A couple of weeks ago at the Democratic presidential debate Mike Bloomberg made two fatal mistakes: first, he showed up; second, he stood on the stage next to Elizabeth Warren.
When Warren’s turn to speak came, she stated, and I paraphrase only slightly, “We are here to stop an arrogant billionaire who has called women fat pigs and horse faced lesbians.” Then, she turned and looked Bloomberg in the eye. “I’m not referring to Donald Trump,” she said, “I’m referring to Mike Bloomberg.” It was devastating. She went straight for his jugular, or , depending upon one’s point of view, his spermatic cord. For the remainder of the debate and on into Super Tuesday, Bloomberg was neutralized- if indeed, not altogether neutered. Ah, if only Elizabeth could have unfurled such wrath against the actual opposition.
The beginnings of my resignation that there is enormous possibility of four more years of Trump started in the early days of the “Me Too” movement. We had a guy in the senate who was smart, famous, likeable, combative and presidential material. A good man- a compassionate man. I could easily see him taking down Trump on the debate stage with superior knowledge, rapier wit, sarcasm and conscience. His name is Al Franken.
Based primarily on a photo dredged up by Fox operatives taken many years ago of Franken behaving like an obnoxious fourteen year old, he was driven out of the senate by a cynical and ambitious Kirsten Gillibrand, making her “Me Too” bones by spearheading the purge. I wonder if she ever weighed the cost of losing Franken against the benefit, of which there was none.
Oh, how tasty it is to eat our own.
Jeanine Cummins is author of “American Dirt,” a novel about a Mexican mother’s ordeal fleeing with her eight year old son after a vengeful cartel believes she has betrayed them. They cross the border as undocumented immigrants, where one woe begets another. It is a work of fiction. Cummins is part Puerto Rican, but looks White. She has been attacked and vilified as an appropriator by members of the Latinx community because she is not brown enough to write such a book. Her publisher cancelled a series of nation wide book signings because of threats of violence.
Pete Buttigieg, the first openly Gay person to run for president, is not Gay enough, according to a group called “Queers Against Pete,”because he came out later in life and looks and acts like a straight man.
We are brilliant at creating catch-22 situations. If Bernie Sanders gets only a plurality of delegates, there will likely be a brokered convention and the DNC will hand off the nomination to Joe Biden under the assumption a self-described Socialist (albeit democratic) cannot be elected, thus inspiring the Bernie people to convulse and not vote, insuring Trump’s reelection. If Bernie gets the majority of delegates prior to the convention, he is an unelectable Socialist, or so goes the prevailing wisdom.
We are Progressives. While the Right is busy circling the wagons and closing ranks, we are engaged in knee capping one another. We are not tribal like the opposition, but only because we lack the cohesion to form a tribe. We claim diversity, but only when the diverse are just like us. Everything has to be perfect, although we can never agree on what constitutes perfection.
Oh, how we Progressives love to eat each other, boiled, baked, fried or tartare, with or without fava beans and a nice chianti.