If
the videos posted to social media on the subject have a modicum of
authenticity, there are those on the right who allege that Moore’s loss to Doug
Jones was a conspiracy; they ought to be applying that disbelief in the voting
to examining why he was allowed to secure the nomination in the first place.
The Troy Messenger cites Shirley Reddoch as saying that Moore’s run off victory
against Strange sent “a clear statement”. Yeah, a clear statement that Trumpian
methodology has sent Republicans into freefall. Even the fact that New York’s
mogul in chief supported Moore is a contradiction in terms. President Trump
proclaimed often enough during the primaries that he was a businessman. In that
light, going against rational conservative objections to support Moore, such as
those voiced by Toomey, made the president look like a mouth piece for an
authoritarian regime in trouble, as opposed to a shrewd political strategist.
George Wallace, to whom Moore has been compared, might have been the inflammatory
bigot of his day, but when he could still walk, he stepped aside rather than be
arrested by the military who insured that Brown
v. Board of Education was enforced, proving that he was a realist unwilling
to sacrifice himself for what he purportedly believed. Wallace has even been
vindicated in part, if you examine urban school districts for any great length,
given that economics have re-segregated pubic schools. The accusations of
molestation were not dispositive, but they rode on an irrational wave of hysteria
which bodes ill for the republic. Moore has a right to be as dogmatic as he wishes, but separation of church and state is an abiding principle of American pluralism, and has no place in the federal legislature. It signifies how much Catholic temperance has failed to reign in the fervor of American evangelical factionalism in the US, despite Niall's admiration of our "work ethic'" in apparent abeyance at the moment.
The Trump presidency: tragedy or comedy? https://t.co/TdUbGvkXP0 pic.twitter.com/Z8v32GGVLu— Niall Ferguson (@nfergus) December 17, 2017
The
left has essentially lost its mind, and the right seems hell bent on swallowing
its own tail, which leaves the dowager, in her suffering under the wondrous rationing
of the welfare state, and her faulty consumer decisions, severely disconcerted.
I want conservatives to succeed, to roll back the drawbridge, even as my
options grow ever more tenuous, and the toll of bad mechanics weakens me as I
enter my seventh year past 50. My well being and my health are in jeopardy, and
the fact that I have Medicare and Medicaid amounts to negligible quality
control, ever steadily forcing me into an acute crisis, not mitigating it,
after everything I’ve been through, the wheelchair vendor has left me in a
situation which amounts to daily torture, imprisoned on a consumer hospital bed
on which I can barely move, and I am still with the right, even if the state GOP
is ignorant of how incapacitated I am, how negligent my care is, white professionals
and black unskilled labor alike just rushing in and out of a section 202 which
I technically evacuated ten weeks ago. It is this very cruelty, which is the
business of poverty, which leaves me unrepentant, despite the fact that personalities
like Niall Ferguson can only acknowledge the brutal truth of unremitting
indigence. Yeah, it has gotten better: sixty years ago or more, before Judy Garland offed herself, I might have been in a rubber room with tards, perhaps
beaten to death for my temper rather than threatened with disruption by Blogger
for being a militant. I’m an upgrade, from no voice at all to Dreiser’s An American Tragedy, with all the
requisite lack of forgiveness, for failure, embedded in stark negativity, while
transplanted Britons frolic in amazement at the farce of the west wing before
them. Niall himself has been pacified into a degree of disingenuousness. Whatever his former diffidence about the homosexual psyche, in its refreshing honesty, he is of course friends with a petulant AIDS stricken apostolic queer like Andy. Birds of a feather, imperial voices with paternalistic eyes watching over its troubled Infante Terrible, however roiled my country is at present, bawling in colic.
