This Is What Democracy Looks Like?
Fri Apr 11, 2008 at 01:00:37 PM PDT
Wow.
Just...wow.
There is a diary on this page right now making fun of Hillary supporters protesting media bias.
It's full of snark and glee. Look at those stupid protesters. Look at them whining. Look at their silly signs. Their lame slogans.
Ha ha fucking ha.
What is wrong with this picture?
It was a less than two weeks ago that I made the rec list for the first time. My diary was called An HRC Supporter (Finally) Comes to Obama (Yes, Finally).
You may remember it.
A lot of you commented. You said you liked it. A lot of you apologized for some of the more egregious comments you've made in this primary battle. You promised you'd try to do better.
A lot of you tried to put yourselves in the shoes of the Hillary supporters. A lot of you tried to understand their anger, their frustration, their sadness -- and their excitement about a candidate in whom they believe.
What a difference two weeks make, huh?
It's back to the bashing. It's back to hating the hell out of Hillary. And her supporters. And whatever complaints they make -- because none of them, apparently, are valid.
Forget media bias. Forget sexism. Forget just plain cruelty.
Forget Tucker Carlson, and his repeated insistence that men should cross their legs when Hillary is near, for fear she will literally bust their balls.
Forget Chris Matthews, and his repeated insistence that no one wants to listen to Hillary's grating voice. Like nails on a chalkboard.
Forget the fact that it is a hard struggle for a woman, any woman, even the former First Lady, to make it to the White House. Forget than no woman -- from Victoria Woodhull in 1872 to Shirley Chisholm a hundred years later -- has made it there yet.
Forget attempts at reconciliation. Forget promises to reach out to Hillary supporters, to make it easier for them to embrace the likely nominee.
Forget the peacemaking. Forget mature political discourse.
I've been working on a diary about sexism. The problem is, I don't even know where to start. We can have diary after diary about race in America, and how it's time to have an open, frank conversation about how racism -- even today -- is a real problem we have yet to solve.
But sexism? That's just Hillary supporters being sore losers, apparently.
Let's laugh at them. Let's mock them. Let's shame them.
Stupid, whiny white women. What do they even have to complain about, anyway?
We used to take this seriously. Or so I thought. I seem to remember people expressing outrage at the New York Times article about a year ago that tried to analyze the Clinton marriage.
Or the Washington Post article that analyzed Hillary's cleavage. I seem to remember at least a few people finding that somewhat inappropriate.
But now? None of that matters. Because if it's about Hillary, then who cares, right?
I thought we were getting better. I thought we were starting to see a change here on DailyKos, in the blogosphere, in our local bars and coffee shops. The Obama supporters were realizing that they were going to win, and that they needed the Hillary supporters in November.
They were extending olive branches. Remember?
I thought the Hillary supporters (like myself) were trying to come to terms with the reality that their preferred candidate will not get the nomination. And that it is time to start learning how to support Obama.
But I guess I was wrong. Because we're back to the same old shit. Diary after diary about how much Hillary sucks. How much Bill sucks. How we never really liked them anyway. Good riddance.
Is this what we want our democracy to look like? Is this what we want the Democratic party to look like?
So-called progressive radio personalities calling women "fucking whores." Is that what we want?
What about the next woman who runs for president? Will we bother to hold the media accountable for how it talks about her, like she's running for student body president, like the color of her pantsuits matter?
I thought we were better than this. Or at least, I thought we were trying to better than this.
Guess I was wrong.