There’s a big difference between wanting someone to drop off the face of the earth because you plan to remake God’s creation and because you’d rather not be killed yourself. It’s the difference between Left and Right.
A couple of weeks ago, Sean Hannity was playing the rant of some CNBC (I believe) commentator on his radio show with many a chuckle. I had never heard of the person in question and did not think to make a note of his name—nor have I any interest in witnessing grown men shower their microphones with spittle and their Jockeys with urine. I wish now that I had paid closer attention, however. For one remark within the rave has stuck with me: “The Tea Party wants the President dead,” or, “The Tea Party wants the President to die.” This remark was repeated. It occurred at the apex of the apoplectic gibbering. Yet when I used it in a keyword search lately in order to retrieve the full context, I could find nothing at all helpful. There were hits for commentators ranting and raving, hits for the Tea Party being dead or about to die, hits for commentators who wished that the Tea Party would die… but nothing about the buffoonish utterance that stirred Hannity’s mirth.
To my mind, this airbrushing of information from the Internet is in itself worth a long article. I’ve long heard that the Internet shall make us free, and that what happens on the Internet stays everywhere on planet Earth forever. Apparently our Internet is fast beginning to resemble China’s—and people like me are naively unaware of the process. I knew that Yahoo and Facebook were in the tank with the Regime, but I had not realized that the editing, rewriting, and purging of history had already reached such advanced levels.
Let us stipulate, though, that Mr. X was correct in making The Remark That Was Never Made. That is, let us concede that some supporters of the Tea Party would have a very good day if they woke up to the news that the President had passed on to his eternal reward. I will even volunteer myself as that person. What exactly does that mean? Does it mean that I am a potential assassin or saboteur? That interpretation strikes me as rather insane. I have had neighbors with noisy dogs, and I have wished that those dogs would make their way quickly to canine paradise on occasion… but I didn’t buy any poison or look into fashioning a silencer for a sniper rifle.
What, then, is commonly meant by the colorful expression, “Drop dead”? What does a progressive mean when he launches that expression at Rush Limbaugh or Laura Ingraham (as many progressives have publicly done, in equivalent wording)? The idea seems to be that we would like the person to disappear: we’re no longer interested in listening to anything he has to say or even in rebutting his arguments. We consider him an insurmountable nuisance who is not to be dealt with in any patient, rational fashion (or in any fashion that we consider rational, which may be very different from the genuine article). Enough! Just leave! Just go away and don’t come back! Just drop dead!
This is the same as saying, “Get on a spaceship and go to another galaxy! Go freeze yourself cryogenically for the next millennium! Go walk through a worm hole and visit the Pharaohs!” It is not a death threat, or even a wish for the person’s death in any meaningful sense—or not necessarily. In its most innocent sense, it is a desire that destiny’s reset button might be punched, allowing the rest of us to prosecute something like a normal life without an unremittingly disruptive presence constantly thrusting confusion and chaos into our days.
Now, under what circumstances, I ask, might a person be entitled to entertain such an “uncharitable” wish? In other words, how far should charity properly extend? A search using some combination of the words, “liberals/left wish death on … [name of any prominent conservative],” is almost certain to turn up a dozen hits. Check out the crosshair-comments of Mike Malloy and Chris Matthews about Rush Limbaugh, of Montel Williams about Michele Bachmann, and of Ed Schultz about Dick Cheney. There’s even something called the “Playboy Rape List of Conservative Women”. The collective impression left by such research is a) that oracles of the Left do not simply want right-wing spokesmen to disappear, but want them to do so amid blood and screams; and b) that the conservatives in the bull’s eye have little or no formal power. Most are bloggers or talk-show hosts.
It doesn’t seem to me, therefore, that death wishes of this variety deserve much charity of interpretation. While they do not constitute threats (in most cases), their targets have committed no crime greater than disagreeing with inflexible utopian ideology and offering rationale and/or information in support of that disagreement. Progressivism’s would-be vaporizers want people dead who find flaws in their point of view. No wonder some of us are very disturbed about allowing the technology of Predator Drones to crisscross our skies under the direction of such minds; for if these spoiled-brat enfants terribles are not actually hatching murderous plots, they nevertheless evince a sociopathic indifference to the notion of exterminating “the other side” which renders them unrecognizable as fellow Americans. Would they really cry foul if you and I were rounded up and shot in the streets for our political and moral convictions? If they are not themselves the stuff of dictators, do they have within them enough common sense and true grit to resist a progressive dictatorship? Are you kidding?
Now consider the Tea Party “death wishers”: what has provoked them to the point of imagining another human being’s disappearance with equanimity, or even with pleasure? Why, the very situation just described: the ubiquity of a slavering mad-dog coterie that craves their death in some massive and sanguinary form, if one may judge by the words of media-purveyed progressivism. They—we—must suffocate our culture, or be killed along with it. We must surrender our children in school to a daily brainwashing wherein no afterlife exists, no transcending justice prevails, no self-control is required of virtue, no sexual impulse is subordinated to solemn obligation, and no material profit derived from hard work is legitimate. The zealots of the Left hate our ways; and if we will not surrender our values, then we must die along with them. We want to eat as we choose, to care for our health as we choose, to have deadly force at our disposal if cold-blooded killers break into our homes. Our adversaries—the same ones who demand free sex for early teens and gay/man-boy/man-animal marriage in the spirit of individual choice—would have us virtually bound and gagged, hooked up to a centralized feeding tube, and sedated on the State’s gurney (which morphs into a hearse at a word from a panel of faceless bureaucrats). They hate the freedom we cherish: and if we will not surrender it, then we must die along with it.
We must even be contented with a “security” policy that floods our local streets with armed alien thugs and an “economic” policy that gives our jobs away to alien hordes within our boundaries and to foreign nationals halfway around the world. We must believe that there is no money to police our borders yet plenty of money to honeycomb our domestic airspace with spycraft—that there are no funds to equip our military but plenty to increase government bureaucracy. And as the cost of fuel for reaching whatever stagnant jobs we may still have begins to soar, we are also to believe that “fracking” technology is a waste of time and that twirling windmills hold the answer to our energy needs.
And on and on and on. We of the Tea Party simply want relief from the descending darkness—a light at the end of the tunnel. We want another pilot, and another course. The present pilot-in-chief has locked himself in the cabin, jammed the joy-stick into a hard nose-dive, and accelerated until all the needles are popping out of the console. Yet the lunatics in the luxury section are chanting, “At last—on our way to the Promised Land!”… and they wish death upon us if we point out the window or shoot a worried glance at the cabin door. They cry, “You’d like him dead, wouldn’t you? You’d just love to hear that our pilot is dead! In your rotten hearts, all you can conceive is death to those who would bring life to the world!”
Rush Limbaugh must be right: I suppose liberalism, as he calls it (or neo-liberalism—i.e., progressivism) really is a mental disorder. It is, in fact, incipient insanity. And because of this rampant insanity, the violent death (as by assassination) of El Supremo is the very last thing I would wish. After such an event, our scattered fragments of a nation would at once erupt into urban riots verging upon civil war. I personally keep hoping that Scottie will beam the man up some time soon for a long, far mission. Yet I would be the first one to go tackle the next Lee Harvey Oswald—as would any Tea Party Patriot.
Really, if the man would just go to Hollywood or Hawaii and stay there… wouldn’t it be nice? After all, the rest of us only want to live. That’s all we want: just the chance to live like free men and women. There would be another man to follow this one, however: I know that. Too many among us would like to see freedom dead.