Why Russia? Why Not Mexico?
When it comes to identifying America’s enemies, I find it bizarre that the Left remains focused like a laser on Russia. For one thing, throughout the 20th century, Democrats loved the Soviet Union. No matter what Stalin or any of the other butchers did, the American Left could always be counted on to defend them.
When it comes to identifying America’s enemies, I find it bizarre that the Left remains focused like a laser on Russia. For one thing, throughout the 20th century, Democrats loved the Soviet Union. No matter what Stalin or any of the other butchers did, the American Left could always be counted on to defend them.
Throughout the 30s and into the 40s, in spite of Stalin’s starving millions of farmers in the Ukraine and the mock trials of Stalin’s political foes, America’s Communists, thanks in good part to the New York Times Moscow correspondent Walter Duranty supplying daily doses of pro-Soviet propaganda, American liberals were swooning like Frank Sinatra’s bobby sox fans at the mere mention of Stalin’s name.
When Stalin and Hitler signed a mutual non-aggression pact, people like Lillian Hellman, Dalton Trumbo and John Garfield took it as a signal to oppose our entry into World War II. But as soon as Hitler made the mistake of double-crossing Stalin and invading Russia, the same folks began beating the war drums, demanding that the U.S. come to Russia’s rescue.
Later, during the iciest days of the Cold War, America’s Communists were either supplying the Soviet Union with the secrets of the Atom Bomb or insisting that the U.S. unilaterally disarm, suggesting that if we set the example, the Russians would indubitably follow suit.
More recently, we saw Secretary of State Hillary Clinton accept millions of dollars in bribes from Russia in exchange for handing over large uranium deposits and pushing the reset button with her Russian counterpart, while Barack Obama not only assured Vladimir Putin that he would be increasingly flexible once he won reelection in 2012 but called Mitt Romney a fool during that year’s presidential debate for insisting that Russia was our major geopolitical enemy in the world.
And yet, here we are today, with everyone from Chuck Schumer to Nancy Pelosi insisting they’ve spotted Russian spies not only under their beds but lurking in the White House.
My question is why do the Democrats spend so much time these days inflating the threat that Russia poses? There’s no denying that Putin is a despot and that Russia is a nuisance, but they haven’t invaded us. On the other hand, Mexico has. They have encouraged not only their own poor, illiterate rabble to enter our country illegally, they have facilitated the unlawful entry of Central Americans by allowing them to pass through Mexico so long as they don’t even think about lingering.
Although the Democrats have taken President Trump to task for demanding that NATO nations increase their defense budgets, which certainly can’t be music to Putin’s ears, I don’t hear them or anyone else asking why the hell Turkey remains a member of the military alliance. After all, their dictator-for-life Recep Erdogan is not only a devout Islamist, but a friend and ally of Vladimir Putin. On top of which, for the past two years, he has kept an American pastor Andrew Brunson in jail on trumped-up charges of spying, espionage and something Turkey refers to as Christianization, which makes a criminal of every Christian missionary.
Allowing Turkey to remain in NATO, whose sole purpose is allegedly to counter Russian aggression, gives new meaning to inviting a fox to guard the chickens.
Something else that Democrats can’t resist is condemning Trump for cozying up to despots. They will point to his attempts to establish a working relationship with the likes of Putin, Kim Jong-un and Xi Jinping, in order to avoid war, but when Barack Obama, for no apparent reason, bowed to the royals of Saudi Arabia, sent $150 billion to the mullahs of Iran, lifted diplomatic and travel restrictions in support of Raul Castro’s Cuba and bent over for Vladimir Putin, they attributed it to statesmanship.
Even the end of his presidency hasn’t instilled Barack with wisdom or decency. Just last week, Barack Obama gave a speech in South Africa, where anti-white bigotry has led to widespread murder of whites and the confiscation of their farms and failed to utter a single accusatory word about a government that actively foments the violence.
Instead, he picked up where he left off in 2009, attacking America. This time by attacking President Trump and, by extension, those of us who support his agenda. Obama chose to specifically attack Trump’s “protectionism,” which most of us see as his attempts to level the playing field when it comes to trade; his antagonism to “climate change,” which most of us view as Al Gore’s scheme to get rich by promoting a hoax intended to destroy our economy; and “closed borders,” which most of us consider a prerequisite to national sovereignty.
I recently came across a quote by the 19th century novelist William Makepeace Thackery that made me wonder if, like several other 19th century writers, he was hooked on opium. He wrote: “People hate as they love, unreasonably.”
People, perhaps even most people, may fall in love for all the wrong reasons, as a form of temporary insanity. For the unfortunate souls among us, it often requires marriage before they come to their belated senses. Such people will often attempt to explain their romantic misadventures by saying they can’t explain it or that something simply came over them. They often sound like people coming out of a coma or regaining consciousness after an operation.
But when it comes to hatred, people have no such problem. They can give you very clear, very rational reasons for despising some scoundrel who has done them dirt. In fact, once they get started, it might take hours for them to list all of their justifiable complaints.
In the end, you will usually find yourself hating the miserable s.o.b. as much as the guy he cheated, lied to or betrayed. You will find yourself sharing the victim’s hope that the schmuck be on the receiving end of the old Yiddish curse that he be reincarnated as a chandelier so that he spends eternity hanging by day and burning by night.
Trying to appeal to the wrong people can not only wreak havoc with a politician’s career, it can hurt an artist.
Consider Leonard Bernstein, who had a gift for composing popular music for such shows as “On the Town,” “Candide,” “Peter Pan,” “Wonderful Town” and “West Side Story,” as well as the memorable score for “On the Waterfront,” but in an ill-advised attempt to find favor among the self-identified intelligentsia began to venture into the musical wilderness of 12-tone compositions.
Then, in pursuit of recognition as a social activist in uberliberal Manhattan, Bernstein hosted a fund-raiser for the Black Panthers in 1970. The event was irresistible to famed satirist Tom Wolfe, who devoured the gathering of white millionaires and black felons and spit it out in an article titled “Radical Chic.”
In the article, Wolfe quoted Bernstein at length, as the maestro attempted to ingratiate himself with the Panthers, the old lefty trying like hell to find common ground and language with the illiterate thugs.
Bernstein and his wife responded to the near-universal ridicule the article generated by arguing that they hadn’t been motivated “by a shallow desire to display fashionable sympathy, but by our concern for civil liberties,” when everyone knew that everything the two of them said or did was in fact motivated by their desire to display fashionable sympathy for the allegedly oppressed and persecuted, even if they happened to be killers, kidnappers and thieves.
Peter Wick, who calls Woodbridge, California, home, doesn’t claim the following tale is true, but who’s to say it’s not?
A guy named Benny was at the local track, losing his shirt, when he noticed a Priest in the paddock blessing a horse prior to the third race of the day. He couldn’t help noticing that the horse, a definite long shot, won by several lengths.
When the Priest blessed a horse prior to the fourth race, a horse that went on to win by a wide margin, Benny decided he would bet his last few dollars on whichever nag the priest blessed before the next race.
That horse won, as did the one in the sixth race. By this time, Benny was way ahead for the day. But seeing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make a major killing, he raced to the ATM machine and withdrew his life savings.
When he saw the priest blessing not only the horse’s forehead, but his eyes, ears and legs, he couldn’t wait to bet his entire wad on Blue Lightning.
Benny was already adding up his winnings when midway through the seventh race, Blue Lightning collapsed on the track. Benny couldn’t believe his eyes.
Confronting the old Priest, Benny demanded to know how it was possible that all the other horses he’d blessed had wound up in the winner’s circle, but Blue Lightning couldn’t even finish the race. “And now,” he wailed, “I’ve lost everything.”
The Priest nodded sympathetically and said: “You’re not a Catholic, are you, my son?”
“No, I’m Jewish, but what difference does that make?”
“It makes all the difference in the world. It explains why you couldn’t tell the difference between a blessing and last rites.”
