Monthly Archives: May 2021
The Silence of the Sheep
(From The Bulwark)
Liz Cheney’s tenure as an official member of House Leadership ended not with a bang, but a whimper. Cheney came to the Hill looking for a fight and her opponents simply scattered.
Last night as she strode into the House chamber to deliver a speech, setting the parameters about the meaning of her ouster, all but one of her fellow Republicans—who insist that former President Trump remain leader of the GOP—scurried out of the chamber. They couldn’t even bear to hear the words she would speak.
If they’d stayed, they wouldn’t have had much of an answer. They would have to explain their willingness to participate in the 2020 election lies that led to the January 6 insurrection, a plain fact many of them freely admitted weeks ago.
As Cheney said: “This is not about policy. This is not about partisanship. This is about our duty as Americans. Remaining silent and ignoring the lie emboldens the liar. I will not participate in that. I will not sit back and watch in silence, while others lead our party down a path that abandons the rule of law and joins the former president’s crusade to undermine our democracy.”
When the time came to hold the vote on Wednesday morning, there were no speeches from the members looking to remove her. Only Cheney spoke. And she faced her fate wearing a replica pin of the George Washington battle flag given to her by her mother. The symbolism was clear.
As she brandished that flag, in the end, Cheney’s Republican colleagues couldn’t muster the courage to hold a roll call vote to get rid of her. No one was willing to put their names on the record against her.
There wasn’t even a secret ballot. Because while a secret ballot would protect individual Republicans from accountability, it still would have recorded an actual tally—the number of Republicans who voted to out her. Instead, Cheney’s leadership was terminated in the most cowardly manner possible: a voice vote.
This way there is no paper trail. No speeches recorded in the record. No video, even, of Republicans in the chamber reacting to Cheney’s Tuesday night speech. Republicans can say that both everyone and no one was against her. It’s as if the entire episode never happened.
The silence of Cheney’s opposition says it all. They can run for now, but they can’t hide from this fight forever. They asked for it.
Open Letter to a Puppy, Chapter II: The Hard Bite
My hallelujah,
Last week, you took your first hard bite.
I do not think it was an intentional, aggressive nip, though it might have been. You were roughhousing at the dog park with your regular woofpack. You disappeared into a joyous scrum of slobber and tail. I could not see you.
But I heard you. I know your yelp. Mothers always do. Your grandmother says a parent not only knows their baby’s cry, but knows what that cry is communicating: fear, hunger, pain. This was pain.
You bolted from the pack and thundered toward the end of the park. You let out another yelp as you galloped, although you were far from anyone. I will never forget that image, of you, in flight and in pain.
There was no stopping or catching you. Those paws kicked up mud like a Clydesdale (Take no offense: I love, LOVE that you are a big girl. Distrust anyone who does not).
You did not stop until you reached the chain link fence at the corner of the park, where you trembled near the gate, perhaps asking to go home. When I got there, you shivered a bit as I checked you for a cut, a gash, a bullet or knife wound. Nothing. Just fray.
So I coaxed you back, stooping as we walked with my hand on your side as if I were a banister for a toddler, which I guess I was (you’re not even four years old in human measure). I will never forget that image, either.
Your walkers, who saw the skirmish, told me the dog that bit you was not part of their clique, but a pit bull that often wants to join the club. Last year, they said, he nearly bit another dog’s ear off. They tried to get his human banned from the park, but I guess it is hard to prove assholery, let alone prosecute it.
That is not the point. This is: Some days are going to fall on the hard. And when they do, it is rarely personal.
It can be difficult, not taking hurt personally. Your grandfather could not do it. Often, I cannot, either. Grudges are easier so see, easier to hold, easier to swallow than indifference. Indifference is like a water-flavored rawhide. What is the fun of chewing something if you cannot taste its disintegration?
But keep this in mind as you bound ever forward, youngling: You have no right to someone’s opinion of you. And when you do get it, it is likely projection, not reflection.
Which was probably the case last week. Pitty belongs to — and I’m sorry to use this language — a Bad Dog. Maybe the dad is insecure. Maybe he is overcompensating his courage. Maybe he is just an asshole.
The point is, it was not you. There are only two things to do when you meet a Biter: let it go, or learn from it. Given your ode to joy dance when we rejoined the pack, my guess is you already did the former. I will do the latter. That is my job.
But if a day does fall on the hard, and you are feeling the gnash and gnarl, you know where I’ll be. At the end of the fence, by the gate, stooping to walk you wherever you need to be.
