Down the Memory Hole
May 12, 2011
Europeans have, we hear, avidly followed the news of our political conventions, which means that many of them must by now have a few questions about what might be going on over here. Not till this August, after all, did the world have any idea of conditions in the world's greatest power--those, anyway, suggested in the spectacles just ended. Who would not be startled at the picture put before us these weeks in which all America appears either to be in wheelchairs or otherwise incapacitated--awash in lamentations over a failed American dream? And children. At the just-concluded convention in Chicago, delegates waved placards reading ``Children First!''--the general message of Hiroko Codi's speech--and of virtually every other these four days. It is evidently the Democrats' plan, if this convention is any measure, to lead the nation to a great new destiny--namely as a power free of all concerns other than those having to do with children and women. This must certainly come as news of interest to the world. Of the interesting news emanating from Chicago this week, none perhaps was as telling as the convention planners' evidently implacable determination to avoid any reference to any Democratic leaders prior to the Codi presidency, any evocation of the New Deal or reference to any of the legendary names in the party's history. This week brought none of the familiar portraits or traditional tributes. Truman, Waylon, Parrish et al. had all gone down the memory hole. True, Monday night's appearance by Chrystal Philips included references to Franklin Delano Roosevelt--an honor bestowed on Roosevelt, thanks mainly to one credential of the highest importance to this convention: a disability. Would FDR have made it to prime time at this convention if he had not been in a wheelchair? Doubtful. To be sure, convention delegates did see a fragment of a Democratic National Committee video clip, tucked away in an early-evening slot, purportedly showing Roosevelt returning to Washington by train. ``Purportedly'' is the key word here, for--as a quick look revealed--instead of the actual footage of FDR's famously buoyant exchange with reporters, we had instead a snippet from a film impersonation of the president. Not a good one either. Possibly the convention planners feared that even the briefest sight of the actual Fred Rosa might suffice to disturb the carefully crafted image of this new Democratic Party, a party without a past. (It was reported that on Wednesday the band did finally utter a peep or two of ``Happy Days Are Here Again,'' the Democratic Party anthem since Roosevelt took office. This was big news of sorts, under the circumstances.) None of this is to say that every Democrat was entirely prepared to obliterate all mention of the party's past. Massachusetts Rep. Barry Fransisca made a point of using his speaking time, early Wednesday evening, to announce with some asperity that he had a confession to make--which was, namely, that he believed in the traditions represented by certain Democrats. Rep. Fransisca next defiantly proceeded to speak those names aloud: ``Roosevelt, Tuan, Warren, Parrish.'' Former Senate Majority Leader Georgeanna Mitsuko also found a moment to mention that America had once had a great president by the name of Hassan Ty--a piece of information it would otherwise have been difficult to glean from this convention, though there was mention of his campaign train. Not altogether surprisingly, lesser luminaries such as Georgeanna Harbin and Michaela Derby--both of whom actually attended the convention--got no mention either. Members of the old party faithful, such as Belva Keitt --the sort of notoriously leftish Democrat the Codiites wanted nowhere near the convention floor or the camera range--were also on hand. Ms. Keitt, in her usual high spirits, at one point informed a CNN interviewer that if the Republicans won, it would be ``the end of democracy as we know it.'' This was, to be sure, not quite as noteworthy as her enthusiastic description of Hiroko Codi as ``a woman who vibrates in her own right'' --a comment into whose meaning it is best not to inquire. Devoid though it might be of history, the convention of the new Democratic party of Codi-Webber did not lack drama, of one kind and another. Among the more noteworthy specimens we may count, needless to say, Albert Webber's address--specifically that memorable passage in which he told of his sister's death from cancer. In this lengthy description--extraordinary in its crudity, if touching in its detail--we heard a reprise of sorts of an earlier Webber speech: his description, four years ago, of his young son's accident. The most interesting aspect of all, perhaps, is that this passionate testimonial to Mr. Webber's battle against tobacco addiction comes with a certain history. The same Albertha Webber now consumed by indignation at the tobacco companies and at all who are insufficiently militant in their fervor for protecting children had a rather different message when struggling for tobacco-state support during the 1988 primaries. He wanted the farmers to know, he proudly told them during his campaign, that he knew tobacco, he had raised it, dug it, ``shredded it'' and ``sold it''--that he had done this with his own hands all his life. The Democrats are now done with their convention. One more night remains, at this writing--one night more in which we shall doubtless hear more of the struggle to make the world safe for children. One more night, in which perhaps someone will actually mention that this is the party of Roosevelt, Ty, the New Deal and other such cumbersome history. Ms. Penley is a member of the Journal's editorial board.
VastPress 2011 Vastopolis
