So here we are, hanging by a thread whilst hopes are endangered by a cultish frame of mind. How did we get here?
Go back to 2009 and the notorious town hall meetings where folks inexplicably shouted at their elected reps. and old goats wrestled the way old goats do – shoving and falling on floors.
One target was Sen. Arlen Specter, hardly a political devil, and a Republican but hardly an isolated case. But the phenomenon was real: a great organic discontent manifesting. It had to be handled with care.
Liberals thought such would pass, a mere blip in politics as usual. The GOP, already lacking ideas but eager for chaos as a springboard to relevance, didn’t know what it was about but they knew it was something.
So while Dems protested the reaction as uncivil, Republicans seized the moment, sided with the outbursts, pointed at liberals and said, “It’s those people over there.”
It wasn’t true, but it gave the hate a direction. The outrage became the Tea Party. The GOP still didn’t understand the why and how of the discontent. They didn’t have to; they just knew they needed it.
Soon, Republicans were fully in front of the stampede and the rest is ugly history: a political machine that would be unrelenting toward President Obama (the Congress of No) and a permanently fractured government from which no good could come. and all led by what would be the punks of our politics.
In swift succession came clown cars of GOP presidential candidates, some of whom emerged as favorites and punk-ish to the max: like Herman Cain and his “9-9-9” plan that would aid the rich and punish the rest; and a loony tune foreign policy where someone else would handle what he called the “Ubeki-beki-beki-beki-stan-stans” of the planet. The world, in a word, would be his pizza.
When it became obvious that might not work for the GOP, and hungry for another Black candidate with which to taunt Obama, they fell in love with Dr. Ben Carson, ‘til it occurred that being prez really didn’t require a brain surgeon.
Enter Trump, whose claim to fame was being rich, a socialite, TV star and rather soft-spoken – ‘til his change in tone, personality and penchant for name-calling brought all the chickens home.
Trump, all said, is a punk. He fought no wars, never hung out with the crowd that now loves him, nor had he done anything for anyone save himself. But he was heir to all the outrage that now had not only a party but a leader.
Trump’s punkish talent for name-calling inspired more of the same in others seeking power. He cast shadows on dedicated public servants like Dr. Anthony Fauci, Andrew McCabe, Robert Mueller, et al., calling them killers of public health, dark knights of the “deep state” and outright liars. The minions now in his thrall looked, wondered and decided that if Donald said so, it was true.
Enter Ron DeSantis and all Trump has to do is call him a punk and for the first time, he’ll be right about someone. Look closely at DeSantis to see someone in over his head, seduced by limelight, using catch-words for public policy and his competitors – and you know you’re looking at a punk. Sadly, Don’s the master of that already and there’s no room at the inn for Ron.
This is where the GOP has been and will be until the boil is lanced and the national fever subsides: Punk Land. Whoever denies that another Trump term would be a reign of terror and of political paybacks will buy a bridge. Any bridge.
In ancient times, leaders came to power by violence and that’s what people were stuck with. Some were good dictators, some bad and some were just punks.
Today, we’re beyond that. This is democracy. We elect them instead.
Is this a great country, or what?
John Burciaga, if nominated, will not run and if elected will not serve. But his PAC is at Ichabod142@gmail.com. Small unmarked bills are preferred and will be used for loans at reasonable rates.
