This compelling rendition of Deep Purple's "When A Blind Man Cries" goes out to Adam "Sticky" Dickey, chairman of multiple unDemocratic parties in Indiana's 9th district -- except in Crawford County, where I'm told Democrats have gone the way of the Edsel.
Echoing the author's words, Chairman Disney just needs you to monetize Jeff Gahan and be scared of Republicans -- not necessarily in that order.
But it isn't that ideals aren't present. Ideals surely remain, scattered throughout the shop floor, although they're ghostly to the point of vape trail at the top, where the coordination of beak-wetting is civic job one. For so long as Dickey applauds in Gahan what he criticizes in Trump, the local Democratic Party is a contradiction in terms.
And increasingly, voters see the hypocrisy.
Gahan's the cancer of your own creation, unDemocrats. Think we can build a doggie aquatic park atop the ruins of public housing?
The Democratic Party Is a Ghost, by Jacob Bacharach (Jacobin)
Democratic Party elites don’t have ideals. They just need you to be scared of the Republicans.
I’ve said before that the Democratic Party isn’t really a political party at all, but rather something closer to a think tank — a kind of failed academic enterprise whose principal output is dubious research written in the style of a press release and the occasional bemusing and ineffectual appearance on cable news.
Although they endlessly carp that dastardly Republican gerrymandering has locked them ever out of real legislative power, in point of fact it’s the institution of the Democratic Party that’s benefited. The GOP gave birth to a feisty swamp monster of Tea Party activism. Convince yourself all you want that this was the result of Koch Bros astroturfing; in reality, it’s the Republican Party that’s been roiled by primary challenges to established teat-suckers; it’s the Republican Party that’s tossed out its goldfish-mouthed leadership in favor of a class of politicians really committed to exercising power.
The Democratic leadership looks hardly different than it has for my entire adult life, a grim and aging collection of Clinton apparatchiks totally secure in their sinecures — all the more so because the only time the party ever does use what power it has, it’s to quash any discontent from its base or its leftward flank. It would be tempting to call it a zombie, but a zombie is living dead; a zombie is compelled by a lustful, powerful hunger. A zombie is all appetite — it is more than alive. The GOP is a zombie. The Democratic Party is a ghost — diaphanous, spooky, and utterly unable to interact with the actual world. At best, it can rattle the pots, or leave a little trail of slime.
