Comeuppance Bait

 

I heard that Bill Clinton turned 80 today. DJT is also 80, but older than Bill by two months. George W. Bush, whom I used to mock as "El Presidente," is also 80. I'm older than all of them. Only Biden was older than me, by two years. That's my cohort.

So it pisses me off for lefties like me to make fun of the way any of my cohort totters around, or limps, or goddamned gets confused about what's not interesting, or stumbles, or needs a hand. I walk worse than any of them, but I'm still here in my upstairs (both senses, the literal and the metaphorical) with all the lights on. I can't get in the street any more, no door-knocking, plus I've become increasingly deaf, so no phonebanking. The stuff I used to do as an organizer -- no one remembers or cares. That's just a fact.

My first campaign was for Eugene McCarthy, 1968. I was part of the volunteers who were organizing precincts to vote for McCarthy delegates to the state Democratic convention. I had to drop a graduate school course -- a Faulkner class. I was never going to finish The Sound and the Fury anyway. I bit in to the job of trying to organize 20 precincts in south Salt Lake City. Our methods were primitive by today's standards. We had no computer lists, no targeting, so we'd knock every door, essentially polling for any anti-war Democrats who might be willing to attend their precinct meeting as a McCarthy supporter. Unfortunately, I learned that Hubert Humphrey, the current vice president, had most of the Democratic vote sewed up. McCarthy was too too academic, a writer of poetry, an egghead who was not being patriotic about the Vietnam War. There was no way that any Democrat was going to win Utah anyway, so our little internal tussle for convention votes was especially futile.

But for me it was my first taste of activism. Activism, once ignited in a personality, can sometimes smolder after a defeat but can leap back into bright flames for a right cause, even in the face of loss. Holding to ethical and moral principles that suddenly appear in the single person of a particular political candidate -- you can be inspired with good old hope that things can change. It takes belief to be an activist. The danger comes when belief turns to dogma, with police powers behind it. The willingness to do the work for the election chances of any candidate, to always be where you promised to be, to keep up with your assigned chores and to do your worst chores first, and always remember to laugh -- not everyone could keep up the pace. Actually doing things and accomplishing things can birth the arrogant thought that you -- little you -- can make a big difference with your recruitment methods and fundraising and get-out-the-vote, because the future depends on you. That's when comeuppance arrives. I've been through earthquake wins and comeuppance losses, but up until I turned 80, crawling out of the wreckage of an electoral disaster, dusting ourselves off, and immediately figgering next steps was just second nature.

Comeuppance seems to be stalking DJT. He looks a little haunted. They say he's gained 20 pounds. He's been so blatant about dipping his beak into all sorts of big money-making ventures that increasingly more of those MAGA guys are recognizing greed and corruption for what it is -- comeuppance bait.