At least our homeys don’t.
Compare a Tea Party march with any G8 summit the past several years, or the manner in which Ann Coulter was recently run off an Ottawa campus by screaming terror-symps. (Al Qaida terror symps.) The Million Man March left almost as much filth behind as Woodstock. But no matter how different the battle might have been leading up to a final vote on health care, don’t you find it amazing how the sounds and words of revenge are identical?
Leading into this final health care vote, our side was barely literate. We ate “mor chikin” and picked our nose with our one good finger. Today, we suddenly have found our inner voice and now fill the phone and email banks of Congress with words and threats that sound, well, amazingly like the daily dribble coming from the lap dogs who hang out at Keith Olbermann’s blog at DailyCuss. We sound like Rahm Emanual at a bris, or Joe Biden giving a champagne toast.
After a year of protests in Washington and state capitals, and congressmen’s districts offices all over the country, with not so much as a shucky-dern on a placard or a Big Mac wrapper left lying on the ground, we’ve suddenly found our voice, and that voice is the N-word, the Q-word, probably even the R-word, and maybe even an SOB-word. God-fearing gone rabid.
Seems we haven’t found our voice, but is has found us. I’ve said for years they will always accuse us of their own conspiracy, but when you send ten thousand 20 year old scat-mouthed emailers and bloggers out to pretend to be people who’ve actually earned a paycheck or paid a tax, well, accusing us of their own style, their own mindset, world view, and Gad!, limited vocabularies…well, that is a kick in a head. It’s also a dead giveaway.
Hell, I wouldn’t even say those things about Mitch McConnell. Not that we don’t have our own N-word (Narcissist), Q-word (Quisling), and even our own S-world, C-Word, F-word, a dozen U-words, as in “un-….) and the T-word. But again, only an adult would know that there is no number of adjectives with hard “k’s” that can make our T-word sound any worse than it already does. A simple “T!” works best. It is the lowest of low. But children wouldn’t know that.
And then, there is the style of delivery. We filled the phone banks before the vote. Not a single threat. I’ve seen letters right here on RS that have been faxed and mailed to Congress. My only problem with those is that they contained a lot of multi-syllabled words many congressional staffers wouldn’t understand, such as my favorite c-word, constitutional. But again, no profanity, no threats. All of a sudden, we can’t point to a door without using God as an adjective before damning it.
This isn’t to say we aren’t entitled to a reckoning. And to my mind, that should start yesterday, not November. I want them looking over their shoulder. I want them sneaking to work through the back door. Every time they step out of the Capitol or their office building, I want them to be confronted by a chorus of people, not yelling, not screaming, not even carrying placards, but rather singing or humming in low tones funereal marches and dirges, and whisperings of “God help your soul, Congressman”. That, not curses or names, will frighten John Lewis. At every Station of the Congress there should be a choir of penitence and remorse, humming Albinoni or Barber’s Adagio, or the funeral version of “Battle Hymn of the Republic“. That is how I’d run them around to the back door. (This concept from Nessa, and I’m working on it.)
I don’t want them fearful for their lives, i want them fearful for their souls, their good name, their place in history, their communities, even their amassed (and stolen) wealth. I want them to regret now. I want them to fear in November…and beyond. I want them to fear dropping a bar of soap in a crowded shower room.
As for the claims the press has suddenly become so enraged about? Our homey’s don’t play dat.