I don’t have much to say about what happened yesterday. The people who organized the demonstration and those, like the President, who merely agitated for it, must have known that whatever took place would play into the hands of the incoming administration and the media that represents them. Even if not a single law had been broken, they would have been portrayed as sore losers who cannot accept the results of a free and fair election.
Mexico and the United States are both known as violent countries, but there are important differences in the style—and the incidence–of criminal violence. Both are complex countries with varying ethnic and regional traditions.
For over 20 years, whenever the US Congress is debating a stricter immigration law, hundreds of thousands Mexican-Americans take to the streets. The demonstrators, often waving Mexican flags, demand rights for the illegals and accuse conservative Republicans of racism. The substance of much of their complaint is that Mexicans, illegal as well as legal, have made an indispensable contribution to the American economy, and yet they are treated with disrespect and hostility.
Coming out of his seclusion, Mickey announced a monster meeting in a field outside of Chequamegon. He did not have time to build a stage, but there was a nice little stream flowing through the field. One side of the ground was flat with room for hundreds of people to stand or spread out picnic blankets, and on the other side, there was a steep bank, which Mickey mounted, to make his pitch, which is why his speech has gone down in history as the “Sermon of the Mountebank.”
This review of David Donald’s Lincoln ( New York and London: Simon & Schuster, 1996) was commissioned and published by the Spectator (London), for which I wrote with some frequency, once upon a time before the world ceased pretending to exist.
Science is not the problem but the blind faith in science that is the religion of Secularism.
I do not believe that I am the only American who has been put off by hysterical rants about the end of the American way of life. Almost everything I have come across, from articles in so-called conservative publications to blogposts to conversations with friends strikes me as based on very limited understanding, not just of history but of the basic meaning of words.
“How about a Bible story, kiddies?”
The children were overjoyed to escape from their monotonous captivity, and their mother was too beaten down to impose her will. Down from the loft they plummeted, stumbling on the steps of the ladder, like three half-grown squirrels on the first day of spring. Evelina started to send them back up but stopped
My absence from Fleming.Foundation was initially due to Christmas and the arrival of two our our children, but the prolongation of inertia was the result of an intestinal disease that left most of the family fairly wasted. It matches pretty well the classic symptoms of a noro-virus. The departure of the virus–and the children–has made it possible to return to my labors
My father used to say, always with a note of sadness in his voice, that the curse of politics had even come between the two Sons of Zebedee. Their father—who would be my great-grandfather—had been strongly influenced by his mother, a Scottish woman from Canada, who had communicated some of her reverence for the British Empire to her older son. She had died when James was only eight, and all the boy could recall of his mother was a sickly old woman who complained of the noise he made. When his wife died, her husband lost his loyalty to the...
