The Politics of the Statistically Extinct

Dispatches from the Libertarian-Minarchist Schnitzel-Making Fringe

Let’s exorcise the formalities right at the top: I’m Austrian. Which means that every few years, I’m expected – like a well-trained schnitzel-fed automaton – to waddle obediently into a voting booth and choose from our carefully taxidermied collection of “mainstream” political parties. The great democratic buffet. Schnitzel or boiled cardboard, sir? Mayonnaise or despair?

The problem? I don’t want to vote for any of them. Not out of laziness. Not from apathy. But because staring at that ballot paper feels like being asked to pick which disease I’d most like to contract before breakfast. One option may liquefy your insides over a long weekend, another only gives you hives and a vague sense of doom, but at the end of the day – it’s still food poisoning, garnished with a national anthem.

Democracy in Theory: A Cathedral of Choices. In Practice: A Carnival of Masks.

We’re told, ad nauseam, that democracy is about choice. That a functioning republic offers a vast and colorful spectrum of representatives to reflect your values. That’s the sacred catechism. The textbooks chant it. The politicians gargle it between champagne toasts. The TV pundits stitch it into every bedtime story for grown-ups.

And yet, when I stand before that ballot box, I feel less like a sovereign citizen and more like a bewildered diner trying to find something edible on a Soviet cafeteria menu. “Do I want the ideologically spoiled fish? Or the stale meatballs of neoliberal compromise?”

Representation? I see none. What I do see is a parade of hollowed-out mannequins in party livery, playacting as public servants while picking the nation’s bones clean behind the curtain.

Politicians: Raiders in Neckties

Let’s not romanticize the parasite. Politicians aren’t leaders. They’re not stewards. They’re not even competent bureaucrats. They are raiders – mercenary opportunists with press secretaries. Looters in neckties who’ve traded swords for polling data.

Carlo Cipolla, in his disturbingly accurate “Basic Laws of Human Stupidity,” laid out a neat taxonomy of our species:

• The helpless: exploited by others, incapable of retaliation.
• The intelligent: both exploit and are exploited, but leave a net benefit.
• The bandits: pure predators, drain everyone else, suffer nothing.
• The idiots: drain no one, benefit no one – useless ballast.

Now, cast your gaze upon the modern political class. What do you see? Bandits. A whole industrial complex built by bandits, for bandits, running on bandit logic. And like any self-respecting mafia operation, they need cover. Enter: the idiots. Loyal foot soldiers who chant the slogans, hoist the banners, and show up to rallies in matching shirts like it’s a football game.

And the intelligent? The helpless? They don’t last. The intelligent flee early – usually to some remote cottage with high-speed internet and a vegetable garden. The helpless try, briefly, and are promptly eaten alive by the first party operative they meet in a beige conference room. This system ejects decency the way a wolf coughs up feathers.

Political Parties: Death Machines with Nice Logos

Let’s now consider the hallowed institutions themselves – our political parties. These are not movements. They are self-perpetuating machines. They exist for one singular purpose: to continue existing.

Don’t be fooled by the lofty mission statements or the posters showing smiling children and wind turbines. Underneath, it’s all engine grease and burnt-out gears. They’re not about ideas. They’re not about progress. They’re about keeping control of the state’s levers long enough to pass out enough goodies to ensure they stay in control.

They’re also incredibly efficient laundromats. Ever notice how so many “humble servant” politicians – former schoolteachers, junior lawyers, failed poets – emerge from the machine ten years later with luxury condos, a vineyard, and suspiciously successful cousins? Either they’re financial savants, or the revolving door of lobbyists and “consulting opportunities” is greased with something more than good intentions.

Branding, Lies, and Other Party Tricks

Political parties have discovered the modern gospel: branding. Never mind content. That’s for suckers. Slap a shiny label on a leaking barrel and call it artisan cider.

Observe:

• The Socialists: Ruthless in their welfare cuts, generous only with their own salaries.
• The Greens: More likely to deforest a mountain than a lumber company, as long as it’s “for renewables.”
• Christian Democrats: Who talk about Christ just long enough to win the church vote, then proceed to legislate like bored Caesar impersonators.
• Liberals: Fierce defenders of your freedom – until you disagree, at which point they’ll regulate your toast.

At this point, I’d trust a “sugar-free” label on a bag of cocaine more than I’d trust a party platform.

The Death of Ideals

Once upon a time, politics had some vague emotional architecture. Progressives wanted to knock down old walls. Conservatives wanted to shore up the ones still standing. Even the fights had a kind of tragic dignity.

But now? There are no walls. Just cardboard cutouts of what walls used to be. Everyone claims to be “for the people” while hoarding influence like dragons sitting on a nest of pension fund IOUs.

There are no ideals. There is only power. Acquiring it. Clinging to it. Monetizing it. Repeat.

And the people? They’re stage props. Applauding on cue, nodding obediently while the house burns around them, clapping like trained seals because no one wants to admit they bought tickets to a fraud.

“Start Your Own Movement!”—Said the Gullible

Here comes the inevitable response: If you’re so disillusioned, why not start your own party?

Ah, yes. Let me just build a grassroots political movement in my spare time. Convince the cynical. Mobilize the indifferent. Evade media sabotage. Navigate the Kafkaesque bureaucracy of party registration. And then what? March into the very same meat grinder I just spent 2,000 words cursing—only to be chewed up, spat out, and buried under a pile of my own campaign flyers?

Get serious. Humans are tribal. They want to belong. Even the rebels crave a clubhouse. No one wants to die on a hill if there’s no one there to Instagram it.

Even the purists want their echo chamber. No one wants to be the lone nut holding a flag in an empty field. Especially not if the wind’s bad.

My Politics: Libertarian, Minarchist, Statistically Extinct

So where do I stand?

I’m a libertarian. I believe in that most heretical of notions: you leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone, and let’s both agree not to nationalize the toaster.

But it gets worse. I’m a minarchist—the political equivalent of ordering a glass of water at a wine tasting. I want a government so small it could fit in a modest shoebox. Courts, cops, and the occasional pothole fixer. That’s it. No social engineering. No moral babysitting. No labyrinthine rules about what constitutes “fair butter packaging.”

And just to make sure I’m thoroughly unelectable, I also have anarchist leanings. Not the molotov-wielding, dumpster-fire type. More the peaceful, “I’ll be over here making cheese” type. Think Amish, but with Wi-Fi. I don’t want to live like them – but I respect anyone who minds their own business with that kind of elegant discipline.

How many people share this cocktail of eccentric convictions? A few, perhaps. Enough to fill a dimly lit pub. We’d argue about tab ethics and end the night split over who pays for the bitter. Not exactly a political force.

The Machine Was Built to Eat You

Here’s the inconvenient truth that civic education never tells you: the system is not designed for reform. It’s designed to resist reform.

It rewards obedience. It selects for conformity. It promotes the flexible, the morally fluid, the charming sociopaths who can sell betrayal as compromise.

A party built on honesty and principle wouldn’t survive a single election cycle. It would be crushed, starved, or bought before it ever threatened the status quo. It’s not a game you can win. It’s a trap you can avoid.

And so no—I don’t have a political home. I’m not wandering the ideological wasteland in search of one either. I see the machine. I recognize the gears. I refuse to grease them with my illusion of hope.

Final Thoughts: Apathy Is Not the Enemy

People moan endlessly about “voter apathy.” As if the masses are just too lazy to care. As if democracy is collapsing because someone forgot to post a selfie from the ballot box.

No. The real rot is deeper. It’s political bankruptcy. The system is drained of meaning. The rituals remain. The costumes still dazzle. But the content—the soul—has long since evacuated the premises.

So if I roll my eyes at your favorite party, don’t take it personally. I’m not hating your team. I’m calling the entire league a rigged casino in a burning building.

I’m not apathetic. I’m jaded. And that, my friend, is the most dangerous political position of all.