
I may, of course, have missed some crucial nuance – but I am pretty damned good at crucial nuances – and I can only find the current cover of
The New Yorker ill-conceived, off-target, and moronic. Aside from being appalled by
The New Yorker’s frightening inability to discern where the line between satire and stupidity actually occurs, I can’t resist perversely asking what is so fucking wrong with being either a Moslem or an ideological descendant of Angela Davis? But digging deeper, I have to wonder if this isn’t really the product of a coy liberal racism that undeniably works beneath the platitudes and cocktail parties of the progressive. I figure it’s akin the friends who tell me the stumbling, potato-resembling McCain will be the next president because middle America will never elect a black man to the White House. They may be right, but some seem to exhibit a kind of the concealed pleasure on the pronouncement as though it reassures them to know that middle America is a swamp of racist fear. As an unreconstructed anarchist I have to believe that the people are somehow better than that and, at the very least, self-interest and the knowledge that a McCain administration would reduce the USA to chaos, depression, and abject poverty, faster than a falling Soviet Union, will place them grudgingly behind Obama. Or is total collapse what’s needed before change can come?
And talking of McCain, how does being shot down and tossed in a POW camp for five years qualify one as a military genius? Okay, so he was unlucky but…
The secret word has to be
Revolt