Jon Kyl (R-Az) is now accusing President Obama of inciting class warfare by appealing to the "middle class". It is the old "Be damned if you do, be damned if you don't" dilemma encountered by the President no matter what he says or does. Of course, there is nothing wrong with inciting the "middle class" against the poor but when the tables are turned, or rather, should I say, when the tables are perceived in certain circles as being turned, the story is different.
Sociology 101 was an interesting course. I can't say with specificity what I learned but one thing has lingered throughout the years and has continued to do so these last 40 years. To wit: Americans have a problem with class identity. The bag people pushing around all of their worldly possessions in a purloined grocery cart would, when asked, identify themselves as middle class with the same alacrity as Jon Kyl or, for that matter, Mitt Romney . From what I can remember it has been standard operating procedure for Republicans since Ronald Reagan was running for governor. He vowed to help the "middle class" by making those free love, drug addled hippies attending state sponsored colleges and universities either free or for nominal tuition, pay their own way. The up shot is the "middle class" took it on chin after Reagan's demagoguery proved successful, he was elected and the tuition bills starting appearing in the mailboxes of the "middle class".
Kyl's admonition reminds me of the story about the room in hell where only low murmurs could be heard at the door. When Joe American Middle Class dies much to his chagrin he finds himself standing in hell at the head of a long hallway with doors on both sides next to Beelzebub himself. He is informed by Beelzebub that he can choose what ever room he wants to choose but once he does, his choice is irrevocable and that is where he will spend all eternity. Joe and Beelzebub walk up and down the hallway several times. Joe is confronted by horrid sounds of anguish door after door. Except, he keeps coming back to one door behind which there are no cries of anguish but only slight murmurs heard even when Joe presses his ear hard against the door. Using his old American intuition Joe smugly points to the door and declares, "This one is for me". No sooner are the words spoken than Beelzebub, unlocks and opens the door, shoves Joe in, shuts and relocks the door. Joe finds himself in a pool of Middle Class Americans with the intials MCA inscribed on their foreheads. They are all standing erect, on the tip of their toes. Joe realizes that the pool is filled with shit to just below his lower lip. And now he hears now what they are murmuring, "Don't make waves, don't make waves".
