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Some time ago, there was a man who wrote a book trying to out the lies. He then wrote another, and yet another, and was seen by all as one who would seek the truth, speak the truth, and write the truth - consequences be damned. His opinions, when stated, were substantial, backed by facts and carrying weight to many of us looking for our own voices. His responses were measured, and designed to stimulate the debate and thought so necessary in these times. He knew, as did many, of the perils ahead in trying to unseat the imposter, and knew how to read the political tealeaves that sat before us. In these times, the candidate had to be bulletproof, so Will began to fire the guns. Not to injure, nor to maim, but to see if the Kevlar would hold.
Those of us who have been in the battle before were thankful, for the guns were swift, and true. They hit the mark, and now we waited. Would the candidate emerge unscathed? More importantly, would his followers be grateful for this baptism of fire, given now rather than then, by those who walked if not beside him, then at least to the same destination?
No. The guns turned, and fired back at those who only tried to help. Sickeningly so, as those who found no flaws in their self-proclaimed godsend-to-be found many flaws in the gunner. The gunner who had brought them hope and truth was now their enemy, for he had dared to question the Emperor’s clothing, or lack thereof. Working behind the scenes with a cowardice heretofore unimagined, they went to the gunner’s commander and, like a petulant child, “told mommy.”
Those of us who watched from afar were aghast at what transpired. We expected to see a defense of the gunner by those who had served with him, and who knew of his devotion. But this was not to be. The gunner was not honest, the followers said, he was not fair. Words flew that had no place in a civilzed forum - assault, lynching, rape. The gunner disliked the emperor, and even though he had dealt with him before in an evenhanded fashion this time was just too much. It was, in the stretched minds of those who see the emperor as fully clothed, actually the gunner’s fault for not hiding well enough before he opened fire.
There are thousands of us on this board today that are very sad. Saddened that a man like Will Pitt could be demonized in such a way, and sadder still by the fact that there is no cry of righteous indignation from the Dean camp. The obligatory “sorry, we’re not all like that” rings hollow. Why is it you can come out like swarms when you feel slighted, yet you walk on eggshells at a time like this? When you need to reach outward you instead pull inward, and I feel that many of you think that indeed Pitt has crossed some type of imaginary line that only you can see. He has become the dreaded “basher,” for he speaks what you consider falsehoods and must be punished. My eyes well with tears, for I am fearful of where you will take this unhealthy obsession next. If I could make a keyboard cry, I would.
You have asked for truth, so here is mine. You are becoming what you loathe. You rail at those on the other side for marching in lockstep, all the while making sure you don't break formation. You scream at the spin machines while you wind up the tops and watch them whirl across your kitchen table, laughing at the pretty colors and sadly forgetting the function they perform. Sycophants, you say, are on the other side of the political aisle, yet the sign above your head reads “Remove All Doubt All Ye Who Enter Here.” Discussion is bashing, pointing out flaws is bashing, concerns over electability is bashing, and on and on and on. As the tailor fits the shrouds and the lights dim you wonder where the rest of the world has gone. It is still here, in daylight.
So the fault must lie at the feet of the egregious Mr. Pitt. He dared to show the emperor naked, and dared to stem the coronation with issues framed in “he said, but he also said’ instead of the permitted “he said, but he meant, you’re bashing” response, accompanied with the obligatory shaking of heads. He dared try and tell you that the other side has a candidate as well, and here are the weapons. You act as if the coronation is all but assured, but Will held up a snapshot of America to try and make you see that politics is not a series of Matchbox Cars and Easy Bake Ovens, and to show you that no matter how much Chaucer you memorize the girl with the large breasts still goes home with the quarterback.
What you have done to Will is beyond reproach, but you have done something far worse in the long run - far worse for all of us. You have framed the most important election in our history in terms of us vs. them, where them is anyone who is not us. While I hesitate to use euphemisms, the mental picture of a group closing ranks against outsiders is becoming too large to ignore.
There was a time when I could support Dean, both with time and money – circumstances allow me to do both. That time has passed, and you all are the reason. I will vote for him, as I must, but he will see no money from me, nor no time. There will be no glowing endorsements from me, nor will I use the pen to sway the unbelievers. I fear I am not alone in this regard, for when zealousness takes the place of informed discussion the results are predictable. You have the chance to change that, and to bring me back – do not let it slip away. The lights you see in the distance are not those of the new dawn.
To you, Will, I ask but one thing. Please lend your voice unto the fight once again – here. Many of us know why you speak as you do, taking misbeguided hits along the way. It is because you must, and we understand. We may not say thanks as often as we should, but take that as laziness, not anger. Your actions have given rise to many things positive, and I cannot thank you enough. Through your writings I have woken up from a slumber of political discontent, and I write once again. I feel I’m alive again, Will, thanks to you. I’m one small voice, but damn it I’m alive. It’s been said that sometimes one small voice is all that’s needed to make a man change his mind. Here it is.
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