The State of What Union?
February 7th 2020
Donald J. Trump delivers his State of the Union address Tuesday, Feb. 4, 2020 (The White House)
By Bob Williamson
Oh, he’s a master showman, our president. And he put on a pretty good show the other night in the House of Representatives. Some say he hit a home run. If so, he used a corked bat, and the pitcher lobbed in softballs. Still, the ball soared over the fence in prime time. Some say that he showed he could deliver a speech without leaving a trail of slime.
Others call it all sugar-coated B.S., with plenty of baloney thinly sliced.
The State of the Union offers the President the chance to present a rosy view of his accomplishments and how the nation’s better off for his leadership.
The economic numbers look good, but they’re been good from way back when President Obama took us away from the brink and put us on a steady rise of job growth and fiscal recovery. In short, the current president inherited favorable winds stirred up by his predecessor, only he inflates the news even more. It’s always the best this, the greatest that, all brought about by “Me”. Zip about the Midwestern farmers still struggling to keep their heads above water.
Oh, yes, there were touching moments of poignancy from the gallery: a Tuskegee Airman vet getting his Brigadier General star (Did he ever get the GI Bill after WW II? Blacks were excluded from this program that fueled the creation of a solid middle class and post-war prosperity. And then there’s that embarrassing record early on of Trump apartments turning down Black applicants); an African-American 4th grader getting her scholarship to a charter school (while millions of other kids in underfunded schools being left to fend for themselves); uniting an Army wife and two kids with her sergeant husband whisked secretly home from Afghanistan (while we’re still mired in intractable wars losing lives, money and stoking hate from the countries we occupy, and remember those thee Presidential pardons to servicemen awaiting trial who ruthlessly murdered foreign citizens, pardons that’s corroded military ethics); and Rush Limbaugh with Stage 4 lung cancer being awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by First Lady Melania for his service (Service? Spewing bile that stokes the fires of hatred and making compromise a dirty word?).
’Twas all good theater, especially with Trump’s latest 49% approval Gallup Poll number.
How about that not-so-perfect call to the Ukrainian President? Isn’t pressuring a foreign ally to interfere in our elections still against the law? I guess it was just improper, but it doesn’t rise to the level of impeachment, even if it stinks to high heavens.
The President didn’t even offer to shake Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s hand at the start, as is customary at the beginningof these events. Granted, Nancy shouldn’t have shredded his speech at the end on TV, but this guy’s shredded the Constitution while he sugar-coats the rest of his tawdry tricks.
He’s a slick as Slick Willie, as tricky as Tricky Dick.
Former GOP Chair Michael Steele said the Democrats need to bring their “A” Game to beat him—A as in Asymmetrical. He’ll keep trotting out those tender camera moments while behind the scenes he erases our pre-existing conditions, pledges to do this while actually doing THAT, which sounds like something smelly hitting the fan and sticking.
The Dems had better get their act together or they’re looking at four more years of candy-covered claptrap from this guy.
State of the Union? It’s more like State of Disunion, stitched together by lies, half-truths and a few bromides for the folks at home watching on TV—just enough to make his base coo “OOhh” and “AAhh”, and move the fat cats to grin from ear to ear as they cash in untaxed income from his legerdemain. That laughter you hear in the distance is George Orwell chuckling from the grave.
The carnival barker rises from Foggy Bottom like a colossus of concern when he’s only out for himself. So much flimflam. You wouldn’t buy a used car from him, let alone give him another four years at the wheel.
If he, the Vicar of Verisimilitude, the High Priest of Hype can create the illusion of doing just enough good—the sugar—we, the electorate, will swallow another quadrennial load of B.S.. again.
As Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer said in her 10-minute response: “Don’t listen to his words. Look at what he does.”
I’d add, check the veracity of of his claims. If you think you’re buying 10 acres of prime real estate, it’s most likely on a cliff face. Just ask all those folks who got fleeced at Trump University.