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The Obama Question

 

Barack Obama’s speech on Tuesday, March 18, on the subject of  race relations in America is seriously off topic for a man who had been heretofore doing a jim dandy job transcending racial politics.  It speaks volumes about the dark underworld ruled by Mrs. Clinton that Obama has been manipulated into becoming a black candidate for president rather than simply a candidate.  But regardless of the triumph of traditional Democratic racial politics over Obama’s message of change and unity, a disturbing question has been raised.

In furtherance of a lifelong aspiration to political office, the young Mr. Obama joined with the powerful 10,000 member Trinity United Church of Christ back in the 1980s while still an organizer in the local Democratic ward. After a time, he sees that there is no no real future in community organizing and goes off to earn the most prestigious law degree in America – doing so with distinction.

Returning to Chicago, Obama,a self-described agnostic, reconnects with Jeremiah Wright’s ministry. The youthful politician seeks office, and affiliation with a powerful black church in these wards is essential to that goal - Politics 101. He wins a seat in the Illinois legislature and from that position is chosen to give a keynote address at the 2004 Democratic Convention in Boston. Without his affiliation with the Trinity Church of Christ, none of this would have ever happened. He owes his very candidacy today to that early bit of shrewdness.

He is able to parlay his stunning reception at the convention into a successful run for the United States Senate in 2004. (Yes, he is still that young and inexperienced, folks.) This would have been the perfect moment to jettison Jeremiah Wright - the moment any seasoned politician suddenly gaining national recognition and seeking higher office would have chosen. Such a politician would have broken with the dangerous and demagogic reverend quietly, surreptitiously, with warm handshakes all around and sincere promises of continued discrete support for the reverend’s church. Obama, for some reason, did not.

Not dumping Wright when he should have is either a rookie mistake, which speaks volumes about a lack of seasoning and a woefully premature candidacy, or it points to both an affinity and loyalty to Mr. Wright’s repellent philosophy. (We, of course, reject out of hand the silly notion that a brilliant Harvard Review attorney did not know precisely what Mr. Wright was saying, how and when he was saying it, and what he meant by it.) In either case, the ramifications are deeply disturbing.

Mr. Obama was no doubt happy for once to dance to Hillary’s tune and respond to this matter yesterday as if it were merely question of racism. It’s a tried and true topic for liberals, a guaranteed crowd pleasure for the base and has historically been one of those drop-dead topics that kill all conversation. He spoke nicely on the matter, but the whole thing is a diversion.

The real question remains: is Barack Obama another Gary Hart or Bill Clinton, skirting the edges of political suicide to test the limits of his charisma, or is Barack Obama someone who secretly believes in Wright’s repugnant world view? It’s a question no mature, polished politician would have ever allowed to be asked.  Either answer is unsettling.
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Slow Roasted on a Spit

 
The cautionary tale of Eliot Spitzer isn't a tale of the wages of sin. It's about power. As a Kipling fable, it would be about a bull elephant of the herd collecting female trophies to magnify his dominance over other males. Spitzer could have gone for a nice $800 whore, or even a $1,500 one and had a fine time. That's a high end night in anybody's book.
 
Instead, he fell for a pitch from a company that marketed its wares not so much for sex, but to stroke the infinite vanity of arrogant men of power. Such exclusivity, such prices like those of fine antique wines, made Spitzer feel magnificent and godlike, a Nero among men, hence the name of this sly enterprise. The girl he hired was there for sex certainly, but sex was a side dish. She was really there to reinforce his own gilded image of himself; to bask in the wonder that was Eliot Spitzer.
 
Let's look at the product he selected. Miss Dupre is a girl of no particular beauty (her big nosed pictures are all over the net today), and of no special breeding or talent (her insipid writing and vapid music are also available for observation and ridicule). It takes a certain amount of intellect and sophistication to be a courtesan, that is a woman who specializes in pleasing the more, shall we say, sophisticated tastes of well-heeled men. This one probably just bounced around pleasantly with youthful enthusiasm.  It seems obvious this south Jersey high school dropout offered no "unique" gifts of sensuality. Her price was not a function of her skills, but of her unavailability to others.
 
Spitzer selected her because almost no other man could afford her. Her rarified "price" appealed to his engorged ego more than his gonads. And it was his arrogant view of his own untouchability that allowed him to midjudge his vulnerability and brought him down in a tawdry and quotidien sex scandal.
 
The admonitions of Proverbs do not pertain, nor do the warnings of Leviticus. If you want Biblical reference more in line with the facts of the case, consult Kings and Chronicles. This is not a tale of flesh and desire, it is a story of pride and hubris.
 
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RINOplasty


As hoary and overused as the image has become, visualizing an American political party as a big tent serves a purpose. A tent is something made of rope, canvas and stakes. Inside it the circus performs, remaining in one place only as long as there are people willing to come inside and enjoy the show. When there are no customers left, the roustabouts pull up the stakes and the tent is taken to where the people are. “Ism’s” are more like buildings – systematic, fixed architectural constructs, rigid and resistant to change. Conservatism is one such.  
 

The rock ribbed conservatives, those who guard its purity like temple priests with attitude, have lost perspective. They have come to think that the Republican Party is conservatism, and so they rage ceaslessly against those Republicans who are not with them 100%. Now they threaten menacingly to see to it that GOP is “punished” for the sin of John McCain. They promise to vote third party or even cast their votes for the other side, an act of madness by those who have seemingly forgotten that political gain in a democracy is not about absolutes, but about compromise, fortitude, the illusion of congeniality, and above all patience. Alas, the ultra conservatives have become so overcome with anger that they may return from washing their hands of today’s GOP to find the wind whistling forlornly in the trees and a huge empty space where a vibrant and welcoming tent once stood.

Though nobody elected anybody to be the Keeper of Republican Purity, internet blogs are rife with anonymous posters who puff up their chests and hold forth, sometimes viciously, on what a “true” Republican is. Once they have described such a creature, they hurl damning insult at those who fall short and polish the whole thing off by throwing what they perceive is their most wounding barb “RINO!” (A Republican in Name Only) at the targets of their disgust.

But here is the great irony: everyone is a RINO!  Being Republican is a self-defined identity. The GOP is a vast and unwieldy collection of tens of millions of individuals whose vaguely similar political instincts cause them to come together from time to time to try and elect people to office. That is its sole purpose. Republicanism is a rubric under which many different beliefs collect.  For every problem there are a hundred “Republican” ways to solve it. 

The GOP is best and most easily defined by what it opposes, and as its nemesis mutates, so does the party. It is a target sensitive ideology, not a fixed philosophy. I challenge anybody to find cogent similarity between the bellicose and militaristic Republicanism of Abraham Lincoln and the passive laissez-faire brand practiced by Calvin Coolidge. There is none.

The chest thumping Republicans who have bestowed upon themselves the red robes of the Inquisition are, at this moment in time, its arch conservatives. The most right leaning of them, owing primarily to the illusion of genuine access they have felt under perfidious George W. Bush, have come to believe themselves the heart and soul of the party, the curial overlords of its Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. They have subsequently become intemperate and sanctimonious in their attempts to purge “their” party of its perceived heretics.

The road to ideological purity is an inward journey through ever narrowing concentric circles. One arrives at absolute purity in the company ultimately only of oneself and a very few fellows. In their single-minded drive to rid the party of its moderates and compromisers, the arch conservatives have mistaken that final circle of ideological purity for the same center ring where the ponies leap and the elephants dance. Long before they have driven the so-called RINO’s from their midst, they may find the whole Republican tent has up and moved to a more congenial place where it can set up again with its flags happily snapping in the breeze, welcoming all those who seek to win American elections by defeating Democrats. ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

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