Cedric Richmond essentially argued that white legislators should stop offering amendments and vote “no” if we so chose because this was about people of color—not us. He talked about his experience with his black son as something we could never understand.
I asked how he could be so sure none of us had raised nonwhite children. He replied that if I had a nonwhite son he was fighting for my family harder than I was. Understandably, this set me off. “Who the hell do you think you are?” I loudly exclaimed.
This exchange led to the world knowing about Nestor. Until then, we had chosen to spare him from the hate of politics. Now a nineteen-year-old rising university freshman, he is publicly as much a part of my life as he has been privately for years. Seeing how well he has taken to his newfound notoriety reinforces my belief that he will be ready for whatever life, or even university, might throw his way.
I saw the news that José Fernández died on ESPN from a D.C. hotel room. Nestor and I were texting. I wasn’t a congressman yet but soon would be after my noncompetitive general election. Fernández was Nestor’s favorite player too. We always watched his games together.
When ESPN switched from the news of Fernández’s death to the Kaepernick kneeling protests, I was triggered…and soon tweeting. “To all who will kneel during the anthem today—just remember how Jose Fernandez risked his life for the chance to stand for it.” Instant outrage! I was only a candidate for Congress but had already made my first Washington headlines.
“Racist!” proclaimed the woke Left and Twitter blue-checkmark brigade. The PC police had an apprehension in progress. Screw them. I stand by the tweet. Let the first person who calls me a racist sign up to raise a nonwhite immigrant child. The intersection of sports, politics, and race would be my first “Washington controversy.” It would also generate my first prime-time national cable hit.
The Tax Cuts and Jobs Act was being debated in 2017, Trump’s first year in office, and around the same time my frustration with the NFL was growing, as Fox’s Tucker Carlson would soon notice.
Jerry Jones, the Dallas Cowboys owner, was kneeling at the fifty-yard line during the national anthem, submitting to the cancel culture. The NFL was growing much more comfortable with these overly generalized indictments, ending the days of the NFL representing the most positive, optimistic view of this country. Shahid Khan, owner of the Jaguars, even allowed players to stand for “God Save the Queen” while in London yet kneel for the American Anthem. Did Kahn think that the sun never set on the British empire absent some serious colonization and oppression? America fights for the freedom of others, not always with the Brits throughout history.
Inspired by such outrages—not to mention basic fairness to all taxpayers—I filed an amendment to Trump’s bold tax bill saying the NFL should not get special tax breaks. Tucker Carlson took note and booked me for one question in the final thirty seconds of the show. My amendment was not adopted, but my accountant and friend Steve Riggs texted me to say he was confident that my brief appearance would not be my last. Steve is apparently great at all kinds of projections, not just revenue models.
I still think there are great Americans associated with the NFL, such as Miami Dolphins owner Stephen Ross, who donates to both parties—sometimes when he wants things, sometimes just on a whim, but regardless, he had his name on a fundraiser for the Trump campaign, willing to aid the cause even though people started boycotting SoulCycle and other business
es he owns. To his credit, he put out a statement saying he wouldn’t back down—and recently the Dolphins also drafted Tua Tagovailoa, the best quarterback in the region since Marino. So maybe I’ll give the NFL another chance.
Sports increase people’s sense of camaraderie. I got invited to go see the World Series appearance by the Washington Nationals with the president and his family and others, and I remember my mentor, Rep. Mark Meadows of North Carolina, saying to Trump that he had just heard ISIS leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi had been killed. Meadows opined that Trump would now be less likely to be impeached. This struck me and, I think, the president as flattery, masquerading as unfounded optimism. We might love Trump, but it would be silly to pretend the Democrats ever will.
First Lady Melania Trump, in stark contrast, said the Democrats would now have to impeach her husband just to show that they still have the power to do so. I had said much the same thing during an appearance on Hill.TV, and it struck me that in this instance my cynical view of politics had a bit more in common with the First Lady than with Meadows’s genial hopes.
Luckily, the president understands that power in politics is not an end unto itself unless you’re helping people. His jovial tone, which his supporters sense behind his occasional toughness but his detractors somehow don’t, is born of a hope that ultimately Americans are all on the same team, and if he can lead us to victory, in ways big or small, he’ll be proud of it. He literally wants us all to win, not just to prove he’s the team captain.
Take his handling of the coronavirus crisis. Regardless of how you weigh the risks involved—and few of us can pretend to be certain about all the science behind such estimates, not even the scientists—you should recognize that Trump could have seized the occasion to play dictator if he had wanted to. Instead, most of the criticism he got during the early months of the crisis was for being hands-off, letting different states try different approaches and, as always, listening to some clashing and dissenting voices about how to handle things.