“The most precious thing in the world is youth. Too bad it is wasted on children.” That quote was attributed to the late George Bernard Shaw in 1931, when the playwright had already attained the age of 75, so presumably he knew whereof he spake. Today I would coin a variation on this theme. “The most powerful thing in the world is government. Too bad it is wasted on politicians.”
It is that very observation, endorsed by the votes of several million citizens, that has underpinned the maverick candidacy for President of Donald J. Trump. Mister Trump is a developer from Manhattan. Mister Trump is a golf course designer from West Palm Beach. Mister Trump is a hotelier from Miami. Mister Trump is a best-selling author. Mister Trump is the star of a long-running television show about getting ahead in business. Mister Trump has a Master’s Degree in Business Administration from the Wharton School. Mister Trump has lent his name to an array of business projects, often very successful, sometimes not so much.
Because Mister Trump was all these things, without having run for any office, he was not deemed to be a politician. Without adding that to his many titles, he was presumed ineligible to compete for the Republican Presidential nomination with a field of Governors and Senators from around the country. When he announced his candidacy in June 2015, columnist Ann Coulter said on a TV interview she thought he would win. The audience burst into gales of rippling laughter. A scant eleven months later, Ms. Coulter may be forgiven for returning the laugh.
Joining that studio audience in mocking the notion of Trump as a serious contender was the entire spectrum of political publications in this country — left, right and fake center. There has not been a viable center in this country for some years now, so a passel of devious leftists have set up a playground in the lot the old centrists vacated. (It is too awful to watch Bill Moyers cavorting over Scoop Jackson’s grave, so I avoid passing that field on the way home.)
Having their prognoses vetoed by reality has not dissuaded such geniuses from further prediction. Now they are thoroughly taken with their new augury. They see a wave of direness in Trump’s wake as the man who beat sixteen Republicans will be summarily trounced by a single Democrat. If only the future were so easily read!
As I have written here before, I offer one quotation to Bartlett to list under my name: “Realism must be as much a brake on pessimism as it is on optimism.” The phrase “let’s be realistic” is too often misused as an intro to some drastic doomsday scenario. My colleagues tell me to be realistic about Trump, but when that leads to me to give him a 50-50 chance they all roll their eyes at my obtuseness. I was right a few weeks ago when I said the nomination belonged to Trump already, but that prescience is not buying me any credibility today.
But the biggest winner of all is The American Spectator itself. It has stood alone among the major publications of left and right in conducting a fair portrayal of the Trump candidacy, with our writers ranging from pro prose to con concept. While the left all shouted “Racist” and the right screeched “he is hijacking the party,” this magazine offered its readers both give and take, both back and forth. Misters Tyrrell, Lord, Neumayr, Buckley and Homnick — and the lovely Ms. Goldberg — offered the Trump upside but others advanced less sanguine appraisals. As long as they argued with insight and passion, every member of our Slugger’s Row lineup took a turn at bat.
That is not merely a postmortem to what has gone before. That stands also as a harbinger of what will follow. You can count on The American Spectator for that quality coverage and editorial equipoise all the way through until Election Day in November… and beyond.
Perhaps the reason we got this one right is that we have never believed the precious thing called a magazine should be wasted on journalists. If one may toot one’s horn for a moment (as Trump has been known to do from time to time) one might point out that this has been the funniest — and funnest — American magazine for a half-century for a reason. It is because we have always seen political literature as a literary form rather than a political exercise. Or, you should excuse the expression, we believe the literary trumps the political.
Well, at least we now know the punchline of the joke about Two Corinthians walking into a bar. One said, “Did I hear Donald Trump was going to mention you in a speech at Falwell’s school?” His friend replied: “I am not at Liberty to say!” Keep laughing, my friends, the fun has just begun.
