To say that I was disappointed with the announcement this evening of Tim Kaine as Hillary Clinton’s running mate would be quite the understatement—I even felt compelled to make a few comments here at Kos which I rarely do (because, for the most part, there are plenty of like-minded souls who write much better about political theater than I do).
Believe it or not, even though I was a supporter of Bernie Sanders (especially his economic populism), I had really begun to warm to Secy. Clinton—though she would never be from the Democratic Wing of the Democratic Party she had pivoted to the left somewhat, and I liked the way, once it became clear she was going to be our nominee, she began attacking Donald Trump. I had even begun to harbor a secret hope that she would surprise me (mostly due to the fact that once she has won the biggest prize of all she really has nothing to lose—far-fetched, perhaps, but I’m a Liberal and Far-Fetched is my middle name) and accomplish a much more progressive agenda than I felt she would.
And then...Tim Kaine. Mr. TPP and a Wall Street toadie. A safe choice, My heart literally sank when I read the headline. So I sat at my computer reading all the comments, just stewing (not a good night for that, either—don’t know if you’re familiar but the midwest is facing an onslaught of heat and it’s just north of a million degrees here in Michigan). I don’t want safe, goddamnit, I want a cross between Eugene V. Debs and Susan B. Anthony!
A short while later our eleven-year-old son came up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and said he’d like to go outside to see the fireflies before he want to bed. Since we moved into our house five years ago, every night from late June through late July we go out and look for fireflies. And for whatever reason (bug aficionados your expertise is welcome!), they seem to be especially prevalent when it’s very warm outside during that time frame. Adrian was very excited at tonight’s prospects considering the heat wave.
He (and I) was not disappointed. They were everywhere—it looked like hundreds of headlights whizzing past on the interstate. As we watched them light up our front yard, he asked me what happened to the bat that used to buzz our neighborhood and I told him facetiously that he’d probably gone to bat heaven and we made a date to look up how long bats live on Wikipedia this winter (we do lots of outdoor stuff during Dad time when it’s summer because winter’s here are not particularly suited to playing catch or shooting hoops). He moved in close to me and I hugged him, fireflies flashing everywhere, and it dawned on me that if Hillary Clinton wins this election Adrian and I are going to have many more nights like this, but if Trump wins...I really don’t know. And not just from an ecological standpoint: I don’t know if my wife or I will have a job in Trump Bizarroworld, or how they’re going to treat members of the loyal opposition, or really, what will become of an America led by a man preaching so much hate.
In the end, Secy. Clinton’s choice of Tim Kaine as her running mate really doesn’t matter all that much, does it? What really matters is that she wins.
There’s just too much loveliness to be lost if she doesn’t.