The rule of thumb is that in primaries you vote your heart and in general elections you vote your head. This means I have a problem tomorrow.
Almost at the exact moment I was going to start abusing the keyboard with my deep thoughts for why Pete Buttigieg was going to be my choice on Tuesday he dropped out. Ironically, the bottom line gist of my rant was going to be young Mayor Pete’s “judgment” — based on scholarship and thoughtfulness. And wouldn’t you know judgment, which is to say accepting he had no chance in 2020 and that the Democratic faithful will look more favorably upon him in 2024 or 2028 for stepping aside now, is what he showed in “suspending” his campaign.
So Mayor Pete is yesterday’s news. Now what?
Conventional wisdom says Amy Klobuchar will win her home state. You haven’t forgotten she’s from the Midwest have you? Or that she’s been “in the arena”? Or that she has “the receipts”?
Already at this point — eight months before the real election — every candidate’s operative cliches bang in my ears like a cheap tin drum. But somehow Amy’s cliches seem even more canned than most.
She’s been an effective Senator, at least on the level of constituent service, (provided by her terrorized staff), but there are just too many big, double-edged fights she’s avoided, and avoided IMHO out of calculation for her longer-term career goals. It’s wonderful she’s authored and passed far more bills than Bernie Sanders, (not a difficult thing to do). But on close inspection most of them fall into the category of requiring us to be kind to animals and eat our vegetables. The big fights … in the main arena … where the flak gets thicker and risk gets higher, is not a place she’s spent a lot of time.
The race is clearly moving to a Bernie v. Joe contest. Two nearly octegenarian white guys with the highest name recognition. Jesus.
Both come with barge-loads of baggage and an unconvincing forecast of what happens if they’re elected. Bernie is promising a near-total overhaul of 15-20% of the American economy, along with billions-to-trillions in fresh spending for a wet dream list of social programs, all while waving off the stark, ugly reality of Mitch McConnell and a federal court system every day stocked with more McConnell-knighted Federalist Society judges. Each of whom is committed to suffocating Bernie-ism before he gets directions to the Oval Office rest room.
Joe, meanwhile continues to assure us that since he’s been everywhere and met everyone in his 500 years in D.C. he’ll reach a collegial, cloakroom accomodation with Mitch and … you know … I guess … convince the Mitchs and Ted Cruzes and Lindsey Grahams of the world to give us all a win from time to time. Maybe roll back the 2017 tax cuts, stabilize Obamacare and throw some ching at climate change.
So … the heart being what it is, an emotional thing, prone to lapses of good judgment, I’ll be joining my lovely wife in voting for Elizabeth Warren tomorrow.
Warren has no chance at the nomination. And her “wealth tax”, where she basically takes the change she finds in Mike Bloomberg’s couch cushions to turn the US of A into a 3000-mile wide version of Denmark still makes no mathematical sense, while also dreamily ignoring what we’ll just call The McConnell Reality.
But what she does offer, and this is delicious, is the sharpest remaining contrast to the corrupt, semi-literate, sexist-racist vulgarian that is Donald Trump. Startlingly industrious, studious, diligent, energetic and … female, she more than any of those left standing offers an image of profound change. Also, unlike Amy, Warren is practically Spartacus when it comes to jumping into the high-profile/high risk arenas. The woman’s got fight in her. And damn … I like a gal with fight.
By Wedneasday morning though, it’ll all be Joe and Bernie, and maybe just Bernie. And with that decided, I’ll send a check to the winner, knock doors, paste bumper stickers all over my vehicle and, hell, stand on street corners– right here in Edina — and rant regularly about “a pox on the millionaires and billionaires.”
It won’t be pretty, especially if I’m still in my pajamas with a bad case of bed head. But it’s where we’ll be.