Frog March Dreams

That sweet dream of Karl Rove being frogmarched out of the White House in handcuffs won't be coming to pass after all, it seems. Not unless something truly celestial happens before the end of the month.

But maybe it will be a dream only deferred, to another location? Fingers crossed for the various Congressional investigations in progress.

Can I add my little strident note to the general catcalls, hisses, and purple-faced rancor at this disgusting figure passing from the Executive scene? Thanks, let me clear my throat and work up a big moist plug.

The Rovian "political genius" was a toxic mash of fraud, chicanery, hypocrisy, shamelessness, and for want of a better word, brutality, brewed to Orwellian strength. Rove was a chief architect in dismantling a sense of public political reality in America. He ran campaigns designed to obscure and confuse, by means of fabrication and the scummiest slander. He was instrumental in hijacking government as a partisan political apparatus, on a scale never previously seen in American history. (Come on, Congressional investigations!)

This is an Administration that represents not the country as a whole but only its partisans--a government for Republicans: the wealthy and their duped demented foot soldiers. (Hearkening back, I believe, to a Pat Buchanan suggestion during Nixon days, "Let's smash the country to apart, we'll get the biggest piece.") Rove helped usher the monstrosity of right-wing evangelism to front and center in the political arena, as an entirely cynical neo-Machiavellian tactic . (During Rove's formal policy tenure at the White House, his lone foreign advisor was Michael Ledeen, a rightwing Machiavelli scholar.) He sold war and militarism as a blackjack to wallop up partisan political power.

Commentators fault Rove for being brilliant at winning campaigns but neglecting the art of governing. But for Rove, I believe, winning itself, brutally and devastatingly, takes care of the issues of governance. Hobble em and scare em, keep a whip in hand and the fat cats happy and the fanatics teased, that's the formula for governance. Meaning there is no governance anymore, only the continuous whipping up of power. It's a variant of Orwell's idea of the use of perpetual war in 1984. It melds together the disparate agendas that drive the Bush administration.

Rove's chum and mentor was of course Lee Atwater, Bush senior's campaign strategist/slimemeister, who helped bring the world the Willie Horton tactic. (And who, on his early death bed--from brain cancer--pleaded for forgiveness for his political ways, among others.) The Bushes have their traditions, don't they.

Rove has a boy in college, I understand. I'm sure the Army could find a place for the son of the man who chaired the secretive White House group that sold America the Iraq war.

Rove got all quivery-voiced in his farewell little speech, the one invoking the Lord mucho (though he's not a believer) and the call of time-with-the-family. It reminded me of another quivery-voice au revoir speech, also invoking the call of family time--George Tenet's, when he departed the CIA. Yes, real caring family men, these warmongers and warmonger-enablers.

"I can literally remember what he was wearing," Rove said of meeting George W. in 1973: "an Air National Guard flight jacket, cowboy boots, blue jeans. He was exuding more charisma than any one individual should be allowed to have." This from a White House so politically hostile to gays, but privately welcoming of funsters like Jeff Gannon.

If there are any special places in circles of hell reserved for catastrophic hypocrites and malignant cynics, I'd like to book a seat for Karl.

He's deeply responsible for a Republican government of which the 68 year old former Assistant Secretary of the Treasury under Reagan just wrote:

"The Bush regime is the most irresponsibly aggressive regime the world has seen since Hitler's.
If only a sweet young thing would volunteer to give Bush a b----b so that he can be impeached before he leads us to Armageddon."

The hyphens in the previous sentence are mine, not the writer's.

Thanks to UBER.COM, where this first appeared on my blog Brain Flakes.