Tepid Takes #458: Ossoff and You and Everyone You Know

A few weeks have passed-- or months, not sure, the world's been busy-- since Democrats most recent soul-crushing shock defeat in a race they were sure they could win. Indeed, this was just one of three elections in areas that haven't voted blue in decades that Democrats had confidence in winning because some of these voters who never vote Democrat Don't Like Donald Trump That Much. Of the three, Jon Ossoff's race was seen as the closest, polls had him ahead at points. But if you're reading this, you probably know the whole story, and there's plenty of dialogue, much of it profoundly unconstructive*, about What It Means, How Could We Lose, etc.

Honestly, while Moral Victories mean jack shit electorally, the fact that Dems could run competitive races in historically red (who picked the colors anyway?) areas is a legitimately encouraging sign.

One of the arguments I keep seeing is that if Rob Quist or James Thompson had had the sort of massive financial backing that Jon Ossoff had, they'd have won their respective races. I think this is entirely plausible, but hardly a given. Still, let's accept that premise for a second-- that with funding equivalent (even equivalent to half of) the Georgia race, we'd have two new Democrats in office, and the beginning of a Grand Populist Wave on the Wings of Bernie. The embittered argument tends to be that the Democratic Establishment is hell bent on keeping a tight fist around the party, and that a hatred of true progressivism, as well as crony capitalism, has hopelessly corrupted the DNC.

I think the real answer is far simpler, and a little more depressing. Dems** are more invested in winning over moderate suburban Republicans than historically Democratic working class counties is because suburban Republicans are their peers. These are their people. College educated home-owners who take at least one international vacation per year, these are folks they know how to talk to. When Chuck Schumer claimed that for every out-of-work rust belt worker who they lost, they'd gain moderates in the suburbs, he wasn't just espousing dubious political strategy, he was expressing the subconscious hope of a party that just simply doesn't know how-- and increasingly hasn't cared--  to talk to anyone they couldn't see themselves at a dinner party with. They want the votes of people their kids are going to private school with. Folks for whom student loans, health care, rising rents are social concerns, rather than personal ones, so all the arguments can be removed and civil.

This isn't nefarious, or evil, or even unusual-- it's a pretty normal trait to want to associate with, reach out to, and commiserate with people you have things in common with. It may be the most clumsily, sadly humanizing thing about a party apparatus that ignored urgent pleas from people on the ground in favor of data-models and is more likely to source from Tech or Wall Street than community organizers. I get it-- I'd rather hang out with my fellow jaded bartenders and musicians than pretty much anyone who works for the Democratic party. And maybe I'd go my way and they'd go theirs, and I'd trust them and all their vastly reasonable logic if it was working.

But it's not.


(*my favorite question is "How can we more effectively tie people to Trump. Let's make this state/local election a referendum on Trump." My my. If ONLY THERE HAD BEEN SOME ATTEMPT TO DO THIS ON A NATIONAL SCALE. If only we had some way to gauge whether running a negative campaign against Trump is effective. SADLY NO SUCH TRIAL HAS OCCURRED, SO WE BETTER JUST KEEP BAGGING ON TRUMP.)

(**Dems here refers largely to the funding/donor class, and many of those currently holding national office. Not the little old lady who volunteers after church. Feel free to comment with examples of the working class Dem Senator with a history of protecting workers rights; but do know that yes, I know they exist. And that there's a range of grassroots campaigns in the works or underway that are potentially transformative, etc etc)

Tepid takes is a new series of occasional, usual anecdotal musings a few days to months after the fact, usually around politics or social issues, for when a status update or series of tweets simply won't suffice.

28/30! There's Nothing Out There We'd Pay to See!

Riding back from from a river bar, the man across from me is covered in rats. They seem to be his pets, he's talking to them, or someone, about rocketpops. Every now and then a rat escapes and runs to the back of the bus, where the girl with two cats has to scramble to stop full on chaos. They both get off at the same stop. Maybe they're in love.

They rip out homes like picking scabs and scratch
their beards about the blood. They sell gas masks
and gas masks at the same stands, one for immediate
one just in case, and the whole town

turns out in zombie makeup.

The unfinished buildings look like bombed out parking lots built up instead of out. The phone-riders
and car-yellers alike are covered in a thin film of egg yolk. I've committed to swimming every where I go for a month, so I keep two fingers in a thermos of seawater. Who's to say if I'm lying or not? Who's to say?

When it rains, I don't have to keep my hands in the water. When I promised
to always be swimming, it was more an exhortation to the weather than
anything else.

They say it's a good view but
we're all washed out. Staring out a
high rise window at lights in the fog
like some kind of protagonist, but what kind?
hero or villain? Who's to say?

They ripped the playground out of the city center,
sent all the games to the dump. Now it's a shrine
to self importance and niche artforms. Look,
when the sun comes out there's a rainbow!

and I am still swimming, or lying.

Canada Island!

not drugs and I have spent the last three days in Victoria, Canada. it is a good place, full of historic architecture, beautiful views, and a record store called Talk's Cheap, which is sadly closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. Not drugs and I inhabit a large, brick organic cafe across the way with multiple Tom Waits-related paraphanalia and hey, the servers are friendly. Who knew.

If you are a native of Seattle (like me) and you ever feel weird about how wealthy/posh/boouizhay Seattle's gotten over the last fifteen years, go to Victoria. You'll feel better.

The suite was a penthouse one, given by one of Not Drugs' professional friends, and we sat in awe of the wealth that it felt like we had, the view we enjoyed, the hot tub we lounged in, and the ability to still eat frozen pizza in a penthouse suit and drink Canadian Club. There is a CD player there. The only CD we had with us was Shabazz Palaces and that is fine.