I’m much too mopey right now to comment coherently on Super Tuesday. So I’ll comment incoherently. Maybe someone will nominate me for President.
We were recently reminded, just the other day, that “what the heart loves, the will chooses and the mind justifies.” In other words, we want what we want, pursue it heedlessly, and make excuses for it. Politics isn’t rational. Eight years ago lots of folks persuaded themselves that an ordinary Chicago politician planted firmly somewhere on the left end of the political specturm was a saintly miracle worke. Lots of them cling to that image today. He’s performed at about the level you’d expect an ordinary Chicago politician to perform, but that’s irrelevant. The heart wants what it wants. So this time round, Donald Trump becomes the focus of discontent. It’s sad-funny to watch intelligent but emotionally driven folks trying to bend their minds into hoping that a Trump presidency would be other than, at the very best, unpleasant.
Is Trump a Donk mole, a Clinton-launched MOAB designed to clear a landing zone for Hillary’s Marine 1? There is incidental evidence. He’s been far more Donk than Heffalump in his public remarks over time; political conversions, like religious ones, are usually followed by a period of study and mentoring. This seems absent. Most Heffalump politicians are free speech absolutists, overwhelmingly so. Trump is not. Likewise, most Heffalumps are somewhere on the “pro-life” spectrum. Trump is not. In recent days, he has quoted Mussolini approvingly, and flubbed racially charged situations in ways that a serious Heffalump politician would not.
Trump and Mussolini? There are quite a few similarities, in fact. The bluster, the brawny and ignorant nationalism, the womanizing, are shared traits. It’s long forgotten, but for a while Benito was all the rage in western democracies. The press lavished him with love and attention. Familiar?
And by the way, two essential texts for this election cycle are Jonah Goldberg’s Liber al Fascism – it’s not just name calling! – and Philip Jose Farmer’s rambunctious, vulgar, somewhat psychedelic novella, Riders of the Purple Wage. If either of my readers is a progressive, take the risk of reading Liberal Fascism to see where you came from. Farmer shows us where we going. #3? Paul Johnson, Intellectuals. One word summary: ick. ”Intellectuals,” not the book.
What if it’s The Donald v Hillary? If The Donald isn’t that MOAB? Hillary will try to stand above it all, gratingly issuing platitudes and occasionally barking like a dog. The Donald will be attacked by swarms of Hillary attack-bots. The Donald will ignore the ‘bots, and attack Hillary viscerally. It will be appalling.
What, exactly, for voting purposes, is an “evangelical?” I don’t have a clue.
At the moment, Marco Rubio doesn’t seem to be a closer. Intelligent, promising, genial, but not a closer in an election. If one’s priorities are (1) beat back Trump and (2) Beat Hillary in November, the path this morning seems to me for Rubio to Nobly Withdraw, throw his support to Cruz, and relentlessly and in detail attack Trump. I might feel differently tomorrow. Someone needs to sit Kasich down somewhere and explain very gently that he’s not going to be Vice President.
Since it’s the season of the heart, my new hope for 2020 is Sasse/Haley or Haley/Sasse, based entirely on these tweets:
Sasse: “The Presidency is not our national embodiment of Nietzschean Will. It’s just one of 3 co-equal branches of govt.”
Haley: ”“@realDonaldTrump, Bless your heart.”
It’s a good idea to take cover when a Southern woman says that.