BY MICHAEL S. JOHNSON

          I sent a letter to the President, obviously not for his benefit, but mine, on his repetitive rhetoric about taxing the rich, partly inspired by a letter someone sent me some months ago.  This isn’t my exact letter.  I edited and updated a bit, but it’s the thought that counts.

Dear Mr. President:

           I listened pretty intently to your speech in Cleveland, and I’ve heard you say over and over again you are not going to back down from taxing the wealthy.  It seems to be one of the central themes of your Administration: There are victims and villains in America, the lines between them are clearly drawn and you are dedicated to protecting the victims and punishing the villains, among them, the rich. 

         Boy, it’s exasperating for someone later in life, after working virtually nonstop from age 10, to be called rich and on top of that a villain who deserves to be punished for a lifetime of work.    

          I’m rich, Mr. President, that’s for sure.  But it’s not because the gross family income is just over that arbitrary line you draw among class divisions.  I am rich because I’ve reared, educated and cared for five children, gotten four of them through college and one halfway there, kept up the mortgage, kept food on the table and a roof over our heads, contributed to my community, worked like hell, tried to live a decent life and accomplished a few things on my own initiative.  Having done that has blessed me with great riches.

Furthermore, earning more than $250,000 a year, Mr. President, is not rich, not when retirement is still a pipedream; not when there’s still a college education to pay for; not when the frightening specter of catastrophic health care costs still loom over the horizon; not when your children are not quite secure in their lives; not when a recession saps the life out of your savings; and not when the future is so uncertain.

          I don’t know if you ever sold papers on a street corner, or caddied at a golf course, drove a delivery truck, baled hay, or worked construction, like I did.  I don’t even know if you’ve ever gotten your hands dirty.  I don’t know if you know what it’s like to get your first real job and discover your paycheck still qualifies you for food stamps.   It doesn’t sound like it to me. 

            You’ve got two beautiful and blessed daughters, so you’re learning a little each day about child rearing.  But you will never know what it’s like to struggle through the formative years with your children in public schools that get federal aid because they are so severely drug impacted, spending everything you earn, saving nothing and never knowing whether you’ll be able to get them off on their own.

            When you work hard for fifty years, earn just a little more each year, make steady progress, sweat it out, get some good breaks, granted, and finally, as you near retirement age, finally achieve a little slice of the American dream, it sucks the pride right out of you to see your President lift his nose in the Ohio air, pound the podium and call you a rich bastard who should be taxed more.

          I’ve been fortunate.  I can’t say that enough.  I’m not complaining. I’m not taking anything away from your hard work and good fortune, either.   I am not oblivious to the plight of those for whom you spent your early professional years organizing.  But I’ve also paid taxes every year for 40 or 45 years, millions of dollars in taxes, so that you can redistribute that money to the less fortunate.

I’ve paid taxes when millions of Americans, some better off, some worse off, have paid none.  There’s a tax group that says I now work until June for the government.  That’s how long it takes to pay the taxes I’m forking over to you.  I don’t like it, but I’ve accepted every year and moved on.  I’ve paid my dues.  And, as those nasty tea party agitators say, enough is enough.

I’m still working.  I haven’t saved enough for retirement so that I am not a burden on my children or future taxpayers.  That’s what you ought to be encouraging me to do, to save, to take care of myself and my family and to be productive; to stay off of the government rolls, so others can derive that benefit.  But you’re not, Mr. President. You’re just making matters worse, penalizing productivity, penalizing personal pride, and making a mockery, a lie out of the American dream. 

            I wish you could appreciate my exasperation and I wish you could understand why so many Americans, not the noisemakers but the silent majority, are also angry and feel a sense of abandonment.  If you did understand, Mr. President, I doubt you would be denigrating people like me to create your world of victims and villains, pitting one American against the other and for what? 

            I am no purest ideologue on tax policy. I think being an American is a privilege and Americans ought to pay their fair share for that privilege.  But I don’t understand why you focus your glare on individuals and small businesses that have the greatest capacity to create jobs.    If you want to tax the wealthy, raise the bar, say over $1 million or $2 million or $5 million. That would be fairer, wouldn’t it?  Oh, but wait a minute.  You can’t do that.  If you tax only the really wealthy, the economic reality is that you won’t raise enough additional revenue to pay for your agenda.  So you have to lower the ‘rich’ bar enough to take in a lot more from people.   You have to do that, Mr. President, because nearly 45 percent of Americans don’t pay any income taxes at all.  They have no skin in the game.  So there we are, in the middle between the wealthy and the tax free. 

             I do have great respect for you, Mr. President.  You’ve accomplished much.   You’re intelligent, ambitious and, I believe, deeply committed to a vision and a world view far different from mine, that world of victims and villains, a view shaped in part by your compassion, but also by that blind spot you have for a part of American life with which you just can’t relate.  Too bad. 

I will have to be content with one reality, Mr. President.  You’re wealthy, I’m not.  But I’m rich in ways you are not. 

Editors’s Note: Mike Johnson is a former journalist, who worked on the Ford White House staff and served as press secretary and chief of staff to House Republican Leader Bob Michel, prior to entering the private sector. He is co-author of a book, Surviving Congress, a guide for congressional staff.   He is currently a principal with the OB-C Group.