Dream Candidate

As much as conservatives want to imagine the American public is governed by reason, you are obviously not. For most (sane) people the ideal ending to another day of toil isn’t listening to Mark Levin read from John Adams’ autobiography for a bedtime story.

Conservatives think most of you vote for sound monetary policy, a muscular military and traditional values. The reality is you vote for A Shining City on a Hill. A Man From Hope. Morning in America. Yes, We Can.

What Donald is calculating is that there are a majority of you who want to Make America Great Again one dopey red hat at a time. He’s a salesman and he sold you the sizzle while conservatives were telling you there was no steak and if there was Donald got it from a cow he paid some illegals to rustle from a poor, widowed farmer. You didn’t care because Donald was coordinating your dreams and you fell in love.

In desperate need of a world without Mexicans? Donald’s got a wall (and you know who’s going to pay for it? All together now…) Pesky Muslims building mosques and shooting up your town? Donald’s gonna, well, not ban them exactly, but keep them out until we “can figure out what’s going on”. Wily Chinamen taking your factory job? Donald’s gonna tell those Commies where they can float their currency, alright.

Where conservatives heard a lout you heard someone who wasn’t gelded by political correctness. Where conservatives heard lies you heard a supple mind demonstrating flexibility. Where conservatives heard a tyrant who shouldn’t be anywhere near actual military or political power you heard a New York businessman who gets things done.

Now, what you heard was mostly imaginary but that is the nature of dreams. And who wants the reality of having their government underwritten life “reformed” aka “cut”? Who wants to live in a world where the President of the United States can’t just do whatever the hell he likes Congress or no Congress; especially with such a purposeful and vigorous a man as Donald waiting to grab the reigns? Certainly not you.

You’re all romantics. Not in the Charlotte Bronte sense but in that when you read biblical stories you imagine yourselves as Daniel not the gamekeeper. You’re Lawrence ruling the desert  while astride a majestic white charger, not a faceless Arab extra on a camel. You’re never sweaty Sam making eyes and banging away on a piano — you’re wise guy Rick with the mysterious past.

So, it is with great regret I have to remind you that you are not Jesus. You didn’t heal the lame man — in that story you are the lame man.  A week after Mr. Rick and Captain Renault formed their beautiful friendship Renault’s legs had been blown off by a landmine and Rick was shot by a jumpy British sentry who was unnerved by the sight of a man wandering through the desert in an overcoat. [director’s cut. trust me.]

Romances end and someone has to scrub the toilet, mow the yard and change the baby’s diapers. Who’s going to do that? It won’t be Donald. He’ll be on the other side of town sidling up to a new babe.

Hopefully, when you’re on the rebound, conservatives will have a better understanding of who you are and what you want. Hopefully, you won’t be a burned out cynic resistant to a new suitor. That’s a lot of hope to imagine but I’m not immune to having dreams of my own.




The Crisis Part I

Let’s set up the race. A big mouth New York Progressive? Check. Former Democrat turned Socialist? Check. Republican Ohio governor? Yep. Crypto-Progressive with not so secret fascist leanings running as a conventional Democrat? Yes, sir.

Now, let me give you the year. It was 1912.

The candidates for office were Theodore Roosevelt who, after he lost his bid for the Republican nomination, ran on the Progressive ticket; Socialist Eugene V. Debs; Democrat, Woodrow Wilson; and the sitting president, Republican, William Howard Taft.

The voters went for Wilson and launched the Democratic Party on its journey towards the  , Progressive keepers of the administrative welfare state it is today. The Taft-Roosevelt clash resulted in the two factions merging over time into the hated GOPe of 2016 –an establishment with Progressive reflexes. The Socialists couldn’t win the presidency so it has settled for winning the nation’s universities.

The 1912 election was also the beginning of the divorce between black Americans and the Republican Party that would be finalized by Herbert Hoover’s “Lily White” strategy in the 1928 presidential election. After Emancipation, blacks were an immovable bloc of support for the GOP. By 1912, with the cotton fields fading in the rear view mirror blacks began having expectations of the Party they were rewarding with their hard won and precious vote. The Party, in contrast, by 1912 was beginning to have second thoughts about being branded as the black Party. A crack-up loomed.

What did the rising blacks  of 1912 want? From the leading political figure in black America at the time, W.E.B. Dubois, writing in the The Crisis:

Under normal conditions 2,000,000 of the 20,000,000 votes which might be cast at a presidential election would belong to the race, and some day, despite every effort of fraud and race prejudice, those votes are going to be cast. Today, however, of the 15,000,000 or more votes which will actually be cast for President, some 500,000 will be black men’s votes…

What price should you ask for 500,000 votes, black America? You should ask this:

1. The abolition of the Interstate Jim Crow car.

2. The enforcement of the Thirteenth Amendment by the suppression of peonage.

3. The enforcement of the Fourteenth Amendment by the cutting down of the representation in Congress of the rotten boroughs of the South.

4. National aid to elementary public schools without class or racial discrimination. 

He went on to assess the relative strength and weakness of each party fielding a candidate that year. I’ll leave out his assessments of the Socialists and Progressives. Here is Dubois, again the leading black political voice of the day whose writings and utterances were faithfully reprinted in black newspapers across the land:

The Republican party emphasizes its past relations with the Negro, the recent appointments to office, and warns against the disenfranchisement and caste system of the Democratic South. The weak point in this argument is that without the consent of Republican Presidents, Republican Congresses, and a Republican Supreme Court, Southern disenfranchisement could not survive a single day…

The Democratic party appeals for colored votes on the ground that other parties have done and are doing precisely the things that the Democratic party are accused of doing against the Negro, and this in spite of the fact that these parties receive the bulk of the Negro vote. If, therefore, the Negro expect Democratic help and support, why does he not give the Democrats his vote? The weak point here is that the invitation is at best negative; the Negro is asked to take a leap in the dark without specific promises as to what protection he may expect after the Democrats are in power…

He concluded:

In none of these cases, therefore, is the invitation satisfactory... He [the Negro voter] is asked virtually to vote:

  1. For a party which has promised and failed
  2. For a party which has failed and promised
  3. For a party which merely promises    

We sympathize with those faithful old black voters who will always vote on the Republican ticket. We respect their fidelity but not their brains…

We sincerely believe that even in the face of promises disconcertingly vague, and in the face of the solid caste-ridden South, it is better to elect Woodrow Wilson President of the United States and prove once for all if the Democratic party dares to be democratic when it comes to black men. It has proven that it can be in many Northern States and cities. Can it be in the nation? We hope so and we are willing to risk a trial. 

Under President Wilson, lynchings continued (and maybe increased) apace, and Jim Crow remained the de facto law of the land for most blacks. Blacks remained disenfranchised and their civil rights remained theoretical. Wilson, following his Progressive instincts, did however begin to federalize the black problem (i.e. bribe black voters by offering them safe haven in federally administered programs) beginning with the armed services when blacks conscripted into the Army to fight in WWI were paid the same salary as white soldiers. Black America took note. Just as it would later note (Dubois made sure it did) when President Hoover began stripping black state party heads of their posts in order to woo white voters in the South with a “lily white” version of the GOP.

Republican indolence spiked only by episodes of aggressive disdain in the face of civil oppression being suffered by its most loyal constituency is what made the black vote up for grabs. Wilson did little but issue statements about his dedication to “fair dealing” and saying black citizens had a right”to be encouraged in every possible and proper way”.  A couple of superficial statements backed by the very real gesture of equal pay for equal work is all it took to set in motion the demographic crisis the GOP faces today.

More on the Teddy to Taft to Hoover triple play that sealed black loyalty to the Demoratic party in upcoming posts — when I have time. I got bills people. I gotta work.




Trump Towers

In a little over six months an angry, over-medicated, under-informed, and generally up to no good voting public will give its misguided consent to Donald J. Trump. Once his presidency, which began by my reckoning in September of 2015,  is made official it will kick off a growth in the size, scope and use of federal power George Orwell would have dismissed as too crazy for fiction.

Oh, yes.

Trump is giving every indication that by the time this election has careened to the first Tuesday of November he will be running well to the left of Hilary Clinton. Donald is going to launch a trade war with China and anyone else that doesn’t trade “fairly”.  Hilary won’t. The Wall Mexico Is Going To Pay For may as well have “Bienvenido, Amigos”  engraved on the Mexican side because of his touchback amnesty plan. Hilary’s amnesty will be procedural and doesn’t include phony promises of draconian sideshows. Donald wants to sue newspapers (even as he wields influence over gossip sheets and niche newspapers like the New York Observer). Hilary wants to get rid of Super Pacs that are critical of her. A difference of degree not kind. Donald’s foreign policy is opaque (despite the words he was able to read in public this week — a speech some called it). Hilary is Nixonian in her paranoia and subterfuge. Neither one talks about liberty or limiting the scope of federal power. They both talk of rights only in terms of what the government is going to give you.

I’m not voting for Hilary. I’d like to joke that I’d bring her cigarettes in the joint but as sure as she is not going back to the White House she is not headed to the Big House either. Hilary belongs to the protected class — the coterie of people who don’t go to jail for felonies or misdemeanors that would sink the rest of us. The set that doesn’t get fired for incompetence or failure or fraud.

The dummies who vote in this country aren’t so sluggish that they can’t pick out who those people are and what they are getting away with in the game they’ve rigged for themselves. In their imbecilic rage they’ve decided to back the most cartoonish of the protected class as a massive hold-my-beer-while-I-do- something-foolish electoral prank.

No, if Hilary poses any future danger to us it will come from enemy actions enabled by the super secrets kept on her ladies room server. She can’t beat Trump.

I struggle to think of a dozen states Hilary will win this election. Hawaii, Washington, Oregon, California, Minnesota, Iowa, Wisconsin, Illinois, Maryland, Massachusetts, and Vermont are the locks I think. Beyond that — New Mexico? Arkansas? Louisiana? New Jersey? This is going to be a landslide election for the man with the mysterious hair. Oh, and he’ll get it with 25 percent of the black vote as I’ve long maintained. If he doesn’t I’ll buy you some mediocre barbecue in the Gaslamp District the next time I’m in San Diego.

What has made me sick in recent days is that Trump, the Progressive, is running and winning under the Republican Party banner and he is being aided and abetted by some of the biggest names in the conservative universe. I’ve been estranged from the GOP for quite some time now but this Trump boom has produced a new level of disaffection not just for the party but for what was once known as the “conservative movement”. Read Donald’s positions (as they can be discerned through the fog of non-sequiturs emitting from the hole on his face) to Rush Limbaugh without telling him they belong to Donald and watch Limbaugh go red in the face decrying the lib that is killing America. Ask immigration hawk, Senator Jeff Sessions, if he’d support touchback amnesty and I’m not sure it would take him a full second to say “No.”  Session’s name now is in the speculation hopper as a VP candidate for Donald. Man, oh, man.  I hate politics especially politics as practiced by stupid people. It is depressing.

Also trending on the depressing scale is Ted Cruz’s national Asperger Syndrome tour. You can be principled and still make allies. I didn’t say friends. I said allies. Or at least people who think you care about governing them beyond telling them to vote for you.

Senator Cruz made a closing statement in one of the early debates along the lines of what Americans have in common is we are people who have risked everything for freedom. I thought it could serve as a good ice breaker toward reaching certain voting blocs outside of the Texas Southern Baptist Convention. I happen to know someone who is in a position to relay that message to Senator Cruz and even get him to test it out. I told this person my  thoughts and asked him to speak to Cruz about it. I don’t know if he ever did but I can tell the Senator’s mind isn’t on building bridges. I was heartened when he went to the Bronx.  And I was disappointed he didn’t talk to anyone who wasn’t already going to vote for him. Cruz was never going to win New York but the fact that the nomination process had dragged on long enough to make New York votes matter presented a real life conservative with the chance to take a conservative message to audiences that don’t get to hear it, especially from a successful minority who can make the case for it.

Back to the Senate, Mr. Cruz. Next January, right after you’re done denouncing Trump’s pardon of Hilary we’ll need you to filibuster a Ryan-Pelosi-McConnell sponsored Make America Great Again Omnibus bill designed to make toupee jokes illegal.



He Had To Fly Home To Get His Pants

Don’t talk to me about affirmative-action again. No, sir. Don’t do it. Not after the fangirl support thrown at Dr. Ben Carson by the center-right this election season. The man was not, and never gave a tiny indication that he was, qualified to be President of the United States. When I pointed that out to his cheerleaders what I got back was, “He’s a good man.”

Yeah? So is my neighbor, Tim. So is Caitlyn Jenner. But no one would send checks to their (sure to be) misguided political campaigns should either decide on a run for the Oval Office.

You know who else is a good man? Barack Obama. He’s been faithfully married for 24 years and seemingly a good father. He’s a famously church-going man as well — a devout Christian who applies his faith to his politics.

Oh, not fair, huh? Not an apt comparison? You’re right. It’s unfair to President Obama. Mr. Obama was far more prepared to become President then Dr. Carson. Obama had worked in politics. He had held a political office. He had developed a coherent (I didn’t say correct) ideology that he was prepared to implement twenty minutes after he was sworn in as President of the United States.

No, I wouldn’t compare Obama to a doctor who doesn’t seem to have spent much time preparing himself to become leader of the free world but many people did. I heard it in 2014 at the Texas Republican Convention. Normally, I’m aggressively ignored at Republican gatherings (I think people think I’m with the press or an agitator waiting for provocation) but that year the convention goers were eager to seek me out to get my opinion of Dr.Ben Carson. When I would declare my non-support of the then non-candidate because I thought the man was not qualified, the sputtering amazement I got back from my interlocutors was funny and telling. It told me they believed that I had to be a Carson supporter. Had to be.

That week I saw how much of the poisonous potion of racial politics the Right had drunk — damn near the whole bottle. Lefties had got to have their moment of racial absolution by voting for a black man. Righties wanted one, too, and I (of all people) wasn’t on board? Impossible! Qualifications? We don’t need no stinkin’ qualifications. The man was born with the qualifications he needed. He got ’em from his mamma.

If, as I heard two hundred and fifty-five thousand times in 2008, Barack Obama was not qualified to hold the office of Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt and Reagan because he was inexperienced then Dr. Ben Carson certainly was not qualified either. Both men ran on biography not accomplishment. The difference is Carson has a life story that endears him to the Right. Obama doesn’t. That and their ideological bent made one loved and the other hated.

The antidote to almost criminal incompetence (if you still believe Obama is incompetent –I don’t) is not to double down on the incompetence just because backing the new bungler you like will deflect charges that you disliked the prior bungler solely because of his race. The answer, I thought conservatives believed, is to hire the best man or woman for the job.  Meritocracy and all that.

The more Dr. Carson speaks and generally carries on like Chance the Gardener, the more I wonder about who really performed all those surgeries. Mean? Well that’s nothing compared to what’ll happen to him when, in an effort to finally prove what a sharp businessman and astute judge of talent he is, Donald Trump publicly fires the good doctor after he emits another ignorant comment that makes The Donald look bad for having let him sign on as a paid endorser.

Ben Carson was not qualified to be President of the United States or head of an archaeology society. The next time I hear some media mouth doxologizing about another white firefighter losing a promotion to an unqualified minority I’m changing the channel.

Out of Many…

Long time readers will see I’m returning to a familiar theme in this post. Forgive me for some repetition. I think this is an important issue that is treated as a non-issue. I’ll be returning to it again in a (hopefully) fuller way later. 

I am not now nor have I ever been an African-American. Barack Obama, of the Kenyan father and Kansan mother, is an African-American. He is the most prominent of their kind, probably. I don’t have any allegiances to any foreign lands. I don’t accept my hyphenated status. Bifurcated citizenship is an insult. My folks are from the Ozarks. There’s nothing about me that should evoke jungles or savannas, hyenas or hippos, or lions and zebras in your minds’ eye. Yeah, my family tree is rooted in Africa but you can be sure as sunrise that tree has roots in Europe, too. The spoils of slave holding didn’t just include getting your cotton picked.

In sub-Saharan Africa, someone with my complexion would be called a white man. That’s what they called Langston Hughes when he traveled there and the Africans thought him crazy for trying to claim otherwise.

I grew up playing baseball, basketball, and football. Not soccer.

Hot dogs. Apple pie. Fireworks on the Fourth of July. Backyard barbecues and John Wayne movies. I’ve always worn blue jeans. Never robes. I grew up watching Spiderman and Batman and Bugs Bunny and Porky Pig. English is my native (and only) tongue.

When family members have taken to the field or to the seas for the United States military they all wore the Stars and Stripes. They didn’t have any special patches that indicated they were African-American soldiers or sailors. If captured, their ordeal would have been a matter for the Pentagon which is located in Virginia, U.S.A. not Lagos or Kinshasha or Nairobi.

I watch a lot of sports. I’ve never heard of a black athlete described as being an All African-American (maybe that’s coming). During the Olympics when black athletes are on the medal stand the Star Spangled Banner plays as the American flag is raised. We’d all be offended if any other song played or flag rose.

No one, anywhere on this planet, thinks of me as African except bureaucrats in the U.S. government, university academics, Leftwing politicos and the hall monitors that run human resources departments of large corporations. Although, I will admit, I have acquaintances who stumble through the seven syllables that make up the ethnic fiction I live in when describing me or someone that looks like me. I feel sorry for them. They often look relieved — if not pleased — when I inform them that I’m just an American — like them.

I shouldn’t say “just”. Being an American is a big deal. It means I have a rare privilege in human history. It means I was born into wealth 85% of the human race will never experience. It means I can speak my mind about my rulers at 3pm and not have to worry about my door being kicked in at 10pm. It means what I leave to my kids belongs to my kids. It means my daughters can dare and dream just like anyone else’s sons can. It means that though my ancestors came over in chains the natural bent of this nation was to see them set free even at the cost of oceans of blood. I share the same heritage and culture as you, my white reader, but your citizenship, your allegiance to our land and laws is not implicitly questioned as it dangles behind a grammatical marker. Does that seem right to you?

That hyphen isn’t only separating me from my national identity it is also separating me from you. Surely you’ve noticed. A hundred years ago when W.E.B Dubois was railing agains sub-standard public schools he included black and white students. When he took to the pages of The Crisis to expose and call for an end to the disenfranchisement of voters in the South he made sure it was clear that he was writing on behalf of white voters as well as black. It is not possible to even imagine today’s black intelligentsia taking up the political cause of white Americans.

But you weren’t around one hundred years ago. You were here last week though. Or last month or last year. Sometime in those spans you encountered in person, or on YouTube, or somewhere else in the internet universe, a black person who was totally alien to you — in dress, in speech, in demeanor. You wondered, “What is his/her problem?” I know you did because I have, too.  The guy you puzzled over plays the “Knockout Game”, he doesn’t wear a belt, and even though he was born and schooled here you need subtitles to understand his speech. That person’s problem, so to speak, is that he is almost completely divorced from the cultural norms we take for granted. He lives outside the realm of what we think everyone has agreed upon. What Marcus Garvey, the Black Panthers and the Nation of Islam couldn’t do the hyphen has. It is the mustard seed that has sprouted a tree so large it can house grievances of every type.

The hyphen is artificial. It is a political creation intended to create disaffection. The African in front of it is not something any of us non-political blacks would have ever added to our identity. Try to hand out free one-way tickets to Nigeria in a ghetto and see how many takers you get. Or listen close in a black barbershop or hair salon when Africa or Africans are discussed. Yeah, those are our folks but not in any near way. We are much more distant from Africa and Africans than many whites are from Europe and Italy or Ireland or Germany. Yet, we have the hyphen.

The hyphen is a concession to oppression. It makes a mockery of the commitment blacks have shown to this country. From Richard Allen to Frederick Douglas to Booker T. Washington to Jackie Robinson to Martin Luther King, Jr. the black citizens of America had one aim — to be considered fully and finally an American. Even the Socialist Dubois who renounced his citizenship and died in Africa was driven there because he saw no way of becoming the American he longed to be.

The hyphen makes for mystery where there should be familiarity. To quote James Baldwin (who would die another death if he knew someone like me quoted him so often) “what you don’t know about me is what you don’t know about yourself.” What is foreign about me is what is foreign to you about your culture and its music, its stories, its religion, its games, its food and its language. Ever read any Baldwin? Hughes? Frederick Douglas speeches? Do you know the significance of Richard Allen?  Maybe you do. I hope so. But there is a reason any time there is a Black History column on Jeopardy it is avoided like a mine field. Black history is American history but the hyphen says it belongs to Africa — a place you know isn’t yours.

What you don’t know about me is what you don’t know about your politics, about your government or about your guiding or founding principles. What you don’t know about government sponsored sterilization projects or the Tuskegee experiment is threatening to our Republic because you are missing needed lessons on how far an unchecked government will go. What you don’t know about Monroe, North Carolina or the Deacons of Defense is what you don’t know about the value of the Second Amendment.

What you don’t know about me is what you don’t know about your economics, your labor, your monetary past or your monetary future. What you don’t know about black laborers suffering under the immigration waves from Europe in the early 1900s and losing jobs as barbers and brick layers to people who just got to America a week before and couldn’t speak the language is what you don’t know about the current flirtation between black voters and Donald Trump. What you don’t know about me is what you don’t know about the creation of the minimum wage and the welfare state. What it did to me and what it is doing to you.

To look at me and not see yourself is to look into a mirror and not recognize the reflection. It is to live in delusion, denial, deceit and puerile ignorance. It’s to watch Steph Curry sink a three and think he has more in common with Nelson Mandela than you. It’s to sit through another bad Wesley Snipes movie and think his complexion is an indicator you have nothing that unites you to him because he’s dark and you’re fair and you’re an American and he’s, well obviously, an African. It’s to let the hyphen settle somewhere in your frontal lobe and germinate lies about me and about what you and I have in common and what we have to lose if we don’t finally, and at long last, separate American from pigment and ancestry.


The Apostle Ted

I don’t know what Ted Cruz is doing. I voted for him when Texas held its Republican Presidential Primary but I wasn’t overjoyed to do so. And it wasn’t because I think the Republic needs him keeping the Mitches in the Senate honest more than it needs him in the White House. I don’t like his campaign or the way he is campaigning.

Reagan Democrats, Ted, really? The youngest Reagan Democrat to have actually voted for Ronald Reagan is at least 50 years old now. Most Reagan Democrats are probably in their 70s. Or more probably dead.

Senator Cruz’s dad, Raphael, speaks with a combustive passion unknown in nature. Is Ted Elisha to his Elijah? Does the Senator think he can raise the dead? He’s running for President as if our electoral choices are him or Baal. All the sectarian nostalgia is making it hard for me to get excited about a Cruz presidency and, ideologically speaking, I should be aflame for Ted. Truthfully, I’m not.

Here’s a nearly verbatim conversation I had recently with an upper-middle class executive:

Me: What are you looking for in a candidate?

Him: Someone who respects gun rights. I own guns and I hunt on occasion. Someone who will respect the Constitution and not try to end run it like Obama. Someone who will do something about our illegal immigration problem.

Me [thinking]: This guy is a Cruz voter.

Me [speaking]: Who’d you vote for, if you don’t mind telling me?

Him: Rubio.

Me: Really? Not Cruz? You sound like a Cruz voter.

Him: Cruz doesn’t want my vote. When he announced his candidacy at Liberty University I knew he was going for all the Baptists. I’m not a Baptist. And his speeches about the Body of Christ and all that. I already have a pastor.

From what I know of the Cruz campaign it sounds as though it operates like the Houston Rockets. The Rockets are run by Daryl Morey, a general manager in thrall to analytics. Basically, in the NBA, analytics works like this: three pointers are worth more than two pointers so shoot more threes. Layups and free throws are high percentage shots so stock your team with players who can get to the basket and who can draw fouls and get to the line. And play fast so you get more possessions. 3s, + layups + free throws = championship. The Rockets are headlined by a player, James Harden, who is the embodiment of the analytics age — an unstoppable offensive force.

They are in 7th place.

It is reported that the Rockets’ locker room is a snake pit. The players hate each other and won’t play hard for the coaches or one another. It seems Mr. Morey forgot players are people first and not merely units of measurement. I think the Cruz campaign has made the same error. They go on and on about their targeted ground game and state of the art supporter identification. They forgot voters have to like you and want to sign up for your program. Senator Cruz is not in seventh place but many of the real, live people who should be his backers have little to no connection with him.

If I were advising Senator Cruz I would tell him I’d rather him lose than become a Right wing Barack Obama. Obama is President of the Democratic Party who has the privilege of speaking for the United States. He won by turning out his base and he rules by keeping ideological animus on boil. Cruz has a stronger libertarian bent than he has shown and is more likely to let federalism solve our intractable political problems than try to grind out pyrrhic partisan victories. But I’d be surprised if many voters know that. I’d tell him voters are looking for reasons to believe in you, Ted, not reasons to believe. Save the altar calls.


A Premature Told You So

During my last months of  suffering through an acute bout of mental affliction and unbridled cynicism I refer to as “having a Twitter account” I said a couple of things about Donald Trump. One, I said he would get around 25% of the black vote should he be the GOP candidate in November 2016. I stand by that assessment. Diamond and Silk and the Ditch and Switch campaign give me lasting confidence in that assertion. Two, I said that Donald Trump was already President of the United States. I tweeted that back in September, I believe. I don’t have cable or satellite television so in my world news and pop culture has to be (I’m gonna type it this way for the first and last time — forgive me) yuuuuuge for it to reach my personal Guantanamo. Obama barely registers. So I can imagine that it’s all Trump all the time for the rest of you. Trump is the prime mover in our post-Constitutional world i.e. President/Chief Executive/media circus master. Yeah, I was right. No, I can’t believe it either.

I also used to fulminate in 140 characters or less (and on this blog) about how the conservative movement was a hollowed out racket.  I think I’ve been proven right about that, too. Let me pause here because I can’t type and pat my back simultaneously… Done. I didn’t pat for very long because that has been obvious to anyone that has ever encountered a “movement” conservative or one of their organizations over the last ten years. And we all got a taste of the self-dealing,  the rent seeking and  the scam artistry of phonies who learned the conservative lingo to sell T-shirts, books, radio programs and web sites back in the mid-90s when the Contract With America was stuffed down the memory hole for incineration.

Conservative organizations don’t have people. My old boss, the great Robert Woodson, used to illustrate that by using the fight over federal speed limits. Brooks Brothers clad conservatives won every argument. Ralph Nader won public opinion. Conservatives had data. Nader had crying mothers and bloody fenders. That’s why you were driving 55 miles per hour when you had been driving 75 or 80. I have written (over and over) about the lamentable case of Kelly Williams-Bolar who was thrown in jail in the Son of a Postman’s Ohio for lying about her address so she could send her daughters to a better public school.  To this day, Ms. Williams-Bolar remains unknown to all of the keyboard tough guys and education reform warriors who huff and puff about Democrats’ control of the education system. They had a chance to make an ally with Ms. Williams-Bolar and the millions like her but they missed the Rosa Parks of her generation probably because they had an urgent conference to attend at Heritage about school choice.

Now, all of the above is connected. If you have to ask me how, well, you shouldn’t be driving and I’m very, very surprised you can read. I’ll be back to blogging about it in the coming months.

“Just in time!” you shouted.

Ha, ha. See? Trump or no, we can still laugh.