Wednesday, June 07, 2017


Hey, Ross Douthat's writing about Jeremy Corbyn. But he's not sure he did such a good job and wants your help (not yours, actually -- that of the little gabardined, fuzz-whiskered Catholic college shits who want to grow up to be Douthat like Douthat wants to grow up to be Chesterton, and who'll tell him both choices are brilliant in their eyes):

While he fusses over whether "barmy" or "balmy" is right for Corbyn, Douthtat has no similar worries over his other imputations against the Labour leader -- of near-Stalinism-by-association ("Corbyn’s inner circle has a similar minimizing tendency"), terrorism-sympathizing-Peter-King-never-heard-of-him ("Corbyn’s fellow-traveling with the Irish Republican Army"), anti-Semitism-well-anti-Zionism-same-diff ("critiques of Israel or global finance blur into"), etc. 

Oh, and Douthat flatly asserts "nobody exactly thinks he would be a good prime minister" -- though, he remembers,  neither he nor most U.S. voters thought Donald Trump would be a good president, yet here we are. Douthat warms to the analogy:
Now, though, in the imminent British election called by an overconfident Theresa May, a different sort of Trumpian figure is closer to victory than anyone expected. This is Jeremy Corbyn, the radical backbencher turned Labour leader, whose campaign was supposed to be a joke but now finds itself, like Trump’s before it, just a “normal-sized polling error” away from a truly shocking upset.
In other words, Corbyn is like Trump because he's gaining in a close race. You know, like the Donald Trump of 1988, George H.W. Bush. The analogy turns out to be not so good, but it could have been excused had Douthat really stuck with it and allowed as how Corbyn could indeed fool everyone and pull it out -- but with such as Douthat, the propagandist always beats the poet:
...Corbyn probably isn’t a threat to the liberal order, and in this Trump-crazed moment we could use a little less hyperventilating about politics. (Also, he’ll probably still lose.)
America is convulsing under the maladministration of King Shit, but the ruling class ain't paying Douthat the big bucks to make them feel less secure, so he must reassure them that all will be well. That in fulfilling his mission he embarrasses himself even worse than usual suggests that Corbyn's got him, and the rest of his wormy tribe, nervous. Good. Can't wait to see how they feel when the tumbrels really start to roll.

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