By Jonah Goldberg
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
My old friend Vincent Cannato, an accomplished historian,
wrote his first book on John Lindsay, the one-time liberal golden boy and mayor
of New York City. The details don’t matter right now, but the gist was that
Lindsay was a flawed mayor who contributed to New York’s problems. Lindsay to
this day has passionate defenders, and when Vin’s book came out it was not
received well by the Lindsay caucus. The upshot of their argument was “Shut up,
everything was awesome in New York City, right through Lindsay’s last day, and
then the city went to Hell on January 1, 1974.”
The whole episode has been coming to mind of late as the
reality of Trump’s victory — and Hillary’s loss — sinks in across the left. For
decades, the old joke was that homelessness “spikes” under Republican
administrations, solely because the New
York Times and Washington Post
were blind to the homeless invisible under Democrats but, under Republicans,
they are a living indictment of “trickle down economics.” We’ve already seen
that the deficit is now a big problem for Paul Krugman, who, a few months ago,
insisted that a President Hillary Clinton should do even more stimulus
spending.
But what I find particularly jarring is how, 24 hours
after Trump was sworn in, the last eight years under the first black president
seemed to have vanished from American consciousness and how some people seem to
think the racial climate in America is worse than ever, or poised to be.
A case in point. I had the misfortune of catching the end
of Melissa Harris-Perry’s poem-essay-thingamabob at the Women’s March on
Saturday. The basic set-up is this: She took some students to D.C. There was
one of those psychotic guys with a bullhorn shouting crazy stuff on the street.
And I’ll let her do the rest:
While we were trapped in this area
with the gray skies and drizzling rain overhead a man on a loudspeaker about a
block away was shouting about murderous Muslims, baby-killing abortion doctors,
and Hilary Clinton’s need to repent. Other than that it was silent. Trump
supporters were not chatting happily with each other as Obama supporters had
done in inaugurations past. No one was playing music. Just gray skies, high
fences, and loudspeakers spewing hate.
Lauren, one of my students, turned
to me and said, “Is this normal?”
I knew what she was asking. Having
never been to an inauguration before, she was asking me, as her professor, if
this is the way inaugurations always proceed. Should she be worried? I could
sense her rising panic, because I felt it too.
“Is this normal?”
I had to decide to answer.
Do I say, No?
We’re Americans. We move freely and
joyfully at inaugurations, celebrating the choices made in voting booths across
our land, knowing that even if we did not prevail this time, [we] will have
another chance in just a few years. Even the losers in our democracy know we
will we shape our arguments, get new candidates, assess our tactics, but that
our liberty is secured by documents centuries old and instantiated in the very
soil on which we stand.
Or do I say, Yes?
Yes, this is normal. We are
Japanese Americans. We were ripped from our homes, our property stolen, labeled
enemies of the state even as or sons fought and died in war. We shivered in
horse stalls at the racetrack as we waited to be shipped to American
concentration camps.
Yes, this is normal. We are black
Americans. Our tax dollars build glittering edifices we cannot enter and solid prisons
we cannot exit. We pay the salaries of those who slaughter us. We have never
moved freely across this free land. We came shackled in the hulls of ships,
were pushed into Jim Crow’s crowded ghettos, and are even now pinned in the
penitentiaries of profits.
Yes, this is normal. We are women.
Every boy and man lays claim to our bodies. The state’s compelling interest
lays claim to what’s inside us. Some supposedly woke fool calls us the
community’s greatest resource while he uses us up. Fathers, brothers, dates,
and strangers will pin us, trap us, and silence us as we struggle, then call us
liars if we tell.
Yes, this is normal. We are
children. So precious as embryos, irrelevant once born. No one even asks what
we want before imposing change on us. Assuming we can’t possibly have a
preference or deserve a voice.
Yes, this is normal. We are the
undocumented. Separated. Walled. Removed. Voiceless. Betrayed by friends and
foes alike.
Yes, this is normal. We are Sikh.
Turbans of faith misidentified. Slaughtered in silence.
Yes, this is normal, we are
Muslims. Called enemy, deemed foreign, tested, registered, rejected.
Yes, this is normal, we are queer.
Our very being deemed unnatural, our love unworthy, our families laughable, our
identities criminal.
Yes, this is normal. We are
disabled. Locked out of homes, and jobs, and classrooms, and sidewalks.
I did not know what to say. Is this
normal?
We are going to decide today if
this is normal.
I think this is all really quite inane and morally
grotesque. In no way whatsoever — literally, figuratively, theoretically,
hypothetically, phantasmagorically — was the Women’s March poised to decide
whether or not blacks can be slaves, Japanese Americans interned in
concentration camps, women forced into sexual slavery, etc. It’s all unalloyed
paranoid nonsense, even if you allow for “poetic” license.
What is remarkable about this applauded drivel is that it
collapses this thing sane people call “time” into an undifferentiated mass of
collective white male sin and minority suffering. Nothing is forgotten, time
heals no wounds. It rejects both the idea of progress and the fact of progress in order to elicit an unjustified and
ridiculous emotional response of grievance and oppression.
This is a perspective that Barack Obama himself always
rejected, insisting that many on the left refuse to acknowledge the extent of
racial progress in this country. Yet the moment he walks out the door, all of
that progress — including his own presidency — becomes either provisional or
non-existent for Harris-Perry. Yes, there was a lot of griping and writing
about “white privilege” and whatnot during the Obama years. As Jon Gabriel put
it a couple years ago:
“My favorite part about the Obama era is all the racial
healing.”
But what does it say that, after eight years of Obama’s
transformational leadership, some of his biggest fans think — at least in some
figurative, imaginary, paranoid way — that slavery and other evils are once
again live questions in American life? Everyone here knows I am not Donald
Trump’s biggest booster, but he is not poised, or interested in, dragooning
blacks into the hulls of ships, and suggesting otherwise with haughty
sanctimony to great applause is not the path back to winning the White House
for Democrats.
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