Underground Republicans Create ‘One-Party System’

 

One has to wonder how life became so politicized and polarized. Will life will ever return to sanity or, at a minimum, get back to normal? The answers are both too obvious and too politically charged to even speak of. As the great sage Joseph Stalin expounded, “If you claim not to be political, that, too, is political.”

I don’t worry that much about Donald Trump being our president; after all, the Constitution wisely places a two-term limit on the presidency. At the same time it prudently allows stalwarts like Senator Dianne Feinstein to molder and fossilize on the political vine for what seems to be half an eternity.

As one of the Marx Brothers predicted — most likely Zeppo or Karl — the two-party system, Republicans versus Democrats, will eventually be a distant memory. It would become a mere abstraction, like freedom of expression, private enterprise, the invisible hand and individualism. I foresee a map of America where every state, and every voting American, is blue or, at a minimum, pretending to be blue for the sake of social integration and dodging ostracism.

One-party rule has proven itself in North Korea, Iran, Albania and Venezuela; it should work here. In spite of this utopic vision, something really worries me — sticks in my craw, crawl or crawl space, or whatever.

In my deepest state of paranoid clairvoyance, I presage that people who at one time unapologetically voted for Trump — you know their ilk: deplorables, rednecks, gun nuts, free marketers, entrepreneurs, critics of rent control, charter school supporters, meat eaters and voucher advocates — will one day disguise themselves; go underground; deny they ever voted for Trump.

Like Peter, they will deny Trump three times before the cock crows. They will try to blend in with normal, decent, moral people. Initially, with the natural dissolution of the two-party system, Trump die-hards will be easy to spot: they might have the audacity to wear an antiquated “Make America Great Again” one-size-fits-all hat, or worse a “Trump 2020” cap, or stand for the National Anthem. These types are beyond redemption, don’t waste a bunk on them at the reeducation centers, just get them off the streets and out of the discount liquor stores and into the pot clinics.

As these political reprobates are cleared from the political wasteland — desapariciones as they call them in some of the more enlightened countries to the south — the hats, comb-overs, trust fund babies and tax cheats will evaporate from the landscape like manna in the noon-day sun. This does not mean that society has entirely purged itself of what we like to call “the closet conservatives,” “the social chameleons” and “the political invertebrates.”

These below-the-radar revanchists are waiting for their chance to dismantle political correctness and gag the stultifying media; they are the fifth column, the running dogs of the over-achieving classes and the free-speech movement.
Ferreting these reactionaries out of respectable society will be more difficult.
Some of these reprobates — shamelessly putting their freedom ahead of their political identity and ideology — will try to blend in with the enlightened, the progressives and the illuminati.

They will not go softly into the re-education camps.

Stop to consider a parallel case involving the Monarch butterfly (Danaus plexippus) and the Viceroy butterfly (Limenitis archippus). They look identical. In fact, unless you are a lepidopterist it is impossible to distinguish between the two. Why the mimicry? It protects the Viceroy from being eaten by predators, as it looks exactly like the terrible-tasting Monarch. A rookie entomologist can only tell which is which by eating one. If it tastes like something from the very back of your refrigerator, which has mold obscuring the expiration date, then you probably ate a Monarch.

This same protective mimicry will one day be the survival strategy of the recondite Republican on the lam: an atavistic political animal spreading political heresies like Typhoid Mary spread Bakers Itch and Trench Foot.

Imagine the year is 2025, Trump is now recorded history and everyone’s 401k is as fat as a deer tick on a possum’s belly, the economy is still booming; you are having lunch with politically homogenous friends, ensconced in your comfort zone, no fear of micro-aggressions or trifling perturbations. Blissfully, you are vacuously nodding your heads in ovine agreement, the conversation is the pastoral bleating of sheep.

Then you notice a guy at the next table — he’s probably older than 60; his remaining hair is close cropped, he is reading the Wall Street Journal or some right-wing rag — in a stage voice he indignantly declines the Philly cheese steak sandwich and claims to be a vegetarian, or worse, a vegan.

The reality is, this interloper is a carnivore who eats more meat than the average T-Rex. In his basement is a walk-in freezer filled with beef, innocent lamb chops, endangered species, assorted road kill, antelope and Thule deer. Were there a hunting season for teddy bears, pandas or unicorns, he would be stalking them as well. 

 

Jeffrey Smith is older than 60. He teaches math at Encinal High School. 

Editor’s note: Karl Marx was not a member of the Marx Brothers comedy team of the early 20th Century that included Groucho, Chico, Harpo, Zeppo and the rarely seen Gummo Marx. Karl Marx penned The Communist Manifesto.