My recent, abrupt banning from a self-proclaimed “free-speech” Telegram group, where dissent, it seems, is a one-way street, has struck a deeply resonant chord. It’s an experience that unwelcomely mirrors a memory from 1986, a time when the corridors of Washington D.C. power, though seemingly more tangible, proved just as susceptible to the silencing of voices deemed inconvenient.
The sting of that earlier exclusion – when the Federation for American Afghan Action was ejected from its offices and I was subsequently barred from key coalition meetings – serves as a stark reminder that the mechanisms of exclusion, sadly, remain timeless, even among those who believe themselves to be fighting for common causes.
Back in the mid-1980s, the political landscape of Washington was a tapestry woven with numerous coalitions and alliances, each striving to build consensus and leverage collective political power. These groups were the engine rooms of policy debate and strategic coordination. Some, like the “Monday Club,” which convened bi-monthly over lunch, were more geared towards discussion and broad U.S. policy considerations. Others were explicitly action-oriented. The “Jefferson Group,” for instance, helmed by a representative from the Competitive Enterprise Institute, met monthly to tackle economic issues. The “721 Group” focused on judiciary affairs, gathering monthly in the Coors Room of the Free Congress Foundation, while “Library Court,” also hosted by the Free Congress Foundation in their Kingston Room, met bi-weekly to strategize on social issues.
During 1986 and 1987, I was immersed in this world, serving as a delegate for both the Federation for American Afghan Action and the American Afghan Education Fund. My primary engagements were with the Stanton Group, which grappled with defense and foreign policy, and the Kingston Group, which focused on economic policy and broader political concerns. Both of these influential groups were chaired by Paul Weyrich, the Chairman of the Free Congress Foundation (FCF), and held their frequent meetings – weekly or biweekly – in the FCF’s Kingston Room.
Navigating these coalitions was an exercise in strategic engagement. The first step for any political activist was to understand the landscape: who attended these meetings and what resources or influence did they bring to the table? The goal was then to identify and cultivate at least one regular attendee who could champion your proposal within the group. A clear, precise presentation was crucial: articulating the problem, explaining its relevance to the assembled coalition members, and outlining a course of actionable solutions. A concise, one-page handout with key information and talking points, including specific and realistic action items, was standard practice. These meetings also served as a forum to identify potential allies outside the immediate coalition who could be brought in to support a particular issue. The aim was always to build a united front, to amplify a message through collective action.
However, this collaborative environment proved fragile. The Federation for American Afghan Action, my primary affiliation, eventually found itself under pressure from the CIA, whose ineffective aid to the anti-Soviet Mujaheddin we had exposed before the nation. This led to our ejection from the offices we occupied within the Free the Eagle Citizen’s Lobby, then located in the Heritage Foundation building in Northeast D.C. The fallout was swift and personal. I was informed by Debbie Smith, the secretary for the Stanton and Kingston groups, that I was “not welcome” in their coalition meetings anymore. The very circles where strategies were forged and alliances built had suddenly become closed doors.
Decades later, the experience of being summarily banned from a digital platform, one that ironically champions “free speech” in a time of totalitarian takeover, feels like an echo of that past. The context may have shifted from physical meeting rooms to virtual spaces, from Cold War geopolitics to contemporary online activism, but the act of silencing and the accompanying sense of exclusion remain strikingly similar. In both instances, a voice, presumably with valuable experience and a commitment to shared, or at least allied, objectives, was deemed undesirable and summarily dismissed without recourse or dialogue.
It is a profoundly disheartening realization that even within circles of activists who preach unity and ostensibly share common goals, the practice of banning and silencing individuals persists. This tendency not only curtails the free exchange of ideas but also risks alienating those with potentially vital experience and diverse perspectives.
If movements and groups, regardless of their ideological bent, cannot foster an environment where even challenging or uncomfortable viewpoints can be aired and debated respectfully, they risk becoming echo chambers, impoverished by their own intolerance. The sadness lies in this repetition of history, a reminder that the tools of exclusion are ever-present, capable of undermining the very spirit of unity necessary to effect meaningful change.
