In my view, there are lots of fine Republicans, but they’ve lost control of their party.
All the more reason I’m happy to be the incoming treasurer of the Democratic National Committee. Not only can I help to win back Congress for the Democrats (which, now that so many Democrats support free-trade and balanced budgets, should not scare investors), I can help the Republicans win back their own party.
In my view, it’s Republicans like Los Angeles mayor Richard Riordan who should be running the party, not . . . Well, I won’t name names, but I will tell you that at last week’s Reclaiming America for Christ conference in Fort Lauderdale, one of the speakers described moderate Republicans as “the bane of our existence.” (So you can imagine how they feel about Democrats.)
The Republicans will always have a lot more money to spend, but that doesn’t mean the Democrats can’t win — so long as we raise enough to get our message out.
Part of that message is diversity. The President’s cabinet walks into the House Chamber for the State of the Union and it looks like America. You’ve got your whites and your blacks and your Latinos, your men and your women, your Jews and your gentiles. The six officers of the Democratic National Committee walk into the room and you’ve got your brilliant African-American mayor (previous to his election named most respected judge in his state), your dynamite Hispanic-American congresswoman, your coupla terrific WASPy guys, your coupla women, your coupla Jews, and your gay guy. (Adds to more than six due to overlap.) The thirteen House managers walk into the room and you’ve got thirteen white guys.
This is not to knock white guys. My boyfriend’s a white guy. (And, like all 13 of the managers, gentile.) Nor is it to say the President’s cabinet or the DNC leadership is completely representative or for a moment to suggest any of this should be done based on some kind of formula or quota. It shouldn’t. It’s just that most Democrats genuinely believe that many of the most talented managers are different from the straight white Christian male traditionally pictured in the role. Many Republicans believe this, too. But I’ll bet Republicans outnumbered Democrats 10 to 1 at the Reclaiming America for Christ conference.
Anyway, at the risk of losing half my advertisers, let’s have some fun. With appropriate apologies to those of you who’d sooner give to the devil than the Democrats (believe me, I welcome readers across the political spectrum), how about sending me a check? I officially start March 20. I’d love to hand over a fistful of small checks — no amount is too small — on day one.
In case this notion grabs you, please note that contributions to the DNC are not tax-deductible, and that they can be accepted from U.S. citizens or green-card holders only. Please make your check payable to DNC/Federal Account, please put your occupation and employer in the memo (if you might give the DNC more than $200 in the course of the year), and please mail it to:
Andrew Tobias.com (the “.com” so we know it was from this web site)
430 So. Capitol St., SE
Washington, DC 20003
Annoying? What will you get in return? Well, OK, how about this? Archives! I was just kidding up above about having advertisers, but I have been working on getting the archives some of you have requested. Indeed, with luck, an early version of what’s to come may be clickable today, up above. (Yes? No? Well if not today, soon.) Anyone who sends a check RIGHT NOW can read them for free. (As can anyone else, but if they’re Democrats, they will feel guilty.)
And I have just one other thought. If 35% of the citizens of this country are straight white non-Hispanic gentile males, then the chance that any one of the Republican House managers would have fit that profile — if it were random — would have been 35%. The chance that all 13 would be? If I did the math right: one-ten-thousandth of one percent. Send me a check.
Quote of the Day
Triumphant wife to down-and-out husband: I've consolidated all our bills into one missed payment.~Frank Cotham cartoon in the October 11, 1999, New Yorker
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