Archive for March, 2009

On Meghan McCain

March 19th, 2009

Why we care what John McCain’s daughter says.

Yep.  Out of all the news stories out there, the shallow one caught my interest.  But really, the economy is going down the tubes, the world is going socialist, and America may not survive long enough to vote Barry Carter out of office in 2012.  What else is there but to quibble over the details?  What really matters is that John McCain’s daughter thinks Republicans are too right-wing.  For those of you who haven’t been paying attention, Meghan McCain wrote a column a week and a half ago which implied that Ann Coulter uses hate, negativity, and scare tactics, and said that watching her is sometimes like watching a train wreck.  Even worse, Republicans like Coulter make it difficult for the Party to reach out to young Americans.  This made McCain an instant media darling.  Laura Ingraham picked up on this and made a snide remark about McCain’s weight.  Ms. McCain retorted by telling her to “kiss my fat a**,” on The View.  She’s still a media darling.  That’s the short story. 

Before I get on with it, conservatives should stop talking about Meghan’s looks.  I’ve seen this on message boards and it’s a stupid approach.  First of all, she’s not unattractive.  Line her up against eco-feminists or the women at Code Pink and see if making fun of her appearance makes sense.  Second of all, it’s irrelevant.  You think I read Robert Bork because he’s cute? 

On the surface, what Meghan McCain says shouldn’t matter to conservatives.  She’s really no different from any 24-year old upper-middle class kid—for all the different places she’s been, she’s not apparently worldly.  She blogs about what every privileged, college-age woman is likely to write about: dating, music, and her overseas trips to places like Vietnam.  She’s solicited opinions on what tattoo she should get to commemorate her time on her father’s campaign trail.  She wearily portrays herself as a victim of “socially accepted prejudice,” because Laura Ingraham called her “plus-sized.”  It’s a sign of immaturity that her instinct isn’t to deflect Ingraham’s intemperate jab by stating it doesn’t matter what some radio host thinks of her body type, but to instead take shelter in platitudes about prejudice and inner beauty.  In short, we’re not dealing with a seasoned veteran like William Kristol here, so why does Ms. McCain get under our skin?

The reason McCain’s ideological dilettantism is troubling is that it reflects the Republican break from conservative values.  Since the conservative movement became self-conscious somewhere around the mid-20th century, the Republican Party has been the only major party conservatives can consider a safe haven.  Even that’s been tenuous, as a good number of Republicans have been willing to walk barefoot on lava to disassociate themselves from conservatism since the days of Barry Goldwater.  A pessimist could argue that the Republican Party has never really been conservative, with the exception of Ronald Reagan’s ascendency, which began in 1976 and ended as soon as he handed the reins to George H.W. Bush in 1988.  If both the Democrats and Republicans reject conservative values, America will risk becoming Europe, a self-hating western democracy without the courage or the cultural I.Q. to sustain itself (By cultural I.Q., I don’t mean the ability to impress socialites with Seinfeld trivia.  I mean a deep familiarity with one’s cultural heritage). 

I won’t say Ms. McCain isn’t serious, but it’s fair to presume her attachment to the Republican Party is more affective than intellectual.  On one hand, she describes herself as “Republican spawn,” against everything the liberals she knows on Facebook believe in.  On the other hand, she proclaims that she’s proud of not being “conservative enough,” according to the popular myth that being against things like gay marriage is “old-school.”  In this sense, Michelle Malkin is right.  Meghan McCain seems to have no ideological principles, just a working, incomprehensible version of moral relativism, which causes her to claim that Ann Coulter’s brashness makes her bad, but the equally abrasive Russell Brand is “freaking hilarious.”  Who’s Russell Brand?  He’s the British comedian whose Schick is to mock worldliness by making fun of American conservatives.  That doesn’t narrow it down?  Hmm…I thought you had to be original to be popular with young people.   Anyway, a Republican laughing at Russell Brand is like a feminist laughing at Andrew Dice Clay as he’s going on about “broads.”  It doesn’t make sense unless the audience doesn’t sympathize with whoever’s being made fun of.  For Meghan McCain, this is a problem, because if she doesn’t relate to conservatives, she’s going to have a lot of trouble understanding what it’ll take to get them to reach out to young people. 

McCain’s attack on Coulter is little more than self-assuredly clever, water-cooler conservatism.  McCain claims that Coulter perpetuates negative stereotypes about Republican women, and proceeds to take the same bait liberals take by misunderstanding Coulter’s comment about perfecting Jews as anti-Semitic sensationalism.  She berates Coulter for not having the GOP’s best interests at heart, when all conservatives are generally more loyal to principles than any power-hungry political party.  This is the girl who risked embarrassing Republicans this month when she said on Rachel Maddow’s MSNBC show that she doesn’t know enough about economics to have a strong opinion about them, then turned around and said on Fox & Friends, “This second stimulus package that Nancy Pelosi’s talking about I think doesn’t make sense.”  Her inexperience coupled with her high profile is a red meat generator for left-wing hecklers, who seem to enjoy Republican vulnerability more than sex.  If McCain had a better grasp of her ideals, she could have at least given thoughtful reasons for feeling wary about the rumored bill. 

I’m no stranger of being critical of Ann Coulter, so I’m not angry at McCain for doing the same.  But my biggest beef with Ann is that she hit her literary peak with Treason, and hasn’t matched it since.  My critique of Coulter is substantive, but I’m also a huge fan of hers.  In many ways, I’m not much different from Metallica fans who feel disappointed that every new album James Hetfield and co. release doesn’t stand up to the classic “Master of Puppets.”   Meghan McCain’s critique of Coulter is similarly personal.  In the column that propelled her to fame, Meghan doesn’t cite anything about Coulter except her demeanor and a couple of her controversial statements.  Meghan’s post gives us no reason to believe she has read any one of Coulter’s books, or is familiar with what the polemical figurehead writes in her weekly column.  McCain only uses Coulter to illustrate what she doesn’t like about her brand new party (she registered as a Republican last father’s day).

This leads us to another problem.  Every young conservative wants to be the edgy, new-fashioned right-winger who finally gets young people to register as Republicans.  So they ignore decades of impressive conservative thought and instead attempt to redefine the entire movement along the lines of trendy, often liberal sensibilities.  Most of the time this manifests itself in libertarian types who don’t relate to the religious right.  Heck, I was guilty of the same thing once in my life.  But here’s what the neophyte crusaders for a new conservative movement always miss.  Firstly, there’s no such thing as a “progressive” conservative.  The two ideals are polar opposites; even liberalism is more compatible with conservatism than progressivism.  At best, progressives are ideologically agnostic (or nihilistic), which makes them susceptible to every bad left-wing idea they come in contact with (think FDR).  At worst, progressivism is an aggressive, statist enterprise which has little use for the United States Constitution as it limits their ability to remake America in their egalitarian image.  Woodrow Wilson is progressive, and he may have been the most anti-conservative president in American history.  The fact Meghan McCain doesn’t comprehend the incompatibility between small-government traditionalism and big-government social engineering is telling. 

Secondly, the majority of older gen-Xers, my generation, supported Ronald Reagan (60% of voters under 30 voted for Reagan in 1984).  This scared the hell out of the media, who didn’t know what to make of it.  Yet Ronald Reagan was a genial, white, old man; he was certainly not a conservative “punk,” “progressive,” “moderate,” or whatever other cloak insecure conservatives wrap themselves in order to appeal to shallow people.  That’s fine.  We don’t want the Daily Show brats on our side!  We don’t want young anti-hippies in knit caps vandalizing Priuses.  We don’t want the twenty-years old wearing Che Guevara t-shirts to start sporting Tim McVeigh’s visage.  Conservatism should rise and fall along with the character of the American people.   We don’t need to be “progressive,” we need to be smart, brave, and above all, able to defend and promote conservatism.  We need to spend more time reading Mises, and less time jeering Ann Coulter. 

Ronald Reagan took conservatism, something that’s always been unfairly derided as outdated and bigoted, and made it popular (if only for a short while) by articulately promoting it without apology.  He didn’t need to become more “moderate” in order to reach out to people.  He just needed to be himself, without rancor, and without anxious pleading.  Meghan McCain seems smart, but from what she’s written online, she’s also obviously inexperienced, and unmistakably unfamiliar with conservatism.  Meghan McCain can’t recite the underlying philosophy behind the American right any more than I can write an ad hoc historical essay about Yugoslavian chess champions.  Yet she’s been a Republican for less than a year, and she’s already convinced she knows which direction her party should go to win future elections.  She’s like a cocky rookie quarterback telling the coach, in front of his entire team, that his playbook sucks. 

In light of all this, Meghan, I have a respectful plea.  If you have the bravery to tell conservatives they’re too extreme, then please have the character to read a few books about the movement first.  If you can discern why conservatives oppose stem-cell research, if you can recall on what grounds conservatives disagree with gay marriage, if you can understand Ann Coulter’s appeal beyond her controversial sound bites, and then turn around and tell me why you think they’re wrong, then maybe you’ll have the authority to tell me and everyone like me we’re too extremist for our own good. 

 

 

Cross-posted at logo-l-web

 

If This Doesn’t Scare You, I’m Not Trying Hard Enough.

March 16th, 2009

Mackinnonese: What Conservatives Would Sound Like If They Wrote Like Feminists. 

The spookiest thing I’ve ever read is Catherine MacKinnon’s opening to Only Words (1987), her articulate anti-pornography polemic.  MacKinnon is both a Marxist and a feminist, so it makes sense that her rhetoric displays an eerie fixation on victimhood, an obsessive regression reminiscent of the psychological horror conveyed in a classic episode of the Twilight Zone. 

 

The opening paragraphs to the short book form an intense, poetic narrative, a spotlight into the feminist id.  They’re marked by overly dramatic language, occasional vulgarity (as MacKinnon is known to use) and disturbing sexual imagery (Which is why I’m not dragging ModCon down with this post).  I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to post this, but since I don’t care about being timely anymore, here it is.  The first pages of Only Words, if only they were written by a conservative.  If this doesn’t creep liberals out, they’re not paying attention. 

 

Imagine that since the start of the 20th century, your most formative traumas, your daily suffering and the intimidation you live with, are unspeakable—improper for serious discussion.  You grow up with your peers complaining how insensitive your sincerity is, so an authority figure can punish you using a creative interpretation of tolerance.  When you are older, dickless comedians will scour all of your recorded statements for opportunities to embarrass you.  Despite the heartfelt vitriol on their end, they’ll insist that you not take them seriously. 

 

You can’t really tell anyone.  When you try to speak of these things, you’re told that they didn’t happen; you imagined it; your fathers did it to their fathers for years.  Textbooks say this.  No textbooks will recall what happened to you.  Laws say this.  No law imagines what is happening to you, the way it is happening.  You live your whole life wondering why a silent echo follows both your most feverish screams and your most articulate pleas. 

 

In this century-plus of silence, pictures of you are made while these things are being done.  Every time the pressure of being hated breaks you, making your arguments inchoate, you hear the journalists scribbling and the populists giggling.  You always know that your lowest, if still human moments are out there somewhere.  Sold, or traded, or passed around a classroom, or archived in a newsroom.  In them, your basest and most vulnerable moments are made immortal.  Someone, anyone, could see you this way.  What they felt as they watched you and used your worst moments to define you and your friends is being done again and lived again and felt again through pictures.  Your violation becomes a deep well to draw their arousal from.  Your unraveling becomes their pleasure.  Watching you is how they get off; with their pictures they can watch you and get off any time. 

 

Slowly, then suddenly, hope emerges; maybe they’ll treat you as a human being—maybe you will be believed.  You find a guarded way of bringing it up; maybe, just maybe, the pictures of you are perhaps slander?  You find that the pictures, far from recording the way you’ve been betrayed, are fuel, “proof” of your hatred and idiocy.  Those who see you being violated only experience their own pleasure.  They do not feel your pain as pain any more than those who recorded you being hurt felt it.  The pictures, surrounded by a shining halo of false insight and false revolution—false because they’re not intellectual and certainly not unfamiliar—have become the authority on your role in the debate.  They are called the record of your experience, a sign for ideology, your ideology itself.  In a very real way, they have made your beliefs be what they are imagined to be by those who use you and their images of you interchangeably. 

 

In this way, their images are not so different from the videos and transcripts which came before—but your use for the camera gives the images a special credibility, a deep verisimilitude, an even stronger claim to truth, to being incontrovertibly about you.  They happened to you; there they are.  You can’t hide it, hide from it, or modify it.  Because you are needed for these images, the providers of them will prod and antagonize you just to get new documentation of their imagination of you. 

 

Finally, somehow, you meet other conservatives.  Their teachers, friends, and co-workers also saw the images, liked them, beat off to them, and tried to bait your friends into acting out those images live.  “Bush is an idiot” the predators would screech over and over, less an expression of what they believe than a way to preserve distance between us and them.  They burn your flags, dip your crosses in urine, and insult the contributions of your intellectuals—just waiting for you to lapse and prove that you are what the images say you are.  It is only proper for them to look at your conservatism through a paranoid prism—our preachers say “a salt ministry,” and they hear “assault ministry.”  The same defensiveness that was forced on you is forced on your friends; the same silent civility you found necessary just to interact with them has also been adopted by your friends.  There is, you find, a whole industry producing and selling darkly romantic images of you and your friends.  They call it a necessity, acting as if they’re oblivious to your unpopularity, which they’ve worked very hard to cultivate.

 

When any of your friends tries to tell what is happening, they are told it didn’t happen; they imagined it; they’re acting out of class interests.  Your unwillingness to define people according to their race becomes racism.  The recordings prove it.  See, he’s not ashamed of being against reparations.  Besides, they say, why focus on the images, which are only symptoms of your irrationality?  Even if you are being wronged, what’s keeping you from defending yourself?  It’s not as if you’ll be shouted down by self-righteous students, be ridiculed by passive-aggressive entertainers, or be forced to abandon your livelihood.  The images themselves do nothing, they’re just free speech—you taking offense means nothing.  Go make your own images, just as long as it doesn’t offend them. 

 

Putting to one side what this progression from isolation to cultural repression does to your sense of reality, personal security, and place within a community, not to mention faith in humanity, consider what it does to one’s relation to expression:  to language, speech, the world of thought and communication.  You learn that language does not belong to you, that you cannot use it to say what you know; knowledge cannot be what you’ve learned.  Information is not made out of your experiences; it can’t be if your conclusions are radically different from theirs.  You learn that talking about what has happened to you does not count as dialogue, but as “hate-mongering.”  You learn that your reality is postmodern—defined by entertainment media, totally exposed but invisible, screaming yet inaudible, never disproven but eternally “indefensible.”  You learn that debate is not an opportunity for you to be heard, but a forum for them to belittle and talk down to you. 

 

Your relationship to politics is like shouting at a movie.  “Don’t follow the axe-murder outside!” you scream.  The audience acts as though nothing has been said; they keep their eyes fixed towards the front while many feel disturbed and embarrassed for you.  The action on screen continues as if nothing has occurred.  As the echo of your voice dies in your ears, you feel ashamed about saying anything.  Soon even you being to wonder if your experience is legitimate; it has no effect on the world surrounding you. 

 

This is the right-wing version of life imitating art: your life is the left’s text.  To survive, you learn shame and how to cover it with rhetorical concessions; you learn meekness, how to make inefficacy seductive, and the habit of only opening up in like-minded circles.  You learn how to betray your ideals and substitute others when you cannot stand being put down anymore.  You develop a self who is ingratiating (ignoring their ingratitude) obsequious (ignoring their thirst for power) imitative (ignoring their unwillingness to empathize) and reluctantly passive (ignoring their proud hectoring)—in short, you learn how to express conservatism. 

 

So it turns out I don’t like blogging very much.

March 16th, 2009

 

Hi, Mom!  I bet you’ve noticed I’m not updating my blog very often.  Well, after a little more than a month of blogging, I’ve decided that it’s not for me.  This doesn’t mean I’m giving up The Sword and the Olive Branch.  I thought of the name first, and it’s too good to let go and risk letting some insecure douchebag turn it into another left-wing circle jerk.  Besides, I’ll still have something to post every lunar eclipse (and I’ll still be cross-posting those occasional items on Modern Conservative until further notice). 

I underestimated how much work it takes to be a good blogger.  I expected to hit the ground running, my writing meshing seamlessly with my blogging.  Instead, it takes me hours to post three short paragraphs and cross-post it on Modern Conservative.  In fact, here’s a synopsis of every weekday of my first month of blogging. 

1.  Wake up at 5:15 a.m. (sometimes 5:30) to go to work at 6:00. 

2. Work.  Spend lunch catching up on the news.  Hopefully find something worth writing about. 

3.  Leave work between 3:00 p.m. and 4:00ish.  Eat a snack.  Talk to my girlfriend. 

4.  If I found something worth writing about during lunch, I’ll research it.  Half the time I’ll find out whatever I thought may have been interesting really wasn’t, and I will have to resort to step five.

5.  If I didn’t find something interesting during lunch, or gave up on what I first had in mind, I’ll go over to Feministing to see if they have any unintentionally funny material.  I’ve been waiting for an overwrought, poetic narrative, ala Andrea Dworkin, to pop up (I have a perfect response ready for it whenever it happens) but to their credit, the chicks at feministing are less melodramatic than their older, second-wave sisters.  If I don’t find anything there, I’ll troll the internet (for longer than I’m willing to admit here) looking for something relevant to write about. 

6.  I will eventually either write a short piece about current events, or I’ll finish off something I’ve had simmering in the mental crock-pot for a few days.  This takes hours, for I’m not an efficient writer. 

7.  I will look for typos and edit my post (No, this isn’t redundant to me). 

8.  I will look for typos and edit my post, again. 

9.  I will tell my girlfriend why I’m not asleep yet.  Half-asleep, she will kindly help me look for typos and edit my post. 

10.  I will post on my website first.

11.  I will look for typos one last time before I have to correct them on two websites. 

12.  Satisfied, I will post the same thing at Modern Conservative.

13.  I will find a typo. 

14.  Fuck!

15.  I will correct the typos. 

16.  Finally, I tentatively shut down the computer while several things are still spinning in my head (did I catch all the grammatical mistakes?  Is it formatted correctly?  Are all the links the same color?)

17.  I will go to sleep somewhere between midnight and 3:00 a.m., only to wake up before 6:00 a.m. to start the entire process again. 

 If it isn’t evident, the effort I put into blogging isn’t worth the reward.  This isn’t a bitter “I’m not getting any traffic, so give me pity” post.  While I’m sure it would be slightly more difficult to cut my losses if I had more readers, the time I put into my little on-line diary isn’t worth the time it takes away from everything else.  Besides, I’m conservative, so I take victimhood too seriously to cynically use it as a tool for eliciting sympathy from others. 

I’m still going to occasionally contribute something online, and I’m still going to read blogs and keep a close eye on my favorite blogs, especially my air family.  Although from now on, I’m going to show a complete disregard for blogging etiquette.  Since I didn’t get it in the first place, this won’t take any effort.  Oh, and if I haven’t answered your e-mail yet, it’s because I haven’t looked at my website’s inbox since February.  Sooner or later I’ll find the sheet of paper with my e-mail password on it.  Probably later, when I feel like deleting 84,000 messages asking me if I want to approve spam.  

To be honest, I am upbeat.  I think my short blogging career (I am using this in the glibbest sense) has caused me to move on to something more my style.  Somewhere in between my junior year and my John Belushi (second senior) year of college, I realized that all I truly want is to get a master’s degree and some teaching credentials so I can become a professor at a small college.  The more I reflect on my experience blogging, the more I think that if I’m willing to get four hours of sleep a night for no tangible benefit, I can work just as hard for a college degree that will pay off in the long run.  So what not just apply again, and actually go to the school after I’m admitted?

The idea of teaching the little I know, combined with learning every day on the job, is something of a dream to me.  Sure, I’ll have to deal with self-righteous twenty-year olds, but that’s what the shotgun is for (just kidding).  I want to grow intellectually every day for the rest of my life; one of the best opportunities to do that would presumably be in an academic institution (at least one that isn’t beholden to political activism). 

As for my own ideals, I can make more of difference leaving a strong, enduring impression on a few people rather than a passing impression on many.  I want to do my small, individual part to change education, one the left’s pillars, from the inside (you have no idea how much the intellectually fraudulent “teaching for social justice” school of thought disgusts me).  I want to become the conservative professor on campus, although I think I can be much more than a mere political being.  But enough daydreaming; now it’s just a matter of doing it. 

 

Bonus!  Things I won’t miss about blogging. 

1.  700 spam e-mails every two weeks. 

2.  WordPress doing weird things to my post when I type my draft online. 

3.  Microsoft word doing even weirder things to my post when I type it offline. 

4.  Me doing the weirdest things to my post as I’m trying to fix whatever Microsoft or WordPress did to it in the first place! 

5.  Staying up until 1:00 a.m., thinking of something thoughtful to say about on breaking news I don’t care a whole lot about.  I’m interested in politics, but I’m not a political junkie.  I’m much more interested in the doctrinal disputes between schools of thought than house bill 8T.48B.  Besides, if you pay attention long enough, current events tend to be less compelling remakes of past events. 

6.  Posting something at 3:00 a.m., and finding a typo at noon.

See you this summer!  Or fall!  Or 2011! 

 

 

 

Why I didn’t get any sleep this weekend

March 3rd, 2009

Somehow, it’s talk radio’s fault. 

I picked up Glenn Beck’s 2003 book, The Real America, at CPAC.  It’s a lot like listening to him on the radio.  It’s a mixture of political opinion, personal stories, earnest appeals to our better nature, and humor.  I was enjoying it for the first eighty pages or so until I got to Chapter 4: Everything You Need to Know About Partisan Politics.  It’s one joke stretched over five pages.  “Blah blah blah blah Clarence Thomas, blah blah blah blah Anita Hill, blah blah blah…” (you get the picture).  I chuckled and was ready to breeze through the section until I read, “…can you find the one time in this chapter that blah is spelled backward? 

That started a fruitless, half-hour quest looking for “halb.”  I read every line of every sentence at least half a dozen times, scanning for the backwards “blah.”  Sensing my frustration (my muttering “what the @#$%!” may have helped) my girlfriend asked me what I was doing.  I told her, and then she proceeded to spend fifteen minutes of her life looking for “halb.”   It’s strained our relationship.  She insists “halb” isn’t really there, and I’m convinced that Glenn Beck wouldn’t do that to his readers.  A more irreconcilable difference between any couple has yet to be discovered. 

So instead of composing anything remotely interesting this afternoon for my blog, I’ve been scouring the internet looking for the key to finding the elusive word.  I typed in “halb” and “The Real America” on google.  Nothing.  I went to Amazon, searched inside the book, and typed in “halb.”  Nothing.  I even looked at Stu’s Blog (“Stu” is Glenn Beck’s executive producer).  Again, no luck. 

My current theory is that it’s a trick question, and “blah” isn’t said right up front.  Instead, it’s cleverly hidden, perhaps spelled out over the span of a few words.  Ex:  “Blah blah blah Alberta is cold.”  But then again, if I was on the right track, I probably would have found it already.  As soon as I get some free time at work, I’m going to scan these five pages into a .pdf file and see if it’ll let me search for the elusive bugger in Adobe.    

Perhaps that’s why hieroglyphics are so hard to understand.  Maybe the Egyptians were just playing a joke on future civilizations.  I can imagine Egyptian slave #1 saying to his co-slave: “So I’m going put these eyes here, even though it makes no sense.”  #2:  “Why”?  #1:  “Because no one will be able to understand it.  It’ll be hilarious!”

 

Update:  I just spent another fifteen more minutes looking for the damn “blah.”  I could’ve had this thing posted already.  I would like to write at least one intelligent post on a relevant issue before I leave for Vegas on Thursday (It’s for my job.  Fine, don’t believe me) but apparently Chapter 4 doesn’t want that to happen.

I hate Chapter 4.  

Stop the presses! Conservatives like Rush Limbaugh!

March 3rd, 2009

Stop the presses!  Conservatives like Rush Limbaugh!  

In an age where politics have become just another commodity, I attended CPAC wondering exactly what the left’s mass produced narrative would be following the event.  Since Ann Coulter didn’t say anything liberals haven’t already heard from her, my guess was they were going to obsess over Rush Limbaugh repeating that he would like Obama to fail, “If his mission is to restructure and reform this country so that capitalism and individual liberty are not its foundation.”  (Full transcript of Rush’s speech here; Full video collection via Hot Air).  The Hyperventilating Post didn’t fail. They titled one of their responses to CPAC:  Rush Limbaugh at CPAC: Doubles Down On Wanting Obama To Fail.  But that isn’t the dominant theme in the left’s analysis of CPAC.

Instead, liberals are strangely jubilant over the old news that Rush Limbaugh is taken seriously by conservatives.  They’re excited by something that’s been going on for more than 20 years.  They think Limbaugh simply isn’t credible, so conservatives must be desperate.  They keep asking one of their trademark leading questions: “Is Rush Limbaugh the New Face of the G.O.P.?”  Note to liberals:  It’s the Conservative Political Action Conference, not a Republican fundraiser; that’s why it isn’t called “RPAC.”  Nevertheless, the left is excitedly proclaiming that the G.O.P. has died because the most successful talk radio host of all time gave the best speech at a political gathering. 

As usual, liberals don’t get CPAC because nothing in their education has given them the tools to understand conservative discourse.  Thus, they’re calling Rush’s speech angry.  While it was resolute and characteristically bombastic, it was also an upbeat message directed straight to the conservative base.  To be honest, I wasn’t entirely glad I attended CPAC until I felt the energy of Rush’s speech live; I wanted mroe seminars where I would learn ideas, not just hear them.  Yet I walked out of the conference on Saturday feeling uplifted.  Rush gave conservatives hope, which is tough to do when our frightened nation is setting itself up for a Soviet-style economic implosion. 

Liberals are right in that the conservative movement does need a leader, just as the left needed one for decades until Barack Obama’s logo feces started appearing all over the place.  But that doesn’t mean the American right is dead.  Conservatism will be fine as long as we’re resolute.  After all, today’s trendy liberal ideas are essentially no different from the ones conservatives routed in the Reagan era.  No matter how many times liberals wrap their ideology in hokey buzzwords, their message is one based on group resentment, fear of the unknown (such as market forces), and dependence on the state.   The conservative message is one based on faith, individual responsibility, and the dignity of liberty.  Which sounds better to you?  Which sounds more robust and capable of taking on America’s present challenges?

Make no mistake; America will become a worse place to live the next four years.  But because conservative ideas are rooted in timeless principles, not pandering to coalitions of self-proclaimed victims, the right will rise again.  Sooner rather than later, there will be another morning in America. 

 

Back from CPAC

March 2nd, 2009

 

 

Actually, I would have returned this afternoon, but my morning flight was cancelled due to the six inches of snow that blanketed Washington D.C. overnight. 

 

My first impressions of the nation’s capital:

 

1. It’s a commercial shrine to President Obama.  From Walgreens to the airport to street vendors, the capital is drowning in Obama merchandise.  One restaurant had a full-size cardboard cutout of the President standing behind its front window.  I wouldn’t be surprised if police printed tickets on Obama-themed paper. 

 

2. No one smiles.  It could be because they have to live in D.C., where people worship fallible men in lieu of God.  It could be because they’re all into politics; political junkies are generally insufferable.  The ones that don’t talk way too much have more defense mechanisms that the White House.  And it could be because most of them are liberal.  Liberals are threatened by too many things (ex: talk radio, deregulation, being associated with uncouth rednecks) to be anything but neurotic. 

 

3. It’s prettier than I thought it would be, and far less dangerous.  Perhaps because I spent all of my time in northwestern D.C., the city looked nice.  The streets are wide, the buildings are up kept, and the touristy stuff, such as the Supreme Court, truly inspires a sense of majesty.  I expected the city to be a real-life version of Grand Theft Auto, but the architecture and the uptight yet civil populace pleasantly surprised me. 

 

More on CPAC in a bit…