Matt Purple

Conservatives’ loathing for diversity, equity and inclusion is easy to understand. DEI’s very mission — junking Thomas Jefferson’s natural aristocracy of talents in favor of race- and gender-based advancement — runs against everything the American right is supposed to stand for. They watched with chagrin during the Biden years as DEI offices spread across the nation, into corporate C-suites and government departments and, of course, universities. Conservative heroes in the early 2020s were those like Florida governor Ron DeSantis who pushed back against DEI in their home states. Then Donald Trump returned and all that seemed to change. Upon taking the Oval Office, he shut down all DEI initiatives throughout the federal government.

Political years are the opposite of dog years: they pass by in a blaze, with entire epochs elapsing in the course of a few news cycles. Ideas, even movements, fade abruptly, recalled only years later when you clean out your garage and stumble on that old tricorn hat from your Tea Party days. If you want to know how jarring political change can be, consider that at this time in the 2016 election cycle — around the late spring of 2015 — the predicted frontrunner for the GOP nomination was Rand Paul. This was no coincidence. In those days, we were said to be in the middle of something called a libertarian moment. Voters were leery of Barack Obama’s deficit spending, Washington’s endless wars, the NSA surveillance that had been unveiled by Edward Snowden.

Some choppy waters this week for former UK prime minister Boris Johnson, who more than ever looks like a ghost haunting a library. Johnson was recently hauled before a committee of Parliament where he was grilled about allegations that he'd attended parties with other government employees during Covid lockdown. The spectacle was so brutal that at one point the usually unflappable Boris lost his temper: "This is complete nonsense!" he barked. The scandal, known as Partygate, arguably played a greater role in sinking Boris's premiership than anything else — and occasionally its complex layers of events and regulations have forced investigators to inquire into the absurd. Was Boris aware that staffers sitting directly in front of him during a speech were drinking alcohol?

When last we checked in on The Donald Trump Show, the absurdist political thriller that’s been airing nonstop on CNN for the past seven years, the program seemed to have gotten its groove back. A new character had been introduced, Cassidy Hutchinson, a Trump aide who told the January 6 committee that the former president had lashed out violently, including allegedly trying to commandeer the presidential SUV. Here was everything that had made The Donald Trump Show so great in the first place: the over-the-top drama, the scandal, the unpredictability of its main character. Alas, one of the gripes that critics have most often leveled at the show is that it introduces new plotlines and then doesn’t do anything with them.

Congressional Republicans are gearing up for their four millionth attempt to rein in government spending, and surely this time will be different. After years of posturing in favor of budget cuts that never seem to materialize, the national debt growing to 130 percent of GDP is finally a threshold they won't cross. A Fox News hit? By gum, there's no time! Republicans exclaim as they raise a quivering red pen to the latest defense authorization bill. This job is about policy, not going on TV, dammit! You'll forgive me if I sound a bit cynical. After all, Republicans controlled the elected government for two years under Donald Trump and the deficit only got bigger. Yet as another debt ceiling fight looms, this time the GOP sounds like they might be serious about shrinking the state.

Out of Politico last week came news that the global village's Mayor Pete isn't happy with the heat he's been taking over the train derailment in East Palestine, Ohio. “Pete Buttigieg has taken a lot of bullets for the president on this,” an anonymous senior Democrat grumbled of the transportation secretary. That quote came in an article bearing the headline: "Buttigieg world frustrated at GOP attacks over train wreck." All of which raises a question: Buttigieg world? Is there a Buttigieg world now? I understand the use of the term Clinton world, given that the Clintons have accumulated so many clients and hangers-on as to constitute their own Central American-style cartel economy. Likewise Trump world, which is currently on a planetary collision course with DeSantis world.

Marjorie Taylor Greene wants Americans to get a national divorce, and the only question is who gets custody of Puerto Rico. Actually there are other questions, such as: why the hell are we talking about this again? And: why is a member of the United States House of Representatives advocating breaking up the United States? And: which third party gets to be the divorce lawyer? Because there is no way Canada is telling me how much alimony I have to pay. For those of you leading normal and productive lives, this latest brain-plague began on Twitter when Congresswoman Greene declared, "We need a national divorce. We need to separate by red states and blue states and shrink the federal government," adding, "Everyone I talk to says this.

The war between the generations is on, and the battle lines have been drawn. The baby boomers don't like the millennials because they can't understand why the millennials won't just buy a house already. The millennials don't like the boomers because, as they've explained, a house no longer costs $75 with a couple coupons like it did back in 1972. And lately the millennials and Generation Z have been mixing it up as well, over such important issues as hair partings and emojis. So a fractured conflict, this one, a bit like Lebanon's civil war except with more awful Facebook posts. Yet if you're looking to really understand the social media-fueled rifts between the generations, then you have to start with the main combatants, the boomers and the millennials.

Need a hit on Capitol Hill? Take your pick. Members and staffers alike are addicted to Twitter, where they log on for their daily stims of outrage. Cable news has also become a kind of drug, as congressmen stampede to the Fox News and CNN green rooms rather than go about the irritating business of legislating. But if we're looking for a way out of the present congressional gridlock, I think we need to turn to an older and wiser substance. "Alcoholism is as much of an occupational disease among politicians as black lung is among coal miners," Herman Talmadge once wrote. Talmadge, who served as a Georgia senator from 1957 to 1981, would know: he once took a month off from his senatorial responsibilities to get treated for alcoholism.

The year is 2072. House Republicans are about to embark on their 47,838th attempt to elect a speaker. Kevin McCarthy's hair has achieved sentience, giving him an extra vote, while Marjorie Taylor Greene has transformed into a werewolf. Outside the deteriorated Capitol building, flying cars pass overhead and gawk at the democracy that once was. That's one read into the future anyway, after three days and an orgy of failed votes that have left the House in a state of chaos. And that's assuming there even is a House anymore. The previous Congress has been vacated, while the current one is prohibited from being sworn in until a speaker is chosen. That's left some observers asking disorienting questions: does the House still exist? Has it ever?

A great scourge has descended upon the land, leaving in its wake a path of misery and girlfriends shivering under blankets. Crops have been destroyed, and there are times when (after 5 p.m.) it can seem like we might never see the sun again. Yet the greatest terror ushered in by this darkness is its plague, a relentless onslaught of mild coughs and sniffly noses that seems to have left just about everyone feeling marginally annoyed. The ancients had a word for it, winter, and it's eliciting trembles of horror from the Cassandras over at the New York Times. New Yorkers, the Times recently croaked, "are living not just among the coronavirus and its seemingly endless variants, but a bunch of other viruses too." This "bunch" includes such baffling ailments as the common cold and the flu.