By Kevin D. Williamson
Sunday, July 31, 2016
A favorite National
Review chengyu is “tallest building in Wichita,” which is derived from
William F. Buckley’s response to Gary Wills’s claim that Lillian Hellman, the
blacklisted Hollywood Communist, was “America’s greatest living female
playwright.” That’s a lot of modifiers separating “greatest” and “playwright.”
Hillary Rodham Clinton is without a doubt the greatest
current female American major-party presidential nominee.
It is dumb but, for whatever reason (it isn’t entirely
ununderstandable), we place great significance on those qualifiers, which is
why that endless parade of witless cow-eyed hacks participating in and
reporting on the Democratic National Convention beamed so dopily about the fact
that an American political party had nominated as its presidential candidate a
person with a genital configuration common to slightly more than half of the
human race 37 years after Margaret Thatcher became the British prime minister,
47 years after Golda Meir became the Israeli prime minister, 50 years after
Indira Gandhi became the Indian prime minister, 18 years after Ruth Dreifuss became
president of Switzerland, etc.
If elected, Mrs. Clinton will replace Barack Obama, who
was our first black president, albeit a black president with a white mother and
a grandmother who was, in his words, a “typical white person.” (Unlike
President Obama, I’ve never met a typical white person.) When Obama was
nominated, we were assured by the high and mighty that that, too, was a moment
in which we were “making history.”
Did we?
There is some symbolic importance to Obama’s election and
Mrs. Clinton’s nomination, to be sure. But black Americans are not today
remarkably better off than before Obama’s inauguration, and it is not clear at
all that Obama’s presidency did anything to improve race relations in the
United States; there is in fact much more evidence that his habit of cynically
and stupidly fanning the flames of racial resentment for his own political ends
made things worse.
Probably not a lot worse, though. Presidents are not as
important as we think they are, and not half as important as they think they
are. America’s black leadership and its would-be black leadership are in the
midst of a political convulsion that has thrown up a great deal of asininity
and irresponsibility in the form of Black Lives Matters and allied movements,
but that doesn’t have much to do with the complexion of the president. It has
more to do with the fact that large-scale immigration and the new social
prominence of Hispanic and homosexual interest groups is eroding
African-Americans’ historical position as the living barometer of American
liberalism. For centuries, the racial conversation in the United States was
black and white, notwithstanding the occasional atrocity against the Indians or
a Chinese Exclusion Act or three. Now that conversation is something else, and
this is a source of anxiety for black leaders who do not wish to see their role
in the nation’s affairs reduced to that of a Choctaw chief with no casino.
Mrs. Clinton’s nomination will have a similarly
negligible effect on the lives of American women. It isn’t exactly a Muppet
News Flash that women can run for high office in these United States: You can
be Sarah Palin and be on a major-party ticket and be called a “c**t” by all the
nice people who will be urging you to vote for Mrs. Clinton as a show of solidarity
with women. You can be a woman and do a hell of a lot better job running
PepsiCo than Mrs. Clinton did running the State Department. You can be a woman
and be seriously considered for the Republican nomination in spite of a
slightly short political curriculum vitae. You can be a woman and be a Marine.
If your daughter didn’t already know that she could grow
up and make of her life whatever her dreams and abilities allow, and learned
otherwise only upon seeing a dreadful politician take the next step in her
dreadful career, that isn’t a failure of a patriarchal society. You’re just a
bad father.
Mrs. Clinton’s nomination will mean relatively little to
women as such for the same reason that Barack Obama’s presidency has had little
effect on black Americans as such: because these are large, diverse groups of
people with wildly different backgrounds, economic interests, political
preferences, and dreams. Nigerian-American Mormon entrepreneurs in Maryland and
writers from Caribbean backgrounds in Texas and half-Kenyan politicians in
Illinois and 17-year-old women in North Philadelphia are not a coherent unitary
group, and neither is the female half of the American polity. These are crude
categories used crudely by crude people for crude ends. What ends? Getting you
to give them what they want by tricking you into believing that you are doing
something for yourself by investing power and status in people with whom you
share trivial personal characteristics and who in fact view you in purely
instrumental terms.
If you think Mrs. Clinton “cares about women,” ask
Juanita Broaddrick or Gennifer Flowers.
There will be much talk in the coming months in the form
of this question: “Isn’t it time we elected a woman president?” But the
question isn’t whether to elect a woman president; it is whether to elect this woman president, and the answer to
that question among sane and sensible people is: “Not if we can help it.”
Yes, Mrs. Clinton is the first female major-party
presidential nominee. At some point (perhaps not too far in the future) we will
have our first Hispanic nominee, our first Hispanic and female nominee, our
first Indian-American nominee, our first Jewish nominee (so close, Barry
Goldwater!), our first homosexual nominee, etc. We could have had our first
“black, Puerto Rican, one-eyed, Jewish” nominee if only Sammy Davis Jr. had
lived in our era, when celebrity is considered a qualification for public
office.
If the best you can say for your candidate is that she’d
be the first to lug a pair of ovaries over the finish line, that isn’t much.
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