When Ford replaced Nixon as President he said, “Our long national nightmare is over.”
Next Tuesday, I don’t think we’ll be saying that. Along with every national election prediction organization (FiveThirtyEight, The Upshot, Princeton Election Consortium, Larry Sabato’s Crystal Ball, Moody’s Analytics, and a few more), I think Hillary will win. They all seem to be predicting around 300 Electoral College votes. They can’t all be wrong, can they? But even if she wins, it will be a huge mess, because control of the Senate is far from certain. All of the above organizations are predicting Democratic control of the Senate, but the odds are a lot closer. If Hillary wins, but the Democrats don’t win control of the Senate, we will experience the gridlock to end all gridlock. It will make the relationship between Obama and the current Congress seem like a honeymoon. If Democrats take control of the Senate, it will only be marginally better. Things like Supreme Court Justices will be nominated and confirmed, but not much else will happen with the House firmly in Republican hands. And even if Democrats win the Senate, they’ll almost certainly lose it again in 2018. With all the talk of the disarray in the GOP, people seem to have forgotten that the Democrats aren’t in a whole lot better shape. They are a tired old party of the Establishment that has contributed a lot to the mess we’re in. Bernie at least brought in some new blood and enthusiasm, but that enthusiasm isn’t there for Hillary and the old guard.
So in the end we’ll not only be dead, but before we die we’ll all be fucked.
Maybe it’s time for some Yeats.
THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?