TRADING PLACES
-- Cranky Old Liberal Tom Daschle Has Morphed Into My Grandma!
by Lin Anderson
The labels "conservative" and "liberal" get flung so much against the wall of conversation that almost nobody stops to think a whole lot about them, except to come up with colorful insults for the one which you emphatically are not. As with anything reduced to a label, the little nuances tend to get hopelessly lost in all the blather, to the extent that few pundits have bothered to mention that the two factions have almost completely changed places.
This thought dawned on me the other night when I chanced to read Senator Tom Daschle's latest hilariously-overdramatized reaction to what had seemed (to me) a well-delivered, perfectly-reasoned speech by President Bush -- in this case, the speech in which the president, like so many 1930s B-movie police chiefs before him, gave ol' Saddam 48 hours to get outta town and take his twisted little crime family with him.
As is usually the case in this instantaneously goofy era, Senator Daschle's reaction was offered prior to the actual speech being made, which certainly -- when you get right down to it -- saves precious time.
In delivering his pre-sponse to Mr. Bush, Mr. Daschle stood before a gathering of the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees -- a group perhaps more aptly termed a "trough" -- and made the following comment:
"I'm saddened, saddened that this president failed so miserably at diplomacy that we're now forced to war ... Saddened that we have to give up one life because this president couldn't create the kind of diplomatic effort that was so critical for our country."
Oh. The pain.
That's the sort of boo-hooey you expect out of, for example, classic thespian Olivia DeHavilland on a six-day elderberry wine drunk, not a duly-elected United States Senator -- even a duly-elected United States Senator from South Dakota.
I'm certain that -- after assuring the crowd that he was all broody and so very, very completely and genuinely fraught with sadness that this president would even think of going after a guy who can't get enough Kurdish tongue-slicings individually and bone-melting chemical weapons collectively -- Mr. Daschle then looked up (Mr. Daschle always has to look up), his tender eyes as moist as former Vice President Al Gore's armpits after a hearty game of Saharan touch football, and made a slight head-bow in the direction of the appreciative applause from the few still conscious State, County and Municipal Employees.
My own reaction was a little more subdued, but then Mr. Daschle is not routinely drafting legislation to protect the paychecks of America's pundits.
Leaving aside Senator Tom's take on 'taking down' Saddam, my first thought upon hearing Mr. Daschle's whiny, tortured spiel was: This is a liberal? I used to be a liberal, dammit. Back when it meant what it sounds like it means. Back when you grew your hair long, or you had your girlfriend cut it all off -- with her teeth; back when you smoked with impunity and, when your forefinger started to blister, a roach clip; back when you power-slammed a few hundred brewskis, maybe knocked up a couple of chicks, and most certainly made fun of your devoutly conservative grandma who was always telling you that "your attitude" was going to send you hurtling on a flaming Concorde to Dr. Satan's Receiving Hospital.
And that was just Saturday afternoon.
"Hot damn," I quietly reasoned. "Senator Tom Daschle isn't a liberal. Senator Tom Daschle is my grandma!"
And that wasn't even the half of it. I quickly made the stone-cold realization that Senator Tom Daschle was not only my grandma, he was actually better at being my grandma than she ever was, because he then combined his deep, saddened disapproval with a Waltons-esque flagon of by-god-we'll-get-through-it. Such a marked departure from my own grandma's comforting "Flee my sight, demon-spawn!"
Mr. Daschle assured the assembled State, County and Municipal Employees -- many of whom undoubtedly were there after taking time out from looking down into that big hole in the street -- that, "We will work, and we will do all we can to get through this crisis like we've gotten through so many."
That subtle whirring you hear is Greer Garson rotating in her crypt.
After a cascade of sentiment like that one, you almost expect to be lovingly hugged to Senator Tom Daschle's ample bosom -- stooping to do it -- while inhaling the comforting intermingled scents of lilac, talcum powder and Mentholatum.
Dear God. That must have been what Norman Rockwell's nightmares were like.
There is absolutely no doubt that this -- whatever the heck it is -- being practiced by Mr. Daschle out there on the rubber chicken circuit is emphatically not the sort of fiery devil-may-care liberalism that used to set my heart aflutter prior to my conversion to what is now known as "conservatism" -- which seems in practice an awful lot like those golden liberal days. And it illustrates, better than anything else I can think of, the neck-twisting switch which has occurred with regard to these two all-American belief systems.
My liberal friends shrilly decry the strictures they believe conservatives -- armed with their old-fashioned and mean-spirited notions -- are forcing upon them. But let's slide the little specimen under the microscope, here. It's not the conservatives gawking with shock when somebody lights up a menthol cigarette after polishing off dinner at Red Lobster; the conservatives aren't the ones shrieking when a character in a movie -- in a movie for godsake! -- makes a little ribald fun of Jesse Jackson. Conservatives aren't the ones telling you what kind of car you shouldn't drive, what kind of words you shouldn't use, how much you shouldn't drink, and why you shouldn't eat at Red Lobster because shellfish are people, too.
Nope. It's the "liberals" doing all that -- those very folks whom you may recall as the famous freedom-lovin' Merry Pranksters of old. The liberals have gone the conservatives one better -- they have become grandma with a license to legislate -- and, man, does grandma ever turn out to be one tough old bitch with that kind of ammunition. It's all about Mother Jones morphed into Carrie Nation on the left side of the political spectrum.
Conservatives, on the other hand, tend these days to be the party animals, the what-the-hellers. Seldom do you find a conservative -- male or female -- tearing off to the courthouse because somebody told a dirty joke within their auditory range if they listened really, really hard. Conservatives aren't the ones getting people fired because their vocabularies include the word "niggardly." And if you ask a conservative if he minds if you smoke, you're most likely going to find yourself lighting him up, too -- followed by maybe a couple of drinks and a little lobster-shooting down there at the bay.
In fact, the dictionary definition of "liberal" is wildly laughable when applied to today's breed: "Not limited to or by established, traditional, orthodox, or authoritarian attitudes, views, or dogmas; free from bigotry."
That is exactly what they are not.
And I'm certain I'm not the only formerly-genuine liberal who feels co-opted by this new, ever more feeble, off-brand of lib -- this cadre of fussy, controlling, totalitarian and ultimately weepy fellas and gals who never met a good time -- or, for that matter, an honorable president -- they didn't diss.
Lin Anderson is a Nevada writer/editor and the National Association of Free Community Papers' 2002 winner for best original writing. A frequent contributor to Nevada magazine, he has won five Nevada State Press Awards and in 2001 was inducted into the Nevada Broadcasters Hall of Fame. When you have nothing better to do, check out his entertaining website Lin Anderson. Mr. Anderson can be contacted at linanderson@columnist.com.