Voting One's Conscience

By -


As a new presidential election dawns, I would argue that Joe Biden is the worst president of my lifetime, but I could not in good conscience vote for Donald trump.  While Biden offers a semblance of dignity that the office of the President portends, his costly blunders—stumbling out of Afghanistan, failing to secure our southern boarder, and enabling Palestinian genocide— which will stain this country for generations to come—casts him as an incompetent leader in my view. 

Trump, on the other hand, strips naked the honor and decency of the presidency.  He is a natural born liar, huckster, and soon to be convicted felon. I would wager all that I hold dear he has not read a single book in 50 years.  Such is the way he comes across—simple minded, inarticulate, and silly.  His saving grace is the fact that he is white; and yet our enemies understand that he is inept enough to risk war without bothering to weigh the consequences. For this they fear him more than Biden, who has a propensity for indecisiveness, the worst thing a leader can be, let alone the most powerful man in the world.   The title sleepy joe fits him well.  

 

I have not listened seriously to Robert Kennedy so it’s hard to provide a meaningful  assessment of his leadership abilities.  He reminds of Froggy on the Little Rascals.  Cruel, I know. 

 

The other unlikely presidential candidate is Cornel West, who has always been my favorite late night TV sideshow.  The Don King hairdo and the MLK voice over are nostalgic — Tailor made for a Netflix special. But President? 

 

Last week I lent him an ear.

 

To my surprise—no; astonishment, I found him to be supremely eloquent, highly astute on historical references, particularly as they relate to unraveling world events, and far more grounded and ethical than any modern day political leader. If it comes down to voting my conscience, casting my vote for Dr. Cornel West is a no brainer. 

 

Although he has no realistic chance of winning the White House, most say, I still believe his powerful message will rock the electorate, even more so than Jesse Jackson did at the Democratic Convention back in '84. 

 

Things that look impossible today, the good doctor reminds us, will one day be broken down by scholars and seen as inevitable.  It would be nice if that same could be said of Dr. Cornel West’s presidential aspirations. 


Darrell Gartrell 




 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Morning Walk Yields Unexpected Pitfalls

By -
Image
     A morning walk can unveil unusual things. With a slight knee strain, doc said I must trek thirty minutes a day for the next few weeks before attempting a run.   No worries.     For walkers, the placid, tree-line streets of Savannah offers a curious world unseen by passing cars, or ones zipping through by bike. Retired folk, some rocking lazily on their front porch, wave or nod good mo'nin. Rounding Ogeechee Rd, along the old cemetery pathway, where endless troves of slaves are buried in unmarked graves, I maintain my stride, right over left, paying close attention to my tender right knee.     Up ahead, a patrol man, sitting idle in his car, is pointing a long barrel gun aimed dead at my dome. He doesn't blink nor turn away. For a flicker of an instant, we stare each other down. Thank goodness he's hawking speeders and does not eye me as runaway prey.     I continue my stroll, walking past the cop who bemoans a pretentious hello. He's a man on a mission. I walk
Read more

Return to America

By -
Image
There were many challenges to moving back to America after so many years living abroad.  There was first the question of where to live.  The obvious choice was Los Angeles where I was born and raised, still had family–most significantly my mother–and where I owned rental property next to the family homestead.  But LA was ruled out.  After all, it was scarcely the city I knew whilst growing up.  Congestion had gotten so bad that a leisurely drive around town had become a lost art.  What’s more, illegal immigrants had invaded the Southland in biblical proportions.  LA was now Mexico. The logical choice was my late father’s hometown of Savannah, Georgia– a city known for its solidity of colonial structures, mossy cemeteries, and restless ghosts that wonder the cobblestone pathways at night, or so we are told. As history reminds us, Atlanta was reduced to ashes at wars end. General Sherman, on his infamous scorched-earth campaign across the state, was so smitte
Read more