Let’s Get Cynical, Cynical.

Well strip me of all empathy and call me Pete Wilson.

I want to kickback upon the old settee and sip me a six-pack of locally crafted APATHY while watching that cable news b-roll some fresh-faced “Dreamers” being Olé, one-way, south of the border.

Did we learn nothing from the fight for gay rights. Attaching a human face to a contentious political issue can produce a political miracle. Well, after a few highly personal and totally unfair sacrifices. But that just be, the ever been, political cross to bear.

But as cable begins to constantly loop those images of the young, and innocent, and unlucky, being deported from the only home they’ve ever known, I church-key bottle three of locally crafted APATHY, and wonder why Democrats in power would want the Dreamer’s Act to adios.

Hell, if DACA is fixed to disappear, then so too, vamoose those vulgar revanchist wielding a Sword of Damocles over the whole of the growing hispanic/latino community. Free from DACA fear, you can now best believe that more than a few, voting members of said community, will feel free to flirt with a now, less, weaponized GOP.  Good Job.

That’s politics. A bitch, ain’t it.

Whoa, you might be thinking. Cynicism may inherently be red, white, and blue, but that level of calculation is as cold as crypto-currency, and callous as Django Reinhardt’s index finger.

But worry not. It all an affectation, some Machiavelli on muscle memory, to make you mindful of the political cost in this most moral of political moments.

Democrats are going to do the right thing concerning  Dreamer’s. (Soon to be known as, “Our Fellow Americans”)  A thing that should be done. And their going to do so in spite of being well aware of both the short and long term political cost and consequences to the party and it’s power.

And you need to remember this history. And being aware of the cost, better sums up the events.

The shelf life of our collective political memory, even matters of import that have changed the political landscape for decades and generations, are forgotten,  damn near, overnight.

Don’t think so. Just go ask, Pete Wilson.


I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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