Believe it or not I once worked for the New Republic. It was 1954. McCarthy time. I worked for our family friend Michael Straight, the editor, whose mother Dorothy began the magazine. And I worked under the direct guidance of the marvelous woman who was then the managing editor. Her name was Helen Fuller, a native Virginian and a woman of grand and friendly capacities wed to a sharp and agile mind.
As media careers have at once proliferated and become somewhat vapid at the same time, I have watched the New Republic with limited interest. It seems they are always tangentally disturbed and I detect little of the visceral fire for progressive politics that I did when I was compiling voting results and watching Wayne Morse from the gallery arguing the merits of the Dixon-Yates deal.
I am not even going to dignify this entry with a quote. If you want to read a misguided piece on how the bluedogs are going to sink the Obama program, be my guest. Otherwise give these latter day cavil-mongers a wide berth. I think the analytical capacities you might wish for are lacking. Caveat emptor. You be the judge.
I shall relent to include this concluding paragraph to which I ask: Do you know who or what you are dealing with. Do you know the ground game? Do you know 2010? 2012? or even 2016? Obama is not about besting the Clinton record or even having the ultimate first term. He is building blocks every day and he will build to the extent he needs to succeed. None of this seems to have seeped into the mind of the current editor. Michael and Dorothy RIP, I am still here, tactless as ever and more pro-Obama than ever.
It seems impossible to believe that this party, with the challenges before the country so great and the opportunity to address them so rare, would once again follow the path to self-immolation. Yet, somehow, the Democrats can’t help themselves.