Of politics and polarization: South Carolina edition

The road to Tampa Bay was never going to be dull, not given the cast of characters that have populated this reality show called the 2012 Republican Presidential Primary.

The flavor-of-the-month frontrunners. The seemingly endless debates -- and it's only January, making the August nominating convention seem like a farther stretch than the sands of the Sahara. Then came the deluge of ads descending upon the diminutive early primary states, with all the pull of La Brea tar.

Now that the field has winnowed, Team Romney has been furiously spinning the cloak of inevitability -- and banking on vast amounts of Citizens United-enabled ads in favor of the former Massachusetts governor.  A 1-2-3 order of the early primaries would demonstrate his dominance and claim as sole heir to the GOP's Excalibur, able to slay the Evil One oppressing freedom from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Lurching toward that sword in the stone has been labyrinthine travel for Romney, though. The latest obstacle in this odyssey to unseat the president is the pudgy pugilist Newt Gingrich, self-appointed guardian of the nominating gate.

True, the former speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives has had some competition for his current title of Primeval Dark Lord, primarily from a roster of Ricks -- as in Santorum, the former U.S. senator, and Perry, governor of Texas. Both have unabashedly flailed at Obama via proxy: debasing African Americans to the delight of a narrow band of the party.

PA Rick opined among a snowy crowd in Iowa that he'd prefer that black people improve their lives by earning their own money, as opposed to giving them someone else's money. After all, black people don't work, pay taxes toward promoting the nation's general welfare, help provide for the common defense or any of that other lofty idealism.

Texas Rick enjoys time unwinding with a hunt at his Niggerhead Ranch. Sure it's a shameful name, which is why in some alternate universe, a benevolent Perry had that name painted over and banned, though everyone refers to the sprawling expanse by its delightful title. Besides that, the S.C. primary's single-digit candidate seems prone to secessionist overtones, painting pictures of states "under siege," evoking a resurrected Robert E. Lee and the Confederate flag of which he is so fond.

Gingrich, in full attack-dog mode

But then there is Gingrich, the Machiavellian maestro of polished polarization, positioning, and politics.

Undone in the previous contests by shock-and-awe ads funded by super PACs for whose existence he once advocated, he vowed to make South Carolina his beachhead. And the fastest way to mount that GOP bedrock seems to be inserting a knowing wink-nod while lighting the near-translucent racial powder keg.

After all, Gingrich is not only a native Georgian, he's also a student of history, with a focused eye on scorched earth approaches of past demagogues.

His thesis was on full display Monday night, aptly enough the federal holiday commemorating the life and work of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. It was the perfect backdrop to pay homage to the arrogant authority embodied by South Carolina's late native son, the nefarious U.S. Sen. Strom Thurmond.

Conservative black political analyst became
unwitting political pinata for the get-'em crowd

Referring to Obama as the "food stamp president" just started the party. When veteran newsman Juan Williams dared to ask Gingrich about his stated assertions on black work ethic and sense of responsibility, his dismissal pandered so patently you could almost hear Thurmond applaud from the grave.

Gingrich, the would-be statesman, has embraced the complete caricature of the populist Southern Republican, with flair -- convenient since his conservative credentials remain under fire.  And he was richly rewarded for the reincarnation.

The Myrtle Beach Convention Center erupted when he refused to even restate -- or, as it is known in politi-speak, "clarify" -- his comments. The PeopleMeters rocked off the charts, and those fuzzy feelings are still sending supporters swooning.

"I would like to thank you, Mr. Speaker, for putting Mr. Juan Williams in his place the other night," one woman cooed at a Gingrich gathering on Wednesday. "His supposed question was totally ludicrous."

In his place.

Because that black man -- a veteran newsman, celebrated political analyst, and frequenter of the center-right position -- had stepped out of line. Much like the one in the White House they're working ever so hard to defeat. Surely the next descriptor would be "uppity."

But not from Gingrich. He just stokes the flames. Then, like Nero, watches Rome burn.

That incendiary passion, a momentum shifter, is partly what has Team Romney nervous as they canvass the Palmetto State, with a little more than 72 hours until the primary.  Polls have had Romney in a 10-14 point lead, but the most recent Public Policy Poll showed the so-called frontrunner at 29 percent, with Gingrich snapping at his heels at 24 percent.

Iowa was a squeaker, now termed a split decision, with PA Rick. New Hampshire proved a better outing. That makes South Carolina the crucial third leg of the creaky inevitability trifecta, and that could be slipping away. Gov. Nikki Haley may not prove to be Romney's Lady of the Lake, either. Her early endorsement looks less golden since it's now known that her tea party sheen has dulled and conservative troops in the state are getting restless, if not disillusioned. 

Meanwhile, Gingrich dog whistles and dances his jig, ready to push his poison like Jim Jones, sloshing it among the all-too willing. With a finish of 25 percent or better, he'll fly to Florida, a hellhound on Romney's trail as the Barry Goldwater of the 21st century.

Left at the "alter": Christie 2012 ends

Broken hearted.

That about sums up the GOP electorate these days as their hopes for a Great Savior have yet again been dashed, forcing them  to turn their attentions to the reality at hand: this year’s contest is shaping up to be a grudging and belated coronation for the oft-spurned but ever-ready Mitt Romney.

Of course, Gov. Rick Perry and his crew will declare that they’re in it to win it, that they’re prepared for a battle at the OK Corral. And coming from oil-and-gas rich Texas, they plan to have the multimillion dollar backing to finance their endeavor, despite a relatively late start.

They probably aren’t counting on Donald Trump’s money, though, since he’s taken a fancy to meeting with all of his former would-be rivals in the splendor of Trump Towers, where he can flaunt his assumed wealth and media pull. The list of the groveling not only includes Romney and Perry, but also Mr. Pepperoni himself, Herman Cain. With his spicy comments (since recanted) and, in case you were blinded by his rhetoric, dark skin, Cain has been the most exciting thing happening in the 2012 Republican contest as of late.

Until New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie.

Christie was love unrequited. As a near John Candy double, Christie’s girth gained almost more attention during this short courtship than his policies or politics in the Garden State. But he mastered the attention, raising the adulation level.

Christie’s the tough-talking, imperfect, get-things-done governor from a super blue state. He knows and could tame the voracious New York-Philly media markets, charm those suburban soccer moms, cozy up to the beer-swilling blue-collar guys – the ones President Obama (not multinational corporations in search of dirt-cheap labor) put out of work with his “job-killing policies.” 

He could be that knight from the City on the Hill, so the thinking went. He would alter the trajectory of the race.

Still, Christie consistently told folks he wouldn’t run. That didn’t stop a draft-Christie movement from bubbling. Or keep media from tittering. Big money donors pursued him like frat boys after a vestal virgin. Really, there was more begging going on behind closed doors than at a blue-light basement party.

Bordering on foul-mouthed, brash and a self-proclaimed conservative, he was going to be that “fresh face” on the national stage for which the base has been clamoring. And they were panting by the door.

No attention was to be paid to the apparent fickle nature of this electorate, a strange amalgamation of tea party patriots, anti-abortion obsessionists, war hawks and a sprinkling of last-gasp dinosaurs known as moderates or intellectual conservatives (as opposed to the thriving John Birch Society variety). 

They were only fooling around with Sarah Palin (or, she was fooling around with them; according to former NBA star Glen Rice, she does that well).

The Donald? Just a flirtation. U.S. Rep. Michele Bachmann? A summer romance. Perry? A pretty face, but not who you take home to Uncle Sam. Not when he flubs debates and stumbles with that race thing.

In the end, Christie stood up (or missed, as some pundits have said) his date with destiny. That collective groan from his cheerleaders you just heard started along the Jersey Turnpike, scoured the Rust Belt, shook across the Rockies and then shivered in the Great White North.

He said simply that he wasn’t ready – a not so subtle nod to those who have assailed Obama on this charge. Even at face value, that level of candor is refreshing. It almost made folks swoon all over. Almost.

He has significant right-sided criticisms. And given a history of fairly moderate ideals – a must, actually, for any successful Northeastern Republican, which may be why so few fare well nationally – it’s likely he, too, would have been another carcass on the side of the GOP road to the White House, 2012 edition.

No, Christie opted to live to fight another day. Maybe knock some more heads in New Jersey. Maybe transform historically underperforming and under-resourced urban school districts in places like Camden and Newark. Maybe shed a few pounds. Do all of that, and maybe he comes in a winner in 2016. That was said to have been his plan all along.

That is, if he doesn’t opt for a veep slot this go ‘round.

In the meantime, the battle royal for the GOP crown continues. Stay tuned.

T-Paw's toast, officially

We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog post about youthful voters to solidify observations posted here earlier, that Gov. Tim Pawlenty was looking desperate and would be unable to make the GOP cut if he sank in Iowa. His Titanic-type campaign sputtered and sank at the Iowa Straw poll on Saturday.

Or . . . the courage to sit it out when the inevitable arises

Team T-Paw knew it too, and they went all in for Ames. Scrambling for activists. Pouring money into media. After throwing everything he had at the wall and seeing nothing stick -- from weakly sniping at fellow Minnesotan Michele Bachmann to declaring that you should "stick a fork in Obama, he's done" -- he decided to hang it up after finishing third in the largely symbolic political shin dig in Corn Country.

The straw poll winner doesn't always dictate the Iowa caucus winner -- or the RNC presidential nominee, or even White House's new occupant. But in this economy, even big donors have been a little gun-shy with the checkbook. Pawlenty's inability to connect with voters -- despite his working-class roots -- failed to sway those looking for energy. Anyone taking on a sitting president would need high momentum.

MashedPotatoMan just didn't inspire the masses.

Bachmann, on the other hand, does. Kind of like a mob leader. The U.S. representative and tea party queen  placed first in the contest, shattering a glass -- or corn husk -- ceiling of sorts. That may be the scarier prospect of this year's straw poll.

Check this space shortly on the latest regarding youthful voters and the issues that will have them hopping mad -- and organized -- for 2012.

America's crumbling image: More debt ceiling debate fallout

The Congressional elections of 2010 was supposed to be about jobs. Jobs, jobs, jobs.

Instead, we got a retread of the culture wars – the usual assortment of favorites like abortion, gay marriage, border control and whatnot. Plus, there was some tea party protestations with the package, as a bonus.

But mostly, we got hard lines declaring that the only way we would resolve any looming debt crisis facing the nation would be by cutting government spending. We also got the rebranding of said spending: “entitlements.”

That language shift is important. After all, it’s easier for those of us slaving away every day to scorn and scoff at those who are plunging us into bottomless debt and think they’re owed something.  That can help sway public opinion, which pushes any public mandate into your corner, making it easier to mow down the opposition.

That brings us here to the close of July, less than a year later, teetering on the unthinkable – the downgraded credit of the triple-A rated United States of America, whose greenback has been world currency for longer than English has reigned as the official international language.

Raising the debt ceiling – something that has been done dozens of times through administrations led by both parties – was the easy work. Figuring out how to restructure spending would be the hard work. For some, that is. Others would just toss those without into the streets and figure it's a lick on them if they couldn't do better for themselves. 

If the debt ceiling debacle has been the easy lift, it's going to take more than Superman and the entire Justice League AND Hercules to heft the second half of the issue. For the record, no such superheroes roam the halls of the U.S. Congress. Not even in alter-ego form. Somebody's going to have to page them. And fast.

Both Moody’s and Standard & Poor’s have been sounding the bells. And in case folks have been tone deaf to that, the markets signaled their own alarm, with stocks slumping downward every day last week. That finally got House Speaker John Boehner and Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell to cede the president’s point, that default would be economically catastrophic for U.S. and world markets. There may be some eventual relief in sight, though slight. Late Sunday, there were yet more assurances that a deal was "close."

But Boehner and McConnell's admissions of reality was a that concession came too late in the process – after start-and-walk talks with the president, days, instead of months, prior to the U.S. Treasury's Aug. 2 deadline.

Meanwhile, the tea party faithful still declare that such deadlines are pure fiction, that it’s all an elaborate ruse put together by the Obama Administration. And if it’s not, it’s his fault for panicking the world, not their obstinacy when it came to compromising on a deal on the debt solution that would include revenue adjustments – i.e. higher taxes for some, closing of loopholes for others. 

It was a deal Boehner could not sell or seal with the president. Compromise, we've come to find in this process, is a four-letter word in certain GOP vernacular. Or a two-letter one: “No.”

Meanwhile, the Moody’s economics team of John Lonski and Ben Garber warned again of a potential oncoming double-dip recession. The confidence that many had anticipated would ease open wallets and hiring offices suddenly slammed down in the face of the political wrangling that hijacked Washington.

How delighted America’s enemies must be at this moment – watching the world’s greatest economic and military power devour itself in what amounts to the pettiest of bickering. How easy it will be to demolish the remains of our global moral authority since we've all but delivered the equivalent of a juiced-up shredder and unlimited vats of coffee.

The nation whose fingerprints are plastered over international monetary policy, whose lectures are nearly mandated the world over, walked the precipice of global credit default. And to top it, much of the antagonism arose with a faction that was discontented with the concept of paying to educate its next generation, protect its elders, or care for its infirm and indigent. These costs have been lumped under the title of “wasteful government spending.”

Better those dollars stay in individual pockets; best if it goes to coffers of corporate conglomerates.

The propaganda writes itself. It also removes America’s hagiography and puts a glaring spotlight on the wizard behind the curtain.  And at a time when tens of millions of young people in the Middle East, Europe and the Americas, North and South, are looking for leadership and models to emulate as they fashion political philosophy for the next century, we have failed them, as a nation. And that’s the truest tragedy of all.

Making messy myth of Minnesota “nice”

As D.C.’s debt ceiling debacle drags on, the popcorn has been crackling in time for the latest comic relief: Tim Pawlenty vs. Michele Bachmann.

 In some respect, it’s a train wreck that doesn’t deserve the attention. In all honesty, it smacks of desperation by the Pawlenty people to remain relevant, because he's not wowing them in the polls – any of them. This is despite having led Minnesota, a decent-sized state, as governor, despite having declared his intentions early and despite all that gosh-darned earnestness. No one is taking this suitor. He can't even break into double digits. 

Pawlenty almost had higher name recognition when he first came off as a mostly moderate Republican who would defend his values on The Rachel Maddow Show. The good-natured but firm sparring with the rising liberal cable-show commentator puffed up his stock. Then, like the housing market, it all collapsed.

He was dwarfed by crazy.

Not just normal, run-of-the-mill crazy like Newt Gingrich or the dogged quaintness of the near-eccentric U.S. Ron Paul. Or even decidedly disgusting digs by Herman “Can’t-stand-Muslims” Cain, the former  Godfather’s Pizza CEO trying to out-black the president and out-bigot his opponents in this GOP mash up.

Nope. Pawlenty got played out of position by a fellow Minnesotan – straight-outta-Stearns County silliness in the form of U.S. Rep. Michele Bachmann, self-anointed Congressional tea party leader.

The man who won early buzz as a strong potential rival to Mitt Romney can't get it going, but in swoops the woman who swears the Founding Fathers “worked tirelessly until slavery was no more” (just as soon as they got finished reaping all the benefits of all that free, lash-driven labor and sanctioned rape; see "Washington, George" or "Jefferson, Thomas"). She's running second only to front-runner Mitt Romney.

Panicked Pawlenty people must have urged him to stiffen his rhetoric, add some sharp right turns to his speeches. Team T-Paw removed that renowned Minnesota Nice from the playbook and launched our lad into murky mud-slinging waters.

President Obama was the easy target. But then Pawlenty’s slings were lost amid the dozens of arrows slung by his 12 – or 16, or 24, but who’s counting? – fellow GOP presidential wannabes. And Romney just played it cool and quiet, bobbing along, unfazed.

On a pivot, Pawlenty changed strategies, walking right up to the door of attacking Romney at the first full GOP debate . . . and like a kid caught on the steps during Mischief Night, slunk back. So ended Round One.

Clearly that devil on his shoulder was no match for Minnesota Nice.

Round Two. Pawlenty got back in his corner. He shook it off, drank from the Courage Carafe and opened an offensive on the opponent he most needed to bring down . . . which was Bachmann. Using migraines as a weapon.

Yes, migraines.

Not her lack coherency – despite numerous examples, from distortions on monetary policy to basic American history. The Daily Show with Jon Stewart’s writing team actually should pay her for the material she readily has supplied.  

Nope. That would come later. He first inferred that she may not be fit to be Commander in Chief because of reported vicious headaches. And as has been his pattern, he walked that back, calling it a “sideshow.” 

Then came Round Three, leading off with criticism of her lack of experience. 

Maybe he thought he was taking the path of least resistance. Or that she would stand still as he decided which way to try and take her down a notch. Maybe he expected her to practice Minnesota Nice, too.

Not.

Mama Migraine came roaring back. And that was just the beginning of his headache.

There’s fear that the comments could be read as a sly sexist wink, since female migraine sufferers outpace males. What next? Midol Michele – can we trust her at 3 a.m.? Boom! Enter the gender card!

Pundits blasted the blunder for what it was – at once spineless and bland, making it an apt T-Paw faux pas.

There is that maxim that there’s no such thing as bad publicity. If Pawlenty chats up Newt Gingrich, Man about Town and Tiffany’s, he'll learn that the sages lied. This kind of summertime stupidity is not how you want your presidential campaign defined. Not unless you’re planning to start pitching for Excedrin.

Regardless of the glint of promise that shimmered early on, Pawlenty keeps tramping down the wrong road. Yes, it's early. Six months in politics is like two minutes in football. But if he can’t get a grip for those critical caucuses in Iowa, with conservatives ready to launch the sails of the next GOP contender for the White House, he can pretty much kiss it goodnight. And probably only on the cheek, because he won't be making it to second base.

Forgot to mention Bachmann’s birthplace. It's Waterloo, Iowa. Heard she's planning quite the homecoming.