KIMBERLEY A. STRASSEL IS BATTING 1.000

Continuing with our theme of "we will restore science to its rightful place," I would like to point readers to another Kimberley A. Strassel column. It is a dandy of a piece; Ms. Strassel has combined a rather decent string of hits of late, and this one's good for at least a couple of bases.

In "The EPA Silences a Climate Skeptic," Ms. Strassel reports on the all too familiar tunes applauded by global warming alarmists, particularly those arias sung by the alarmists' favorite "Bush Administration" soloist, James Hansen. Mr. Hansen, as some of you know, is a NASA director who positioned himself as something of a martyr for true science; he claimed the Bush Administration was persecuting him for both non-conformity to the party line regarding global warming and for blowing the whistle on the administration's habit of cherry-picking scientific data. I mentioned here that such woes as described by Mr. Hansen were hard to reconcile with his 1,400 public appearances where he spoke his mind boldly without any interference from the White House. The man, as far as I can tell, was not suppressed or persecuted at all.

Ms. Strassel points this all out, but what she also highlights is something far more insidious: the Obama Administration CLEARLY IS SUPPRESSING non-conformity in its (foiled?) attempt to muzzle EPA analyst Alan Carlin; the Democrats really are cherry-picking the data. This should come as no surprise. After all, this is the party that supported the Patriot Act and then pretended to denounce it, with said denunciation simply a cover for their real ambitions, which was to use the Patriot Act and "illegal wire-tapping" for their own totalitarian goals once they gained power. This is the party that supported the war in Iraq, then denounced it as a failure doomed to civil war and that America needed to immediately withdraw its troops, only to announce that the troops should stay a little longer. This is the party that believed Gitmo was a threat to national security -- that it must be closed NOW! -- and then announced, as if it was something new, that certain enemy combatants at GITMO will be held indefinitely at the discretion of the president. But I digress. (See how easy it is to get carried away?)

Please take a few minutes to read Ms. Strassel's column. It IS illuminating, at least for those who care, and care to think.

©2009/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

The Audacity Of Fear: Playing Anxiety Politics

If one were inclined to rewrite holy writ for political advantage, perhaps the first thing one might pen is “Be anxious for everything.” No doubt this revision will offend certain Christians comforted by St. Paul’s exhortation to “be anxious for nothing,” but such Christians, generally, do not run for President of the United States. In fact, such a candidacy would be impossible: it simply is not possible to win votes without exploiting anxiety and fear. “Trust in God” will impress few voters as a campaign slogan, but “Fear Everything” has a chance at winning the White House.

Readers may scoff; I invite them to jeer and sneer. But the facts are evident: electoral politics is about fear – and nothing but fear. Yes, we all know the “playing the politics of fear” canard so well it has become a mere cliché, appropriate to the bumper sticker-set rather than the more reflective wing of the body politic. Ironically, nowhere is that cliché more popular than in Democratic Party condemnations of all things Republican, and – more specifically – all things Bush. Bush scared Americans into war, into torturing and incarcerating a quasi-mythic threat; into Gitmo and surveillance and civil rights erosions, solely because he was so effective at selling fear. The irony is in the telling fact that Democrats, if they do anything, at least exploit the fear of fear. And yet they do far more than that.

In Tuesday night’s Democratic debate in Nevada telecast on MSNBC (see YouTube clip here [00:25 min.]), Barack Obama perfectly executed the Democratic fear play:

“There is no doubt we’ve been dominated by a politics of fear since 9/11… But I have to say that when Sen. Clinton uses the specter of a terrorist attack … during a campaign, I think that it is part and parcel with what we have seen, the use of the fear of terrorism in scoring political points, and I think that’s a mistake. Now, I don’t want to perpetuate that. I think that’s part of why we ended up going into Iraq and made a big strategic error that has made us less safe. Resources that could have been spent on homeland security have been spent in Baghdad. Resources that could have been spent hunting down bin Laden, have been diverted to Iraq, and that’s what happens when your judgment is clouded, and what I intend to do as President of the United States is to be honest and straightforward with the American people about how I am going to implement all the 9/11 Commission Report findings, make sure that we are hunting down bin Laden, getting out of Iraq so we can re-focus our attention on building the networks and alliances that are required to reduce terrorism around the world. That’s going to be my priority and that’s part of the reason I am running for President of the United States.” [Emphasis added]

That Mr. Obama’s contradiction – I will not perpetuate fear but we are less safe than ever -- will be overlooked by his charmed supporters is unarguable; that his position is nearly identical with everyone else in his party is equally unassailable. His entire statement could be reasonably construed as a reformation – at least in spirit – of the “Bush lied, people died” mantra.

But I am not here to quibble about the genesis of the war, especially with those who find the roots of war in Genesis. My complaint is that Mr. Obama and his party are also peddling fear; Mr. Obama – and Mrs. Clinton and Mr. Edwards – are fear-mongers. “We are less safe” is hardly the only dire warning Democrats voice. There is a whole litany of warnings issued by Democrats at every turn. And hardly a soul challenges those party-faithful who serve as prophets of doom. Below is a short list of examples (not direct quotes) that capture the essence of Democratic fear-baiting.

On economics:

“We are in recession. People are insecure.”

“The gap between rich and poor is growing.”

“There have never been so many foreclosures.”

"We must rebuild the middle class."

On international relations:

“America’s reputation in the world has never been so tarnished.”

“We must restore our image in the sight of the Europeans.”

“Neo-conservatives have pushed America into colonial expansionism.”

On domestic issues:

“Republicans want to rob women of the right to choose, and due access to health care.”

“Republicans don’t care about those of you without proper health care. We need universal care now.”

“The Republican Party has no qualms denying to all -- regardless of gender identity -- the right to marry. ”

On energy:

“We MUST free ourselves of our dependence on foreign oil.”

“The profits of BIG OIL are unfair!”

“We must work to end global warming today, before it is too late!”

On the war:

“The war on terror is a failure.”

“Iraq was a mistake.”

“We must reallocate our resources and redeploy our troops so we can capture Osama bin Laden. He’s still out there!”

On EVERYTHING:

“Republicans are playing the fear card!”

Of course, I admit that Republicans do play the fear card; I also admit that I am not really singling out Mr. Obama. All candidates exploit fear. Candidates even issue warnings about other candidates. But Mr. Obama himself has opened the door to my criticism largely for his sophistry quoted above. Even the title of his book, The Audacity of Hope, is rooted in fear: we are doomed without audacious hope in the face of our problems. (Is he the Deliverer we MUST have to lead us out of our many difficulties?)

As I said, there is irony to be found when Democrats refer to right-wing fear-mongering. I don’t know if the irony is in that they don’t know they themselves are also peddling fear; perhaps they do. But if they do, there is something really disconcerting about it all.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2008/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Death At The Diner: A True Story

Yesterday (Friday, Dec. 7) I sat in the corner booth of the Peterborough Diner, my back to the wall. Across from me sat my nephew, David, 28 years old, looking far older than he should. I was finishing my BLT and fries, while David talked between bites of his bacon cheeseburger. We were pretty quiet despite the fact that the diner, one of those old metal railroad car-type dives that dots the American landscape, was nearly filled to capacity. Plates chimed in the dish washing-room out back; diners tapped coffee spoons on the edges of white ceramic mugs. There was chatter at the counter; newspapers crinkled.

The Peterborough Diner is a decent place, as far as it goes. The food is pure grease-and-grill; the menu is cheap and easy, a bi-fold covered in plastic so dirty you want to wash your hands before you eat but, knowing what the bathroom is like, you're convinced such fussiness will not produce the desired effect. For certain, the diner does not evoke images of sterility.

Only a few feet from my left sat John, a thin, wiry and rugged man, about my age, who's the only guy in town who sells and carves gravestones. John had his back to me, propped up as he was on an old, round vinyl-and-metal stool at the end of the counter. To his right, another man sat, a man in his late 50's or so, who I had seen around town many times but did not really know. But I knew his name. Joey.

As I said, I was nearly done with my BLT. My nephew was enjoying his burger and fries. And then I heard John at the counter.

"Joey! Are you OK?!"

Instantly I was up, leaping toward Joey, trying to prevent him from flying backwards off his stool. I tripped and fell, catching myself with my right knee and right hand but still managing to catch Joey with my left hand. I stood up quickly. John was still shouting.

"Joey! Joey! What's wrong, bud?"

John had an awkward hold on Joey, reaching as he was from his seat on the stool. I looked around Joey's rigid body; his lips were distended, drool spilling out of his mouth. His eyes were rolled up in his head. His body was spasmodic. And he was sporadically emitting awful sounds.

Immediately I could tell he was not choking. He had an airway, irregular and spastic as his breathing was. I turned to a waitress.

"Call 911!" I urged.

John kept talking, and I found myself trying to go through a checklist that I could not find. Airway? Pulse? Seizure? How much time? Where's the ambulance? I was suddenly confronted with my own helplessness.

Joey's condition immediately worsened. He gasped, then shrieked eerily. I warned people around me that he might vomit. People moved away in deathly silence. Then Joey exhaled -- a huge exhalation. He did not inhale. I checked for a pulse, but I could not find one. And I looked at his pallor, and it seemed fine. Then, unbelievably Joey exhaled even more than seemed possible. A moment later, a partial inhale, a gulping.

________________________

Just over 7 years ago, my nephew -- who is learning disabled -- was driving his mother, my 44-year-old sister, to the doctor's office when she suffered a heart attack on a lonely stretch of highway. My nephew pulled over, exited the car, and jumped around frantically, waving his arms at the few cars that drove by. No one stopped, so he drove a little further to a farmhouse. He pounded on the door. No one answered. He ran back to the car. He waved. Finally, someone stopped.

My sister never recovered from the massive loss of oxygen her brain suffered that day. Four days later, I would be the one to remove life-support (not the feeding tube) from her. She died in the ICU in the early morning twilight.

__________________________

As Joey struggled to live, I turned to my nephew. Though 28 years old, he looked like an old child. His face was pure panic; he was jammed in the booth and he could not escape. I moved the little I could to give him a pathway out.

"David," I said. "You can go. It's alright to leave!"

He bolted.

The next few minutes were harrowing for me. I was looking at a man's struggle for life, even if his struggle came while unconscious. I could not accept -- at least for Joey -- that his life would end in a diner.

Another man came to our aid. He was calmer than I. I was distracted by this haunting sense that I could not find my mental checklist for first aid. I was only reacting. I wasn't helping. The waitress, on the phone with 911 operators, was asking us questions. We answered, but all rather dumbly. Again I searched for a pulse, but I couldn't find one. Why? Surely if his heart was NOT BEATING, Joey would not be still able to fight this spasmodically.

Suddenly the man next to me said, "He's completely unconscious. Let's lay him on the floor. Hold his head."

I did what I was told. We pulled Joey off of his stool. And then I realized that the reason we had not laid him on the floor sooner was because there was so little room, AND because the floor was filthy. This man can't die on a filthy floor! I said to myself.

Feeling myself utterly helpless, I held Joey's head and prayed for him. This was death, or so it seemed to me. The ugliness that words cannot convey struck me as proof that Joey was dying, his head in my hands. I asked God for a miracle and for mercy. There was nothing but simple desperation in my plea.

When I finished, I kept asking if anyone had found a pulse. ("They said to lay him on his side!" the waitress shouted.) I could hear sirens a couple of blocks away. I checked Joey's arms for medical bracelets. Nothing.

Just as I was about to say that we needed to start chest compressions, I heard a voice.

"Oh, what happened? That's weird."

"Joey! It's John!" shouted John.

The calm man next to me asked a series of questions: "What's your name? where are you? where do you live?"

Joey answered the questions perfectly. He was completely lucid.

"How embarrassing," he said. "Can I stand up?"

"No," I said, still holding his head (it was cold with sweat). "Don't be embarrassed. We are all the same here, Joey; none of us is different. Do you have any history of epilepsy?"

"No, I don't," he calmly answered. "Can I get up now?"

"You stay here, Joey, until the ambulance arrives."

At that, a paramedic walked in, cool as could be. He recognized Joey.

"Joey, bud! What's going on?"

One minute later, Joey walked out of the diner and into the ambulance.

"Your lunches are free today," the waitress said to me and John.

I went and found my nephew.

____________________

Five hours later I received a call from someone who knew Joey and had discovered that I had helped in a time of crisis. It turns out that Joey was rushed to a major hospital for emergency surgery to install a pacemaker. Joey's heart had slowed WAY, WAY down.

But he would be fine.

____________________

Trust me when I say that I was certain I was staring at death in my hands. Death that suddenly opened its eyes, spoke apologetically, and walked out of the diner.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.