Dear Bill,
Let it go? You know they won’t. Florida will still be remembered when Wounded Knee is an overdeveloped shopping mall. Lucky for the Republicans it will be the GOP’s Montezuma and Tripoli combined.
Meanwhile, 50 years hence Democrats will also still be railing about John Ashcroft. What a coup for Bush. After eight years of shaky, morally and by most accounts legally corrupt administration, the Justice Department is now headed by a morally and politically unimpeachable conservative and gentleman. Rule of law is restored, and all the explaining from now on will have to come from the 42 Democrats who said no. Jean Carnahan didn’t even have the good grace to abstain. Who among us could be so lucky as to be repudiated by Ted Kennedy on moral grounds? What could Joe Lieberman have been thinking to join in the claims that Ashcroft’s views are outside the “mainstream”?
Actually, I’m happiest that the likes of Sens. Hatch, Kyl, and Sessions fought back to denounce the role of left-wing extremist groups in the campaign against Ashcroft. If you don’t throw back the grenades at those who threw them at you, they’ll explode on your side.
I’m also amused at the emergence of Christopher Dodd as the ambassador of Democratic bonhomie. Robert Torricelli auditioned for the role, only to realize that’s not where his gifts lie. But to take Dodd at his word, Republicans are now supposed to renominate Ronnie White to the federal bench? Dodd has been partying too long.
One last question: How is it that 17 years after Bob Tyrrell wrote The Liberal Crack-Up the Democratic Party could still be imploding? John Podesta may disagree, but surely the Democrats’ urge to hold onto power has become stronger than any urge to do good. That’s the whole problem right there. Democrats can’t now pretend that Bill Clinton never happened.
Now this time, a final question: How long before a statue goes up to Bill Clinton anywhere? Or a school is named after him? Or an airport? Or bus station? Odds are the Reese-Robinson statue will be a reality before the pigeons sit atop a Clinton bronze. Myself I’d prefer a statue of Sandy Koufax, the greatest Dodger of any century. As I’ve mentioned to you more than once, I grew up blissfully unaware that the Dodgers broke Brooklyn’s heart by moving to my part of the world. Yet thanks to Vin Scully every Southern Californian cherished the Dodgers’ Brooklyn heritage. But that’s all ancient history as well. Once the O’Malley family sold the team to Rupert Murdoch it ceased being the Dodgers. Unless Brit Hume is named general manager, I see no hope for the franchise.
On this forlorn note, I’ll sign off. But the mood is right for us to continue our discussions at the lovely bar you dragged me to when I visited in 1988. Am I wrong to suspect that the Hong Kong Foreign Correspondents’ Club has gone the way of Ebbets Field?
Stay in touch, and thanks,
Wlady
