by William Skink
Congratulations to Hillary Clinton, presumptive nominee of the Democrat Party for president of these here United States of America. Identity politics reigns supreme, and it is now time for the rank and file to bow to their Queen.
Identity politics is truly the most potent form of politics known to non-moron, non-racist, post-enlightenment liberals. It is like a strong elixir that, when taken in the right dosage, renders any and all contradicting pieces of data totally mute.
The list of what doesn’t matter is impressive.
The wreckage in the Middle East doesn’t matter, corporate corruption doesn’t matter, committing felonies doesn’t matter, exposing classified information to foreign governments doesn’t matter, lying doesn’t matter, changing positions like a shameless huckster doesn’t matter, none of it matters if one sips on the magical elixir of identity politics. Bam! Poof! Gone!
Just as it was with electing a black man, so strongly did the emotions swell last night in the breasts and chests of starry-eyed liberals, drunk on the notion that symbolic ascendancy means a goddamn thing to those left behind in misery. I heard it on NPR. The host described Hillary raising her arms, symbolically beneath an actual glass ceiling. Tears flowed.
It’s broken, the metaphor goes. No, the Democratic party is broken, and now a new generation will know it intimately as the wars get worse and the ticking time-bomb of our economy gets closer to cataclysm.
And you think the woman the banks lavished cash on will do the undoing of the banks necessary to save the country from these despicable oligarchs fucking over entire nations every chance they get?
Quiet, angry/sexist male. Be silent, B-Bro. The ceiling has been shattered, and now we can share an equal view of the coming storm.