tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140753599557753204.post1359679114623290507..comments2023-10-07T10:28:30.712-04:00Comments on Oooh, nuance!: What's the Matter with Barack Obama?madamabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13182478139356658751noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140753599557753204.post-25339087917707923992008-04-15T09:00:00.000-04:002008-04-15T09:00:00.000-04:00Thank you for sharing that, flying junior. It's wo...Thank you for sharing that, flying junior. It's wonderful.<BR/><BR/>I agree that most of the "gaffe" coverage has been relentlessly stupid. I couldn't care less if Hillary misspoke about Bosnia, or if Barack bowled a 37 or got the year of his parent's meeting wrong. These are mistakes that any person could make.<BR/><BR/>But like you, I don't believe this was a mistake. I believe he actually feels that anyone who doesn't vote for him is bitter and clinging to outdated beliefs. We just don't realize the greatness of Barack Obama. It's our fault for not understanding his lofty and intellectual speech. <BR/><BR/>The worst thing, in my view, is how he is reinforcing the right-wing stereotype of the "liberal elitist" who doesn't understand the working class. As a party, we need to move away from condescending to these voters, and towards connecting to and honoring and addressing their concerns.<BR/><BR/>That's what Hillary's been doing, and that's why she's getting their votes. And that's the kind of Democrat I want to support.madamabhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13182478139356658751noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140753599557753204.post-60067978572334959862008-04-15T03:53:00.000-04:002008-04-15T03:53:00.000-04:00We've all been following the supposed gaffs in bot...We've all been following the supposed gaffs in both camps. Most have been more about the campaigns or the media than anything the candidates said themselves. I was pretty much OK with Hillary and Barack personally. But this gaff was so blatantly stupid. To disparage the voters in Pennsylvania, the most important primary remaining, can only mean that he no longer even cares about their votes. He must think the nomination is already rightfully his. More to the point, if he is this clueless about real campaigning, he can't be trusted to deliver a national election. He's not coming from a place that is real. That is from the heart.<BR/><BR/>What struck me initially was the idea that he could look down on the supposed bitterness of an entire group of people as something to be pitied and feared, (not to mention stereotyped or generalized.) On another blog, I was prompted to share that most eloquent of dialogues upon the dichotomy of wealth vs. poverty, found in Robert Burns poem, "The Twa Dogs."<BR/><BR/> In that place o' Scotland's isle, that bears the name of o' auld 'King Coil", ... Twa dogs... forgather'd ance upon a time. The first...'Caesar', was keepet for his Honor's pleasure: His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs shewed he was nane o' Scotland's dogs; but whalpet some place far abroad, Whare sailors gang to fish for cod... The tither was a ploughman's collie -- A rhyming, ranting, raving billie. Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, and in his freaks had 'Luath' ca'd him, after some dog in Highland sang...He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke, as ever lap a sheugh or dyke... Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, and unco pack an' thick thegither. Whyles mice an' moudieworts they howket...Till tir'd at last, wi' mony a farce, they set them down upon their arse. And there began a lang digression about the 'lords o' the creation. <BR/><BR/>CAESAR I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, what sort o' life poor dogs like you have; An' when the gentry's life I saw, what way poor bodies liv'd ava... Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling, at baking, roasting, frying, boiling; An' tho' the gentry first are stechin, yet ev'n the ha' folk fill their pechan... An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, I own it's past my comprehension.<BR/><BR/>LUATH Trowth, Caesar, whyles they're fash't eneugh: A cotter howkin in a sheugh, wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, baring a quarry, an sic like; Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, a smyrtie o' wee duddie weans. An' nought but his han'-daurg, to keep them right an' tight in thack an' reap. An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, like loss o' health or want o' masters, ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, an' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger; But how it comes, I never kent yet. They're maistly wonderfu' contented. An' buirdly chiefs, an' clever hizzies, are bred in sic a way as this.Flying Juniorhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02098313953658606206noreply@blogger.com