My Summer at the CATO Institute

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By Kelly Torrance, BA Honours Philosophy, University of British Columbia

"So I have to write an article about my summer in Washington, DC. Any ideas on how to begin?" "Why don’t you begin right here?" My fellow intern Gary gestured at the breathtaking night-time view from the lounge at the top of the Hotel Washington: the Lincoln Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, the Washington Monument, the White House so close you could almost touch it. This was why we were here, wasn’t it? To walk Washington’s fabled streets, revel in its glorious history - and avoid becoming victims of its notoriously reckless drivers. (DC is plagued with traffic circles; in my opinion for no other reason than to provide more space for the ubiquitous statues.)

No, of course not. We were here to add to the all-important résumé.

I spent three months this summer as an intern at the Cato Institute, the libertarian think-tank. I worked for Solveig Singleton, director of information studies, and later also for Darcy Olsen, entitlements policy analyst. I would like to say I spent the summer doing groundbreaking research. I did plenty of research (I don’t know if any could be called groundbreaking), but mostly I toiled in a big room filled with crappy computers and about twenty young go-getters who discussed the issues of the day (and complained about the Washington Post), asked each other for career advice, and played the scabrous South Park movie soundtrack. I also stuffed envelopes, served beverages, and made useful contacts and also, I hope, some lasting friendships.

We took part in weekly seminars, usually led by Tom Palmer, director of the institute’s Project on Civil Society. We read the greats: Locke, Bastiat, and Hayek. It was here I learned, to my dismay, of the Keynesians among us. Imagine my shock

I had assumed everyone there must be a hard-core libertarian like myself! But it was fun to gang up on the pro-gun control intern.

My fellow interns were nothing if not interesting. One regaled us incessantly with the grisly details of his pornographic obsession. And I watched as another sat for four hours getting a huge butterfly tattooed on her back. (She, of course, was a great intern to shop and party with.)

They found me at least a little interesting, too. After I foolishly confessed I was Canadian, I heard all the clichés: that I pronounced "about" as "aboot," that I ended every second sentence with "eh," and even that I enjoyed a disgusting concoction called "poutine." I denied everything.

But I admit that as soon as I crossed the border, I indulged in something I used to make fun of others for doing - playing the "Canadian Game." Two examples: "So I was watching an old Star Trek episode..." "William Shatner’s Canadian, you know." "Do you watch that Tom Green Show on MTV? That guy is hilarious!" "Of course he is, he’s Canadian." (My hosts were truly impressed by the latter datum.)

Perhaps my summer abroad made this wannabe American appreciate her country just a little more. Americans are certainly friendlier than Canadians, although they are also more arrogant - but let’s keep this article light!

I did get lectured by someone back home who complained that I was living at the center of the (political) universe, yet didn’t immerse myself in politics. I felt guilty, and later tried to really get "inside the Beltway." (Most exciting moment? Observing a House of Representatives committee hearing in action.) But I did live there, listen there, talk to people there. Really, partying was just a different yet still valid way of approaching my opportunity. In any case, I do believe my summer at Cato will be remembered as one of the best of my life.

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