Out in Maine, a gentleman named Graham Platner enters the political arena. He is accused of a dark and offensive offense against a woman, an allegation of the gravest nature. Instantly, the machinery of his own party is oiled and set in motion. The high priests of the organization assemble, their faces white with a holy terror, and they inform Mr. Platner that his presence can no longer be tolerated among decent men.
He must resign; he must vanish; he must be cast out into the outer darkness. We are told this is because the party has a “red line” regarding virtue, and that the banner of their cause must remain as pure as the driven snow.
This would be an inspiring spectacle of American righteousness, were it not for the view looking south toward Texas.
In that great and expansive state, we find the Attorney General, Mr. Ken Paxton. Mr. Paxton’s career is a veritable museum of political endurance. He has been decorated with multiple scandals, shadowed by criminal allegations that have grown old enough to vote, and accused of infidelity so well-documented it might deserve its own chapter in the schoolbooks.
His conduct was so remarkably repulsive that his own political brethren, the very Republicans of the Texas Legislature, a body not known for an excess of delicate sensibility, felt compelled to impeach him.
Read that again, if you please, and let it linger upon the palate like a rare wine: a Republican official was found so thoroughly objectionable that he was impeached by Republicans in Texas.
And yet, by some miracle of political resurrection, Mr. Paxton does not find himself in the outer darkness. No, he finds himself on the ballot, running with the full-throated blessings of the faithful.
And why? Because the alternative is too horrible for a pious mind to contemplate, a Democrat might win the seat. And worse still, an actual, living Christian Democrat. In the grand calculus of modern statesmanship, it is reasoned that a broken commandment is a small price to pay to keep a political stronghold from falling into the hands of a man who might actually practice the sermon on the mount.
We see the same marvelous flexibility in our national legislature. A senator from Minnesota makes an off-color and sexist joke, and before the echo has died away, he is packed off to private life with his ears burning. Yet, a congressman from Ohio can look directly at blatant outrages committed under his very nose, close his eyes with the serene peace of a Buddha, and be rewarded with the chairmanship of a mighty committee.
The plain-spoken man, whether he wears a blue or white collar, looks upon this vast circus and scratches his head. He has been told since childhood that the law is a leveler, that virtue is its own reward, and that the rulers of this nation are his humble servants.
When will the working crowd wake up to the grand joke that is being played at their expense? These two-faced guardians of our public morals do not care for you any more than a butcher cares for the private anxieties of the sheep. They divide the flock with high-sounding phrases and ancient prejudices, solely to ensure that while the sheep are busy contesting which side is the more holy, the shearing may continue in perfect peace.