My dog
Twinkie fears two household items: vacuum cleaners and bathtubs.
The
roar of the vacuum scares her simply because it’s loud and annoying. She’s
never had an unpleasant experience with a vacuum. There’s no traumatic tale of
a suction accident in her puppyhood. She just hates and fears the racket
instinctively—so much so that she will do whatever gymnastics are necessary to
avoid coming within five feet of a running vacuum.
As for
bathtubs, they didn’t scare her until she learned to associate them with becoming wet and miserable.
She
reacts to the sound of the vacuum running and of tap water filling the
downstairs bathtub in exactly the same way. As soon as she hears either one,
she freezes and then, sneakily, peers left and right, plotting the course
of her escape.
One
night I happened to be vacuuming the hallway just as my wife was preparing the
bathtub for Twinkie, who was napping in the bedroom between us.
The nightmare clatter of the vacuum and the filling tub roused her to the doorway.
First
she looked my way—presumably to see if the vacuum cleaner was far enough down
the hall for her to clear it at a safe distance on her way to the doggie door.
No chance.
The hallway was blocked.
She
looked the other way and saw my wife approaching with her sleeves rolled up
and a towel over her shoulder.
We
chuckled at each other as poor Twinkie gulped in terror. For a moment, she
seemed paralyzed.
But
then she made up her mind. She bolted towards me and leapt over the vacuum.
She fears
the vacuum because of what it might do to her—not because of anything it’s
actually done. But the bathtub makes her miserable every time she’s plunged
into it, so her decision wasn't difficult.
She evaluated her options and made the correct choice.
I wish
Noam Chomsky could be as clear-headed as my dog.
On one
hand, Chomsky must be smarter than Twinkie because he explains the role the
corporate media plays in
manufacturing consent far more lucidly than my dog
can.
But on
the other hand, Twinkie must be smarter than Chomsky because she understands
that sometimes we have to overcome our fears of the unknown if we want to avoid
an outcome that we know in advance to be miserable.
Donald
Trump is as loud and annoying as any vacuum. Most of us share the instinct to steer clear of him.
Hillary
Clinton makes a much more soothing sound. The gentle whoosh of flowing water is
attractive to us even if there’s lead in it.
But
what do Clinton’s benign words about fighting for ordinary folks really
portend? Presumably the same things they’ve always portended: 1) people of
color being shipped off to prisons at disproportionate rates to perform slave
labor; 2) fossil fuels being called “clean” as long as their pollution takes
the form of invisible methane leaks instead of visible smoke; 3) helpless women
and children being championed on camera while they are systematically murdered and displaced behind the scenes as a direct
result of compulsive international meddling; and 4) American citizens being deprived
of the basic protections of citizenship against international corporate
profiteers through instruments such as the Trans-Pacific Partnership.
Clinton
calls herself a progressive who gets things done.
She’s
right—as long as your idea of progress involves enslaving an ever-broadening
swath of the American population to pay for wars that they never asked for—wars
that are somehow supposed to make us safer from terrorists by killing innocent
civilians all over the world.
If that
thoroughly predictable future is less frightening to Chomsky than the unknowns
associated with a Trump presidency, he needs a phobiametric
recalibration.
But the
most frustrating thing about Chomsky’s
coerced-by-the-circumstances endorsement of Clinton is that
it buys into the very binary logic we must explode. When you get trapped in a
binary, the mistake is almost always to race towards one extreme or the other.
Twinkie
didn’t charge towards the vacuum to embrace it. She took the risk of coming too
close to it so that she could escape to safety. Life presented her a choice
between the vacuum and the bathtub, and she selected option #3: the doggie
door.
For me,
option #3 will be Bernie Sanders until he refuses to run any longer. I think
the abundant evidence of election fraud and voter suppression in this year’s primary process may yet
prove that Clinton’s campaign lacks much of the support it claims. I think
it’s possible (though improbable) that James Comey of the FBI and Attorney
General Loretta Lynch will hold Clinton to the same standard of law as
any other American entrusted with classified information. I admit that superdelegates
are unlikely to betray their donors by representing their constituents, but I
remain hopeful that enough Americans will rally in Philadelphia on July 25th to
pressure the Democratic Party as dramatically as Icelanders pressured their
government leaders in the wake of the Panama Papers scandal. Non-violent
assembly can be very persuasive when it occurs on a large enough
scale.
Maybe
that’s all wishful thinking.
Maybe
the Democrats really will decide that the recipe for winning the presidency is
to nominate a widely despised candidate under criminal investigation—as long as
her opponent is Donald Trump.
If
that’s their decision and Sanders subsequently endorses Clinton, then Chomsky
is free to run towards misery with his vote.
As for
me, I prefer to face the dangers associated with coming too close to Trump in
order to move towards a brighter, safer, healthier, saner world. Even if
Sanders becomes a fearmongering party hack on Clinton’s behalf, I’ll attempt
to jump over Trump by supporting Jill Stein.
The
strategy of jumping will work if enough people who are paying attention (such
as Chomsky and the swing state voters he hopes to influence) are willing to vote out of hope instead of fear.
But
what if it doesn’t work? What if Stein shaves off just enough votes for us to
land on the surreal comb-over of an orange-faced vacuum?
That’s
still preferable to ending up miserable for a minimum of four years.
The
vacuum will be loud and annoying. Everyone who hears it will try to turn it off
or unplug it. Frightening though it sounds, the vacuum probably isn’t going to
eat us even if we land on it.
As for
the tub, we know for a certainty that it will leave us wet, shivering, and miserable.
I don’t
care how pleasant the bath tap sounds relative to the vacuum. I cannot in good
conscience choose the path that leads to poisoning the planet, enslaving my
fellow citizens, and murdering/displacing innocent civilians all over the
globe.
I won’t
be taking my cue on this one from a graying academic—however highly regarded he
may be. Instead, I’ll be following the lead of a mutt rescued from a local
pound. This vacuum-bathtub binary is unacceptable, so I’m taking my chances on reaching the
doggie door whether I succeed or not.
Call me
a low-information voter if it makes you feel better. Depict me as an unwashed
mongrel if you like. But even if there is something canine about my rationale,
I fail to see anything humane about Chomsky’s.
It’s
really that simple. Bernie or bust.