Angry
I am angry. Not in the election results, in those I am merely disappointed. America utilized its chosen system to make the determination between two courses. Course chosen. I chose otherwise, and so my visions will remain merely visions for all time. In this fact I am sincerely disappointed.
The consequences of our vote will emerge in due time. The results might be change for the better. I don't believe so, but the pack is in the field, the hounds are on the scent and the hunt is on. The President says we are on a rabbit. I say we are on a rhino that has an ingrown tusk and a nest of maggots in one eye. Sooner or later the prey will turn back, as either a bunny's feint or the charge of a really crazed rhino. The hunt is on.
I am angry, however, at the shallow attempts at understanding ourselves in the aftermath. We have a vast myriad of well paid yapping faces on cable and the radio airwaves. They reach the first rest area on the journalistic road-trip to investigate the nation's innards and they stop. Everybody is sitting around with their foamy coffee whatsits, blathering on about the religious right and moral values and, well, that's about it.
God forbid any body should peel back a bit of skin and risk delving into the heart of the matter. And these people are supposed to be experienced in the ways of politics and government. Perhaps they are a band of spoiled entertainers and divas convinced that their lives revolve around makeup, hair and how much soap can be sold while they are on the air.
It appears that a team of disciplined, smart, industrious men have been studying the processes that constitute the acts of campaigning and voting. Led by Karl Rove, this group identified issues with which they could align themselves and then they identified groups that were being, or could be, moved by those issues.
Ready-made for their purposes was the great swath of churches across America, like icing on a continent of pound cake, ready for the bake sale; a loosely-related amalgamation of Americans that believe we exist under the umbrella of a living and engaged superior being with rules and a rule book. Regularly gathered to hear their local leader speak on the immutable truths of the Lord, they have recently been offered an addendum to these truths: a vote for George is a vote for God.
Countless differences and disagreements have this dissuaded this community from ever seriously colluding. Reagan's team got their attention. Rove's team got them rabid.
Much is being reported and repeated about millions of religious Americans believing that this election was about keeping God in the White House (sure, the guy publishes one perennial best-seller and they think he can start running everything).
Another sentiment being bandied about the airwaves is that many in the religious community voted to assure that we don't monkey-up the Armageddon calendar. The Lord is on his way back and he has a schedule to keep. Besides, it could not happen too soon that the righteous are granted the glorious opportunity to watch sissy-boys, butch dykes, scientists, teachers' union members, the cast of West Wing and all other tainted souls scream and gnash their teeth while eternal flames cook off the naughty bits that caused all of their troubles in the first place.
The truth is that it took one of the all-time great ground games to coalesce this group. The ground game is all about people. Talking to people about what matters to them and inspiring them to talk to their friends is commonly known as multiplication of efforts. This effect can only take hold when you start one-on-one and convey that you really do care. Get the pastors and they will broadcast the message to their assembled audiences, efficiency personified.
Advertising, on the other hand, is absolutely excluded from this phenomenon. Advertising spreads slogans via the strategic application of catchy jingles. A good ground game catches fire. A great ground game ignites a wildfire. Advertising is information in a vacuum tube - no oxygen, no fire. The Rove crew pressed the flesh. They prayed with the people they wanted to move. They replied to emails in lightning fashion. They had a great ground game. The Democrats had a shipload of advertising.
So, where are the journalists that have trained to kick over the rocks and report on the dark truths and the treasures found?
Maybe they are burrowed-in for the winter, not wanting to be the rabbit that gets shredded by the hounds. Perhaps they are wondering what is that deafening rumble and that snorting and roaring that sounds like some great mad beast ready to shred the pack and its handlers.
Tally-ho.