Affairs Of State - Donald Trump, Young Women, And The Real Business Of Governance

As many have written, the second Trump Administration will not so much represent a change in party leadership, but of culture.  Trump, Musk, Ramaswamy et al are about to engineer the greatest political turnabout in American history, a cultural revolution that makes Mao's Great Leap Forward look like child's play.  Already the Trump team has show its intentions and political verve, not waiting for Inauguration Day to put its imprimatur on Washington. 

 

The old, faded, tired and worn liberalism of the Biden era is a thing of the past.  No more race, gender, ethnicity.  No more diversity, equity, and inclusion.  No more self-hating recrimination. No more peace at any price, no more climate change hysteria and cries of white privilege.  The new administration will be a patriotic meritocracy - only the most talented, able, courageous, and loyal need apply. Affirmative action, gender reassignment, and wealth distribution become footnotes of history, discredited, hopelessly idealistic, and destructive bits of faux idealism. 

The White House will be alight with glamour - a neo-Camelot but a populist one of movie stars, a meeting place for the glitterati of America, all sequined, dressed to the nines, high-heeled, perfumed beauties.  It will be an all-night club, a 24/7 rave, a place to see and be seen and not a dowdy, sensible-shoed matron in sight.  Every Vogue-ready face, every tanned limb, every sleek sheath will proclaim the coming of a new age, one without sanctimony, shame, or correctness.

There will be no tip-toeing, carefully worded speech.  The Borscht Belt, that irreverent cavalcade of high-spirited puncturing of correctness, a lambasting free-for-all, taking on all comers and leaving no one spared from their vicious wit and poison arrows. 'If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen', said former President Harry Truman, a man without a pretentious bone in his body and a defiance of all who did. 

The White House and all of official Washington for that matter will come out of the heterosexual closet.  Gone will be the lionization of weird sexual possibilities, the championing of the asymptotic ends of the sexual bell curve. Red meat, hot chicks, and let's have at it will be the new memes. The wraps, blinders, straps, and harnesses tossed aside.  The Emperor has new clothes and so does the entire city of Washington. 

Men and women in the new official Washington will pair off with regularity.  Sex will rule, not some neo-Puritanical MeToo sexual sanctimony.  'May I touch you there?' will be replaced by a go-ahead radical feminism, one which dismisses notions of weakness and need for protection - women with agency, sexual allure and desire, and all-out determination will be the in-crowd. 

'We were right' shouted the cadres of silly-billy chador-minded advocates of sexual 'propriety', those who  turned normal desire into accounting; but they were as wrong as could be.  Their penitential reformism was a thing of the past, and they were unprepared for the dismissal.  How could this be, they howled?  Such a righteous effort, such a pure, unsullied vote for women and a challenge to misogyny and woman-hatred one and done?  Gone? Tossed out as though it was a piece of old chicken?

For four years and much longer in gestation, this sanctimony became received wisdom, as set in stone and as absolutely right as the Ten Commandments; and now in one fell swoop it was swept up with the dust devils under the Presidential bed, out into the gutter, detritus, trash. 

This is what hurt most.  Transition was supposed to be gradual and genteel; but the Trump juggernaut came into Washington like the Mongol armies of Genghis Khan charging down Pennsylvania Avenue lining it with severed heads on spikes, headed for the seats of power.  This was not what progressives had planned.  Theirs was a Hitlerian-style vision of a Tausend Jahre Reich - a Thousand Year Reich which would last long beyond.  Progressivism was the final establishment of righteous historical order. Like Islam, there would be no prophets after progressives' Muhammad. 

So in comes Donald Trump, all bluster and braggadocio, at the top of his game, nothing to lose, fire in his belly and vengeance in his heart.  Not only were progressives leaving town, they were scurrying for cover.  After years of lawfare, empty accusations, ad hominem attacks, and incessant, whiney nastiness, they were about to get what was coming to them. 

For the time being, political retribution will remain on the shelf.  It is party time in Washington, a long-awaited ball, a cotillion, an exuberant end to the moody, dark, punitive legacy of the Left.  Happy days. 

It is quite a scene to behold - joyous Trumpists coming into town on Mardi Gras floats, all pasties and G-strings, showing off their birthday suits in style; and mourning Bidenites dragging their way out the exits, a beaten, dispirited lot.  Except for Kamala Harris who unbelievably but characteristically proclaiming victory and touting her run for President in 2028.  

She, the woman who singlehandedly did in the Democratic Party, engineered a coup of a sitting President to feather her own nest, who ran on race and gender ('I am a proud black woman') and nothing else, a sense of entitlement worse than Hillary Clinton's and sent to the showers by an American public who were tired of elitism, blackness, and female 'empowerment'

Back? Her?  You must be joking, but arrogance and presumptive righteousness are the stock and trade of politicians and honed to a sharp edge among progressives.  

America is in for a Barnum & Bailey circus, a wild jamboree, a cavalcade of high-stepping majorettes and drum majors, all of whom provide the music and dance for the serious business going on behind closed doors - a radical uprooting of political privilege, ensconced bureaucrats, and the ponderous government of state. 

Trump's hero is Javier Milei, the new President of Argentina whose mantra is Afuera!, goodbye to big government, and whose iconic image is the chains saw.  'You ain't seen nothing yet', shouted Elon Musk to a crowd of thousands on Inauguration Day.