Poor America

One debate down, two to go.  (I don't count Biden-Palin.  That's not a debate, that's vaudeville.)  Last week's first Obama-McCain debate was scheduled to cover foreign policy yet was dropped surreally into the middle of the nation's most pressing economic crisis since 1929.  I don't mean to suggest they should have switched topics but let's just say that Waziristan has never seemed farther away than it did last week while watching the Dow do its impression of a lead balloon.

McCain accused Obama of going through the entire debate without uttering the word, "victory."  Obama rebutted that McCain never used the phrase, "middle-class."  Both accurate points that, I suppose, say something about both campaigns and to whom they're speaking. 

Here's a word I haven't heard either of them say in quite some time:  

Poverty.

According to McClatchy Newspapers and the lastest census figures (2005), there are now thirty-seven million Americans living below the poverty line of $20,000 per year for a family of four, which is a thirty-two year high.  Forty-three percent of those, or sixteen million, Americans live in extreme, or deep, poverty.  Deep poverty is defined as a family of four making less than $9,903 per year, or half the amount of those living in your basic, run-of-the-mill, common everyday poverty.  The total of Americans living in deep poverty grew twenty-six percent from 2000-2005.   

Think about supporting a family of four on ten grand a year.  That's $200 a week.  $50 a head.  

$50 a week to cover the cost of a life in the world's richest country.  Where a Venti Latte at Starbucks costs $4.  You do the math.

Now, I'm no expert on monetary policy -- I buy a lottery ticket twice a week -- but I don't think $50 a week can get it done.  

We're facing economic Armageddon, or something approximating it.  From what I understand, they're going to start making me pay cash in restaurants pretty quick here.  Businesses, small and large, will be forced to close if they are unable to obtain the credit necessary to operate in today's economy.  Which means a whole lot more people making under, not only $20,000 a year, but under $9,903 as well.  

Deep poverty.

I'd like to hear the candidates talk to the impoverished.  I know the reason they don't.  Poor folks don't like to think of themselves as poor.  They prefer to be called "working-class" or "lower-middle-class."  Just as upper-middle-class people are quick to answer to "rich."  It's a big downer for everyone to consider the deprivations and hardships of being really, really poor.  It's difficult to sell the American Dream in Paragraph One and pivot to $50 a week in Paragraph Five.  Nobody wants to think about being poor.  It was Reagan's genius that he sold the fantasy that anyone could be rich to a bunch of poor bastards that had no chance, nada, of every sniffing the inside of a Mercedes.  Twice.  

But there's at least a reasonable chance that a whole bunch more of us are going to join the thirty-seven million Americans currently living in poverty.  The McClatchy analysis determined that fifty-eight percent of Americans will spend at least one year of their life in poverty.  One in three will succumb to deep poverty.  To quote Mark Rank, a professor of social welfare at Washington University in St. Louis:

"It would appear that for most Americans the question is no longer if, but rather when, they will experience poverty.  In short, poverty has become a routine and unfortunate part of the American life course."

I'd like the candidates to address this catastrophic statistic in their next debate.  Not on their websites.  Not in a stump speech.  On national television, in front of tens of millions of Americans, many of whom, I'm sorry to say, are not middle-class.  They're poor.  They're not worried about their kids going to college, or retiring with dignity.  They're fighting to stay alive.

And that number is growing.  

Now, if you'll excuse me, the MegaMillions jackpot is $32 million tonite.  I gotta run.

Down and Dirty

The Dow dropped some five hundred points on Monday, losing 4.4% of its value between breakfast and high tea.  Lehman Brothers declared bankruptcy, Merrill Lynch was snatched up by Bank of America and American International Group teetered on the brink of collapse.  Contrary to John McCain's initial reaction, the very fundamentals of our economy (the mortgage market, access to credit, pension holdings) were being buffeted by the winds of deregulation.

Thank God.

Yeah, my net worth fell from inconsequential to piddling yesterday but, as I often tell myself, it's only money.  I lost a pretty penny but, on the flip side of that coin, many people went all day without mentioning the name of Sarah Palin.

That has to be worth something.

The Wall Street story allowed the Obama campaign to focus on what this election needs to be about if he is to emerge victorious -- how failed Republican policies have created a nation that is considerably worse off than it was when the Clintons left office in 2000.  McCain applied the shovel to his own grave by first declaring our economy "fundamentally sound," before his handlers pushed him back out in front of cameras several hours later to muddle through a stack of cue cards explaining that, by "fundamentals," he meant the American workers, their work ethic and their values.  Which was, of course, nonsense.  Ridiculous.  A blatant lie.  

I've been of the opinion since McCain reacted so rashly to the spectacle of the Democratic Convention by plucking Palin from out of her tanning bed in the Great White North that the choice's bounce would have a short shelf-life.  He's too old, too Republican and too disinterested in domestic policy (especially economics) to get away with choosing a running mate who addresses none of his weaknesses and speaks to few Independents.  Throw in the near daily dose of Palin Drama -- pregnant daughter, Trooper Gate, the Bridge to Nowhere fiasco, her predictably erratic performance in her first major interview, her husband's history as an Alaskan secessionist, book banning, librarian firing, classmate hiring, etcetera, etcetera -- and the shine is coming off the Republican ticket before our very eyes.  I'm guessing November 4th looks a long way off to Team McCain right about now.

Speaking of the Bridge to Nowhere, her version of the story is as close to the truth as their campaign has come on an issue since their hook-up.  She claims she said, "Thanks but no thanks."  Well . .  . almost.  What she really said was, "Thanks" and then, much later, "No thanks."  By Team McCain standards, that makes her George Washington.

As for Obama, his brand has been losing its luster as well.  What started out as a pledge for a different kind of campaign has been inexorably dragged backwards towards the swamp of politics-as-usual.  He campaigned on the promise to accept public funding, thereby leading the charge to cleanse our electoral process of the influence of special interests, but he was ultimately unable to resist the lure of the huge financial advantage his fund-raising machine represented over the Republicans.  He initially agreed, in general terms, to a series of town-hall meetings with McCain only to flip-flop when he took a healthy lead in the early polls and was reminded of the old political rule that the leader debates as seldom as he can possibly get away with.  

For most politicians, these would be minor infractions.  After all, the game has been played this way forever.  Money is speech, we have a constitutional right to Free Speech, so collect as much money as possible, from whatever sources are available.  And never play to an opponent's strengths if it can be avoided.  McCain has always been a one trick campaign pony -- town hall meetings.  So, the conventional wisdom was, don't debate him using the town hall forum.

But Obama hasn't been selling himself as a conventional politician.  What made him special was his ability to inspire a belief in a new kind of politics.  Every time he resorts to politics-as-usual he cheapens his brand.  And every opportunity McCain has to accuse him of being afraid to go in front of the people with him is an opportunity lost for Obama to convince undecided voters that he is someone they can feel comfortable voting for. 

It's a tricky problem.  While he might very well be able to govern with a new style of politics, it's proving very difficult to get elected with them.  When McCain manages to force Obama to waste time and money defending himself against scurrilous attacks and outright lies, McCain doubles his winnings.  He wins not only because Obama is thrown off his message that McCain is out of touch and is offering no real solutions, but also because Obama seems a little less special each time he engages in gutbucket politics.  And, on the other hand, if Obama chooses not to rise to the bait, he comes across as weak, unwilling to fight for himself.  And if he's unwilling to defend himself, how can we expect him to defend the American people.  Like I said, it's a tricky problem.

McCain faces some of the same challenges.  McCain has spent years railing against Beltway politics and nasty campaigning.  Yet, when presented with the opportunity to carry his party's banner, he dropped those vaunted principles of his faster than he dropped his first wife.  When he realized he was going to have to go negative to stand any chance whatsoever, he replaced Terry Nelson with Steve Schmidt and saved a seat in the back of the Straight Talk Express for Schmidt's mentor, Karl Rove.  He agonized over throwing his lifelong ideal of honor off the back of the bus for about a second and a half.

The difference is, Republicans can win with lies.  They're comfortable getting down and dirty.  They've been doing it since Lee Atwater.  Hell, since Pat Buchanan.  Republicans talk about the high road and idealism and leaving the world a better place for our kids.  But they don't mean it.  You aren't serious about improving the next generation's lot in life if you are borrowing money hand over fist against their future.  You're not serious if you are unwilling to admit that the country's infrastructure is crumbling and that it's going to take hugh sums to repair it.  Sums that will require more than cutting earmarks and eliminating wasteful government programs.  Goods and services cost money.  The only way to raise that money is to raise taxes.  Which the Republicans are unwilling to admit.  (Note I didn't say they're unwilling to do.  They'll do it.  They just won't admit it.)  You're not serious about leaving the world a better place if you deny the causes and effects of global warming and refuse to consider environmental, energy and transportation policies that are necessary to combat climate change.

Obama started out this campaign almost two years ago and has been trying to stick to the high road ever since.  He was mostly successful in the Democratic primaries because he was running against, well, Democrats.  There is a bar below which, for the most part, Democrats will not crawl.  Let's call it common decency.  

But now we're in the general election and it's Obama against the Republicans.  He's been slogging along the high road, dodging McCain mudballs and slowly losing his lead.  Last week he came to a bend in the road.  He rounded the turn and pulled up short.  He was met with Lipstick on a Pig and Comprehensive Sex Education for Kindergarteners.  Behind which, the high road had vanished.  It had crumbled and collapsed as surely as the bridges and roadways across America under the strain of Republican economic policy.  It had become the Road to Nowhere.

So, Obama no longer has a choice.  McCain has forced him to finish the journey on the low road.  It was a noble experiment, this New Politics, but it's not for winning elections.  Time to take the gloves off.  Hopefully, Obama can put them back on when it comes time to govern.

I Tried

Every four years I promise myself I'm going to make it through an entire Republican Convention.  Four nights, five-six hours each night . . . no big deal, right?  I do it happily for the Democrats.  From gavel to gavel, from invocation to acceptance, I am always interested and often thrilled by the spectacle of my party making sausage.  If for no other reason than civic duty, I feel I should be able to do the same on the Republican side.

But I can't.  Every four years I fail miserably.  I generally make it through all of Monday night, albeit with a splitting headache.  By 9:00 pm Tuesday, however, the country music and chants of USA! and Drill Now! (or that year's convention's equivalent rants) are beginning to chip away at my resolve.  I call it quits a couple of hours early, but I'm able to convince myself I captured the gist of the night's message.  Besides, I'm TiVo-ing.  I'll catch up tomorrow.  Remember back in college when you had a three hour lecture class and you would cut out at the break to meet your buddies down at the pub, figuring you'd copy the notes of the girl who sat behind you next week?  It's like that.  On Wednesday, I watch the Veep nominee's speech, turn off the TV and have a fight with my girlfriend.  Because, by this point, I feel like someone has been striking me in the middle of my forehead with a ballpeen hammer for 72 hours.  Thursday night I manage to last through about ten minutes of the Republican nominee's speech playing in the background as I stare blankly at the ceiling before I throw a bottle through the television screen. 

Every four years.

This week was the same, only worse.  I've been watching these things since 1972 and the Republican Convention that ended last night was the most disingenuous, hypocritical, mean-spirited, race-baiting, classist (I'd add sexist but the Republicans have nominated an ex-beauty contest winner and Miss Congeniality for their runner-up spot, so they have necessarily had to soft peddle their usual little-woman condescension) celebration of the dark side of America's ruling class that I have as yet had the pleasure of violently pre-empting before the balloons fell.

They sneered at the concept of community organizing.  They clamored for change with a straight face, as though by not mentioning Bush's name we will forget who has been carrying this hellbound hand basket for the past eight years.  They accused their opponents of being elitist and out-of-touch while their nominee's wife had the gall to show up on stage wearing $300,000 worth of runway clothes and jewels.   

I am, for the most part, happy to debate the relative merits of the progressive agenda against the conservative platform.  Point of fact, I spend a fair amount of each day engaged just so.  But I need a short break here.  If you can picture yourself walking into the voting booth and pulling the lever for McCain-Palin after having watched both parties present their cases these past two weeks, well . . . I've got nothing.  Go to TPM or Kos or Huffington Post and browse the literally thousands of posts which delineate the Republican's mendacity and absolute dearth of fresh ideas or innovative policies.  

If that sounds like a cop out on my part, so be it.  But it's hard duty, trying to put yourself in the shoes of an enthusiastic Republican conventioneer.  Walk a mile?  Hell, I can't get the things laced up.  I'm beat.  I'm tired and, worse than that, I feel dirty.  I feel like I need a long, hot shower.  No, come to think of it, a shower won't get it done.  I need to take a few days and travel to a spring-fed mountain lake.  I will bathe naked in its cold, clear waters and commune with nature.  I will meditate on the question of good versus evil.  I shall observe a vow of silence.  

And then I'll drive back Sunday night ready to re-enter the fray.  By which time, I might add, I fully expect this silly Palin fervor to have broken.  If Obama loses, it won't be because the Republicans picked a right-wing, creationist, abortion-abolishing nut who hasn't yet formulated an opinion on the Iraq War as their vice presidential candidate.  The race is about Obama and McCain and, after the past two weeks, it still looks like a mismatch to me.

McCain should lose, if for no other reason than he is the worst speaker I have ever heard at this level of politics.  I thought W was bad?  Shoot, Bush is John Barrymore next to McCain.  It seems to me that the bare minimum qualification for being handed the world's tallest soapbox should be the ability to use a teleprompter.  The thought of watching McCain address the nation for the next four years, his gaze locked on the cue cards like a rat eyeballing a piece of cheese in a trap, ignoring pauses and stepping on applause lines, declaring wars and cutting taxes while the deficit continues to skyrocket and ice shelves the size of Manhattan tumble into the Arctic seas is either too depressing or too terrifying for me to contemplate right now.  Maybe both.  

I'll be at the lake if you need me.

"It's Sarah, Senator."

Rrrrrring!

"Hello."

"Governor, Senator McCain is on the line."

"Awesome.  Put him through."

"Sandra, it's John McCain.  I hope I didn't wake you."

"Um, no, I was just putting up some walrus meat.  Where does the day go, right?  Well, you know what they say, there's only twenty-two hours of light in a day.  And it's Sarah, actually."

"Beg pardon?"

"My name is Sarah, not Sandra."

"Oh, right.  My bad.  Look, I'll get right to the point.  I just finished watching Obama in Denver and, I don't mind telling you, I'm a little worried.  For whatever reason, people don't seem to be seeing through his messiah act.  First reactions are coming in on the convention and I expect he'll see a pretty good bounce.  We need to shake things up here."

"Er, well, I didn't really watch . . . the baby keeps me pretty busy these days."

"Sure, sure.  Well, trust me, our country is in grave danger.  And I believe that I'm the one to save us.  But I'll need your help.  What would you say to running with me?"

"Running with you?  Why, sure, that sounds fun.  I'm quite the runner, actually.  I finished Humpy's Marathon back in 2005 in under four hours!  How far do you usually go?"

"I don't run, my friend.  I don't run.  When most people were taking up jogging, I was locked in a room, without a table, for five and a half years."

"I'm sorry, Senator.  That was insensitive of me."

"Don't worry about it, kid.  I like your spunk.  I'm not talking about jogging, I'm talking about running as my vice-presidential candidate.  Would you do that?"

"Jeez, I'm shocked.  You could knock me over with a penguin feather, Senator.  Do you really think I'm qualified?"

"Huh?  Qualified?  Listen, Sandy, if I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, the vice president has two jobs:  to attend state funerals and to inquire after the health of the president.  Can you do that?"

"Absolutely.  I've got the cutest fox stole I pull out on formal occasions."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to leave the furs in Alaska, Governor.  They don't play down here in DC with the liberal media.  Let me ask you, what's your position on the Iraq War?"

"To tell you the truth, Senator, I don't really have one.  We're pretty independent up here, sir.  We don't pay much attention to the outside world.  To us, you're all pretty much snowbirds."

"Independent.  I like that.  Anything else I should know?"

"Well, I should mention, we're having a spot of trouble with Bristol. . . "

"Pistols?  Don't you worry about the gun issue, Governor.  I used to tussle with the NRA, but I've come around to their side these past few months.  Gun owners have no stronger friend than Senator John McCain and I think your position as a sportswoman can only help the ticket.  You know, pacify the base, shut their yaps for just one goddamn minute.  No, this is feeling right to me.  You know, Sandy, I've always been a shoot-from-the-hip kind of guy.  My gut told me 'Joe,' but my base told me, 'no.'"  OK, then, we move on.  But it's got to be outside the box.  If I play it safe, this race will be The Death of a Thousand Cuts.  Which I know a little about, after spending five and a half years in a real box.  So we'll change the game.  This is the first maverick move I've made since I won the nomination.  I'm back, baby!"

"Not 'pistols,' Senator, Bristol.  My seventeen year old daughter just told us she's five months pregnant.  Now we have to plan a wedding, and quick.  Good thing I own a shotgun, right, sir?  No telling what that boy of hers would have done."

"Listen, family is sacred.  I learned that back in '98 when I told that little joke about Chelsea Clinton at a fund-raiser.  Have you heard it?"

"No, how does it go?"

"Why is Chelsea Clinton so ugly?"

"I don't know.  Why?"

"Because her father is Janet Reno.  Get it?  'Course, it was much funnier back then.  She was a mighty plain eighteen year-old, don't you think?  Anyway, I took eight kinds of hell for that one.  Obambi won't dare use your daughter against us."

"Uh, OK, Senator, if you say so.  Just one last thing -- I wanted to mention that I'm being investigated . . ."

"That's fine, Governor, just fine.  It's been good talking to you.  I had a strong feeling about you the other time we talked.  What was it, six months ago?  Now I'm even more sure this is the way to go.  My people will be in touch.  Good night, Sandra."

"It's Sarah, Senator.  I'll be. . ."

Click.