A few weeks ago I shared with students a couple of journal articles published in the 1980s lamenting the damage that USA Today would cause to journalism. Its sharp cheerful primary colors, reliance on graphics, and avoidance of long articles represented a bowdlerization of news — a rebuke to the intelligence of readers, according to these Serious Men. Continue reading
The ending of a political cycle doesn’t mean that reporters and pundits have retired the old clothes they’ve worn for two years and longer. At the cost of my health I exposed myself to four hours straight of cable news television because I’m compulsive about blogging as MSNBC’s Steve Kornacki is about correctly pronouncing county names.
Here are five of the worst political clichés this season:
1. Soccer moms
2. “Alienating women.” Because women get alienated. Men get…angry?
3. “Not appealing to the middle.” Voters’ positions are a sour mishmash because unlike politicians they can’t pay the rent and for a focus group out of one check.
4. “Race to the bottom”
5. The quiet mourning of pundits, mostly white, for the death of the rural white Democratic voter. White voters will not leave Trump, and we should stop hoping so because they’re racists and our coalition doesn’t need them. Plus, they’re old and will die of emphysema and eating processed cheese. Fuck’em. I mean, why on earth would you want them leaving Trump? You think the separation will stop their racism? Many those racists voted for Obama. They were still racists.
“Morning” Joe and partner “Mika” Brzezinski is have evolved since the days when their MSNBC morning show turned into a Donald J. Trump telecenter in 2015-2016. They acknowledge the impacts of gerrymandering and James Comey’s FBI announcement on the 2016 election; they accept that the new Democratic coalition comprises women and people of color; they pay lip service to the environment; Scarborough gels his hair, keeps the sides shaved, and wears the occasionally chic sweater. Willie Geist, who looks like Michael Shannon playing Jason Isbell, has a quiet, mordant wit. Continue reading
Wrong about Barack Obama. Wrong about “identity politics.” Wrong, most infamously and disgustingly, about Iraq. Men and women are dead because of Charles Krauthammer’s columns. They’re dead because Very Serious People in the Bush II White House read his bellicose columns in the aftermath of 9-11 and felt an ideological kinship. When Iraq was collapsing after the so-called “cakewalk” of the administration’s direst masturbatory fantasies, he offered a moist towel and balm in The Washington Post. Continue reading
Americans who spend too much time watching MSNBC, particularly “Morning” Joe Scarborough and “Mika” Brzezinski’s pre-dawn chattering of well-connected sparrows, will recognize the signs of the ptomaine poisoning known as mythicalcenteritis. Its guests like to mourn the collapse of a time when over Merlot and Marlboros Barack Obama and John Boehner considered cuts to social services, Newt Gingrich found common ground with fellow southerner Bill Clinton, Ron ‘n’ Tip had drinks after work, and Richard Nixon got a woody staring at Daniel Patrick Moynihan in the Cabinet Room.
Well, bullshit. “He may be ready to surrender, but I’m not,” Reagan snarled in a fifth-rate Dirty Harry impersonation not long before ordering the withdrawal from Lebanon that O’Neill had suggested. We know what happened between Ginbrich and Clinton, and we’re lucky Obama, recovering most of his senses, reneged on the debt deal with Boehner. What vestiges of centrism existed during the Cold War’s bipartisan consensus on fighting Communism. Pick up any FDR biography to read what the opposition said about him in 1936. And the descendants of the Adams clan still remembers when one of Vice President Jefferson’s paid agents called the second president “a blind, bald, crippled, toothless man who is a hideous hermaphroditic character with neither the force and fitness of a man, nor the gentleness and sensibility of a woman.” Does Steve King even know how to spell hermaphroditic?
Three days after Conor Lamb’s surprise victory in Pennsylvania, the disease strikes again. One of its symptoms is assuming that calling for another minority leader whose name doesn’t rhyme with “Maborosi” means you belong in the middle. Charles Pierce will have none of it:
This attempt to drag Conor Lamb into David Brooks’ Cloud Cuckoo Land of Responsible Centrism is simply a load. Lamb suggested that it might be time for Nancy Pelosi to step aside as a Democratic leader, but he told Paul Ryan that Ryan’s whole economic philosophy is a façade of a mockery of a sham. These two are not the same thing, and I suspect that, if the Democrats in the House re-elect Pelosi as their leader, she and Lamb will get along just fine. His opposition to the assault-weapons ban—which, we should note, is not on offer anywhere at the moment—is based on his belief that there are laws enough at the moment. However, he is in favor of closing the gun-show loophole, which is something.
But, more pertinent to our discussion of David Brooks’ most recent foolishness is the fact that, despite Lamb’s holding the positions that so warm the Brooksian cockles, the Republicans spent millions of dollars in ads promoting the notion that Lamb was a gun-grabbing Pelosi-bot anyway. This means, of course, that the Republican side of Brooks’ tribalism remains truthless and insane.
The disease will worsen as fall midterms approach. As soon as the Beltway press sense the inevitability of a Democratic takeover of Congress, the pressure on the party To Go the Middle Way will increase because the GOP is exempt from such concerns. Someone has to fill the space.
From the way Willie Geist and “Morning” Joe Scarborough said “identity politics” yesterday morning you’d think they’d recited a passage from Mein Kampf. Identity politics, they aver, prevent the Democratic Party from coalescing around “a single issue” or “one candidate”; instead, the party is associated with “the afflicted” and “victims.” After all, Scarborough reminded the panel, weren’t Bill Clinton and Joe Biden warning the party in August 2016 that white voters were slipping away? Continue reading
Okay, dear readers, I spent thirty minutes on Saturday reading bits of Mark Halperin –er, forgive me, Michael Wolff’s — Terry Southern novel on the stupidity of the president, and, no, it will surprise no one, including fans of the carpentered prose of political reporters who have never read fiction.
Virginia Heffernan is skeptical of the book’s literary merits — we’ll spot it among the remainders at Barnes & Noble, beside the stuffed dinosaurs and coffee table books about the War of 1812 — but merits matter less than meat.
It’s clear that Wolff uses all manner of sleight of hand — tricks common to a more reckless period in 20th century magazine journalism — to generate operatic effects in “Fire and Fury.” The dialogue, for example, is suspiciously Netflix-ready, although Wolff claims to have reported all from what he told New York was his “semi-permanent seat on a couch in the West Wing.” He conducted about 200 interviews with capricious flakes, and Wolff also has some skeletons in his sourcing closet that someone’s bound to drag out.
But who cares, really? Wolff’s dislikable. He plays by his own rules. Big surprise. No one likable or rule-bound would have been able to abide this unsavory crew — Murdoch, Bannon, Roger Ailes, or, for God’s sake, Trump — long enough to squeeze this much big, fat, soapy story out of them.
Wolff’s ace has always been his excitement about cartoonish power dynamics among insufferable old men. In the past, this excitement has been decidedly uninfectious. But this time Wolff’s subjects are not boresville “moguls” with interchangeable faces and net worths but the president of the United States and his psycho crew. And, because the world finds itself at their mercy, we’d do well to hear their fetid locker room talk interpreted by a writer who can stomach it.
Bob Woodward better hurry with his own — don’t the usual Wood-words get published the first year of a new administration?
The difference between insisting on clarity and explaining the obvious is impossible to discern for a master of hyperkinetic narrative cinema, and Steven Spielberg does the obvious in The Post. His account of how The Washington Post’s publisher Katherine Graham agonized over putting the newspaper run by her late husband in legal jeopardy for running what came to be known as the Pentagon Papers has to explain and explain and explain again. From the first ten minutes the audience knows the stakes. It knows how the picture ends. The picture has heroes. But Spielberg’s literal approach sucks out the suspense. What remains are Oscar clips for Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks and a reluctance to implicate these heroes in their own drama. Continue reading
In broadcast political media circles the only dead man more overestimated than Tim Russert is Walter Cronkite, who retired before the Reagan administration waged war on public trust in government, which led to the erosion of trust in institutions that powers today’s right wing commentariat and even some places on the left. As I wrote in my 2008 obit, “Meet The Press” was usually a politican’s last stop, akin to the confessional, wherein Fr. Russert would scowl and look paternal (meanwhile the guest would look penitent and humble, yet eager for more self-abasement) before administering a figurative sign of the cross and blessing. Hypocrisy, Brian Beutler writes, Is the most heavily policed crime in American politics, because it is both ubiquitous, and inherently neutral as a subject of scrutiny.”
It is called the tribute that vice pays to virtue, because it’s through hypocrisy that we betray our awareness of the disparity between what we say and what we do, or what we do in public and what we do in private. It is a meta-sin, free of ideological valence, which makes it an appealing target for journalists.
When a politician takes both sides of an issue at different times, journalists can elide the substance of the positions by zeroing in on the apparent hypocrisy—was he for it before he was against it? When partisans set forth double standards, it is often easier to make them address their inconsistencies than to question the merits of the standards themselves. And since all politicians engage in hypocrisy at least occasionally, criticizing it carries no aroma of bias.
Pointing out hypocrisy is effective when the accused has a sense of honor. A sense of shame. To remind a Trump voter that he promised to keep Social Security, cut their taxes, and save their healthcare, or protect their transgender relatives is to waste time on the shoals of rhetoric; it creates a moral triumph as illusory and brief as a toot.
To celebrate the Beltway brand of centrism that guarantees admission to Chuck Todd’s show and screws over men and women who can’t afford Washington Post subscriptions, Dana Milbank muses on the excitement of seeing Michael Pence in the Oval Office.
Where Trump alienated allies and opened a dispute with the mayor of London, Pence vowed to “continue to stand with our allies” and praised “our cherished ally,” Britain. Where Trump has largely removed human rights from the agenda, Pence called for “an America standing tall in the world again for our values and our ideals.” Where Trump has stoked anti-Muslim sentiment, Pence asserted that under Trump, “America will continue to condemn persecution of any faith at any place at any time.”
As governor of Indiana, Pence called bloodless torture methods ““Oprah Winfrey methods,” criminalized abortion, claimed that “condoms are a very, very poor protection against sexually transmitted diseases,” endorsed a proposed ban on Syrian refugees entering his state, and, while in Congress, proposed that “resources should be directed toward those institutions which provide assistance to those seeking to change their sexual behavior,” i.e. gay conversion therapy.
Do go on, Mr. Milbank:
Trump, at the National Prayer Breakfast earlier this year, told attendees to pray for Arnold Schwarzenegger and his “Apprentice” ratings. Pence aimed higher. “Don’t so much pray for a cause as for country,” he said, paraphrasing Abraham Lincoln. “Just pray for America.”
The contrast between the reckless president and his responsible understudy has me thinking, not for the first time, how much better things would be if Pence were president.
Go to hell, you turgid lickspittle.
Pence is not responsible. He is not sane – he’s a holy terror, as awful as Rubio, Jeb!, Romney, and just about every Republican nominee for president going back to January 1981. He was going to lose reelection in Indiana. He’s not bright – the sort of man who repeats a sentence because it represents his total command of the language. Should he become president, he’ll lose in 2020 because he’d be a fifth-rate hack with none of Donald Trump’s un-charm and all his baggage.
Last month Hillary Clinton took deserved shit from Bernie Sanders and the liberal press for squeezing Henry Kissinger in a metaphorical bear hug. Now her former boss offers the sort of on the record remark suggesting that the love for the Metternich of Georgetown and his coterie was widespread in the White House and Foggy Bottom:
Obama, unlike liberal interventionists, is an admirer of the foreign-policy realism of President George H. W. Bush and, in particular, of Bush’s national-security adviser, Brent Scowcroft (“I love that guy,” Obama once told me). Bush and Scowcroft removed Saddam Hussein’s army from Kuwait in 1991, and they deftly managed the disintegration of the Soviet Union; Scowcroft also, on Bush’s behalf, toasted the leaders of China shortly after the slaughter in Tiananmen Square. As Obama was writing his campaign manifesto, The Audacity of Hope, in 2006, Susan Rice, then an informal adviser, felt it necessary to remind him to include at least one line of praise for the foreign policy of President Bill Clinton, to partially balance the praise he showered on Bush and Scowcroft.
Note the curious independent clause, clinging with white knuckles by semicolon to its antecedent, about Scowcroft toasting Chinese leaders while tanks threatened to roll over demonstrators. What’s that about – an attempt at evenhandedness? The former partner in the firm of Kissinger Associates’s métier has been to introduce the world’s most ghoulish regimes to corporate clients for decades. That aside, he and fellow insider paladins John Tower and Edward Muskie said Ronald Reagan might have been dozing in the Oval Office while Oliver North and an NSC junta sold arms to Iranian mullas and channeled profits to the Contras; and he watched Yugoslavia disintegrate into the continent’s most protracted and bloody war since 1945. Establishment respect, op-ed pages around the country at his disposal, the mien of a psychopath sitting down to a candlelit dinner after a spree — I understand why Barack Obama admires him.
I love that guy.
George Will’s wife is looking for a new he-man employer. This explains a column that contains a higher percentage than usual of his moronic insights:
Paris was for all Americans, but especially for Republicans, a summons to seriousness that should have two immediate impacts on the Republican presidential contest. It should awaken the party’s nominating electorate from its reveries about treating the presidency as an entry-level job. And it should cause Republicans to take another look at Chris Christie, beginning with his speech in Florida the day after the Paris attacks.
My thoughts exactly. Chris Christie will spray ISIS terrorists with the venom he perfected yelling at the most dangerous threat to American national security, public school teachers. After which Will, to demonstrate what a creep and unfeeling lizard he is, stops to make fun of a German mourner for playing “Imagine.”
Lennon, as bad a political thinker as he was a grammarian, never learned this: Countries, meaning nation-states, are, for all their shortcoming and dangers, indispensable for making self-government possible and secure.
Shit, he’s right, why didn’t John learn this in school? Instead of writing songs and forming the Beatles, he should’ve been reading Montesquieu badly to get a job as the Washington Post’s GOP house boy.
Recall the question Ronald Reagan posed to voters at the conclusion of his single debate with President Jimmy Carter a week before the 1980 election: Are you better off today than you were four years ago? The electorate’s answer was emphatic.
I recall when you prepped Reagan for the debate, helped immeasurably by notes purloined from the Carter campaign, and later went on ABC News and praised his performance.
For an example of pluperfect unseriousness,
…look at the byline, a man who needs inapposite polysyllabic words like some men need sex.
Every day that such errant nonsense sloshes through the Republican nominating contest is a day when the party’s claim to represent what the country craves — adult supervision — becomes less credible.
Oh, “errant nonsense” isn’t this column?
Fortunately, sufficient days remain for Republicans to reshuffle the deck, to relegate Trump’s rampaging to the nation’s mental attic, and to recognize in Christie a serious political talent.
Fuck you too, asshole.