Lamenting Baseless Hatred on Tisha B’Av

You don’t have to be an Orthodox Jew to mark Tisha B’Av.   Traditional practice means all day (from sundown today to sundown tomorrow, on this year’s calendar) fasting and lamenting historical tragedies, centering on the destructions of the First and Second Temples. Even for the ultra-observant, it’s not a fun holiday.  It focuses on sadness, defeat, and exile. It doesn’t have the communal consolations of Yom Kippur, as most of Tisha B’Av is about you alone contemplating your heritage, history, and heart. Which is why it deserves more attention than it usually gets — not only by non-Orthodox Jews, or by non-observant Jews, but also by people of many faiths open to the life-enriching lessons that diverse religious traditions have to offer.

A Talmudic teaching central to Tisha B’Av (Yoma 9b) maintains that the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed due to the sin of sinat hinam, baseless hatred.  It’s a mise-en-scene we can all relate to:  a party with a mistakenly invited but unwelcome guest who was treated in an uncourteous instead of generous manner.  The guest wanted to stay, to avoid embarrassment, and the host wanted to throw him out (which he eventually did). Other guests did nothing. Things happened; things were said; things escalated. Rather like the ‘for want of a horseshoe nail’ parable, the uncomfortable dinner party spiraled into enmity-fueled revenge that led to false accusations, sabotage of peace-keeping efforts, and ultimately the Temple’s ruin and the fall of Jerusalem . . . and, subsequently, millennia of Jewish exile and persecution.  The most important point, however, according to the Talmud and reams of subsequent commentary, is the horrifying and very human power of sinat hinam.

“Baseless hatred” is something an individual feels and acts upon, a ‘something’ that exceeds logic and common sense. As far as I understand Hebrew (which is not very far, alas), the translation of ‘hinam’ as ‘baseless’ is not quite adequate.  ‘Hinam' means disproportionate, perhaps wildly so — the point being that hatred can be legitimately based, but when it bursts the boundaries of just dealings can become a destructive ruling passion unanchored to facts or fellow feeling or potential consequences.  It also shares roots with Hebrew words for ‘free,’ suggesting that this sort of hatred is unmoored from reality, and for ‘graciousness,’ suggesting that this sort of hatred stems from allowing our duties toward other people to be eclipsed by self-righteous fury.

It is relatively easy to detect sinat hinam in others. Indeed, modern observances of Tisha B’Av often aggregate signal tragedies in Jewish history: various expulsions and pogroms and, of course, the Holocaust. It is harder to detect it in ourselves, be it the festering grudge or the blanket condemnation of those with beliefs radically opposed to our own. Indwelling sinat hinam exiles us spiritually to a parched place of rage and resentment, persecuted by demons we have conjured ourselves.

A medieval depiction of a desert monk suffering from acedia

The ninth of the month of Av falls during the summer, a time of (increasingly oppressive) heat in the Northern hemisphere and of dryness (plus heat) in the Middle East.  Sinat hinam may be a trans-religious complement to the Christian deadly sin of acedia (‘sloth’), the ‘spiritual dryness’ — apathetic inability to perform one’s sacred and secular duties — that the desert fathers feared as the ‘noonday demon.’  Heat, from the burning sun or from raging anger, desiccates the soul.

Thinking about Tisha B’Av in these ways is certainly applicable to secular Jews and even to non-Jews like me.  The official observance for 2015 starts about now and lasts all of tomorrow.  Even if one is not fasting or reading the book of Lamentations, one can find time to contemplate the fiery dangers of sinat hinam (and, for that matter, of its listless companion acedia) and attempt to restore emotional, mental, and spiritual balance if such balance is off-kilter.  It's worth a try.

[Note about the image that heads this essay:  it’s a detail (‘The Fall of Jerusalem’) from the ‘Warner murals’ (painted in the 1929 by Hugo Ballin, designed by Rabbi Edgar Magnin, and financed by the movie mogul Warner brothers) that embellish the Wiltshire Boulevard Temple in Los Angeles. Magnin believed that incorporating murals in the Sanctuary was a way for his modern American Reform Temple, in the capital of the movie industry, to embrace the spirit of hiddur mitzvah ("Beautifying the Commandment") as well as to embrace the visual culture so important to his congregation, which included many Hollywood titans, artists, and actors.]

Dumbagoguery

Donald Trump recently said something so politically stupid and rude that he prodded his somnambulant rivals into much-belated criticism and simultaneously secured his place as ranking Republican Dumbagogue. Yet like a lot of Trump’s apparent off-the-cuffisms, his disparagement of John McCain’s status as a war hero was more calculated than it may seem — and probably less damaging. 

Over the weekend, a new national poll shows that the Donald is now leading the Republican field.  By a lot. (24% vs. the next highest, Scott Walker at 13% and Jeb Bush at 12%).  It’s unclear whether the poll was conducted before, during, or after Trump’s insults became the latest media flapadoodle. I suspect, though, that his poll numbers will not plummet precipitously, at least for a good while. Maybe the insult was not so politically stupid after all, despite the fact that veterans comprise a healthy segment of the Republican base.

Reason #1:  The Republican base to which Trump appeals does not like John McCain.  They do see him as a loser (another Donaldian insult) and as a politician who has not reliably forwarded their agenda (yet another yadda yadda . . . ).  

Reason #2:  That base enjoys and endorses argument-by-insult.  Look at the eight years of scurrilous attacks on President Obama (abetted by Trump’s disgraceful birtherism and show-me-your-college-transcript posturing).  Look at the thunderous silence by the ‘Republican mainstream’ following Trump’s profoundly offensive comments about Mexican immigrants, comments that jump-started the billionaire’s rise in the polls.  Look at the base’s long love affair with rude loudmouths like Rush Limbaugh, Sarah Palin, and, when he was in his hey-day, Chris Christie, or during his full shut-it-down glory, Ted Cruz.  To many Trumpophiles, rudeness equals truth-telling authenticity . . . because they’re too ignorant to know or care about the difference. Dumbass name-calling equals civic and civil discourse!  Or trumps it!!!

Reason #3:  A distressing percentage of Americans are often stubbornly, willfully stupid. Opinions and prejudices substitute for facts. ‘Experts’ are dismissed as pointy-headed liberals. Logic and reason are sacrificed at the altar of undigested gut reaction.  Fear and anxiety about the country’s changing demographics, economics, and majority views about cultural issues are paraded as patriotism.  Take our country back! 

Reason #4:  The rest of the Republican field does not showcase intelligence either. Scott Walker’s flood of dumb comments (about bombing Iran on Day One of his [shudder] presidency or that Reagan’s greatest foreign policy achievement was standing up to the [U.S.] air traffic controllers’ strike). Lindsey Graham’s condemnation of ‘Al-anything,’  Mike Huckabee’s pugnacious Duggarism. Ben Carson’s comparisons of the Obama administration with Nazi Germany. Rick Perry in general (although he came out with a big Trump-slam today, one that would do a Thesaurus proud but is welcome nonetheless).  Most of the Republican candidates’ hysterical and to-hell-with-the-constitution condemnation of the Supreme Court’s marriage equality decision (Ted Cruz?  Bobby Jindal? Bueller?).  All Republican candidates’ immediate (even before-the-fact) and stunningly unthoughtful condemnations of the ‘Iran nuclear deal,’ not to mention their wussy reluctance to endorse scientific consensus on everything from climate change to evolution to homosexuality not being a ‘choice.’ 

Reason #5:  Trump calls everyone else stupid, particularly his rivals.  Perry, Bush, Graham to name a few, not to mention McCain and Ebola-fighting doctors and all Democrats who’ve tried to accomplish anything at all for the common good.  Since everyone Trump doesn’t like (or is in competition with) is dumb, by the law of reverse idiocy everyone who likes/agrees with Trump is highly intelligent.  Just like he is, as he never ceases to assert.  Dumbagoguery works!  The stupid will be smart and will rightfully inherit this exceptional, English-only speaking piece of the earth.

I don’t think Donald Trump is stupid.  I think he’s slick and quick (quicker on the draw than his opponents) and out for who knows what, eventually — maybe just ‘winning’ in an obnoxious Charlie Sheenish way before votes actually need to be cast.  Trump knows how to hog ‘earned’ (read: free, because it will draw ratings) media and drown out his competition. He knows how to appeal to a reality TV audience dumb enough to believe that what they see is ‘real’ — unscripted, genuine, the gritty stuff of real life.  He knows how to transform troglodytic positions enshrined in decades of Republican Party platforms into rallying cries for ‘low-information’ (read: absolutely uninformed and unthoughtful) voters who want a demagogic champion who ain’t no RINO. As the Donald spews out rivals’ private cell phone numbers or ridicules their lack of material success, guts, and IQ scores, he presents himself as a bilious blend of P.T. Barnum, Gordon Gecko, Don Rickles, Pat Buchanan, and Machiavelli.  And god help us, a significant and growing percentage of the United States electorate eats up this diarrhetic mess and begs for more.  

Tomorrow, Trump is ‘going to the border’ for what no doubt will be another crass media stunt to whip the mouth-breathers into back-slapping frenzy. The equally but differently whipped commentariat will remind us that Herman Cain and Michele Bachman were embarrassing grease fires in the political pan, about this time in 2012, so not to worry — either way, lots of must-watch, breaking-news fodder.  In contrast to Cain or Bachman or Gingrich or the rest of last cycle’s losers, however, Donald Trump has enough money to keep his cleverly calculated piece of performance art going for a good long time — certainly through the upcoming debates, which promise to be the TV event of the summer.

Mark your calendar for August 6.  It would be perversely stupid not to watch the first Republican debate . . . for gaging how the non-Trumps deal with the actual Trump, for the much-anticipated entertainment value, and for reminding ourselves that there is, ultimately, an antidote for dumbagoguery.  

Talk Loudly and Carry a Big Schtick

I wasn’t going to write about Donald Trump, as everyone else has, ad nauseum.  But a few days ago a PPP poll revealed that the Donald is the leading Republican candidate among North Carolina voters.  Embarrassed by the state in which I live (and write), I needed to say something about the Trumpomania festering in this sweltering summer or else I’d be ashamed of myself.

Bring on the shame.  Trump (or more accurately, the burgeoning cover-and-comment-about-Trump industry) has defeated me. In a sort of reverse Heisenberg maneuver, the media noise levels about this candidacy are competing with the candidate’s own high-decibel braying.  By emulating Trump’s ‘discuss-by-talking-more-loudly-and-often’ approach to political discourse, the air-and-print waves are so saturated with Trumpanalysis that, at this point, there’s really not much left to offer. 

              Except referencing Spinal Tap, which is always a good thing to do when one is contemplating Eleven on the loudness scale.

              Marty DiBergi: Oh, I see. And most amps go up to ten?

              Nigel Tufnel: Exactly.

              Marty DiBergi: Does that mean it's louder? Is it any louder?

              Nigel Tufnel: Well, it's one louder, isn't it? It's not ten. You see, most blokes, you know, will be playing at ten. You're on ten here, all the way up, all the way up, all the way up, you're on ten on your guitar. Where can you go from there? Where?

              Marty DiBergi: I don't know.

Squelched Consideration #1:  Is this a serious candidacy or a self-aggrandizing schtick?  Not only is this now a done-to-death thing-to-contemplate, it’s an ill-posed question or at least an irrelevant one.  Donald Trump is obviously serious about his schtick as a mega-successful bellowing vulgarian busker who can make free media dance to whatever loudly discordant tune he decides to play.  But who cares whether Trump is delusional, megalomaniacal, or a self-gratifying charlatan? Isn’t it more useful to think about why he’s in this (one hopes) transient position of power, and what effects the Trump candidacy may have on on the fortunes and future of the Republican Party or on the upcoming Presidential race?

Squelched Consideration #2:  Donald Trump is a product of a Republican Party that’s pandered not only to its most angry ‘low-info’ base but also to the Donald himself.  This is obvious (recall Mitt Romney’s humiliating 2012 genuflection to the power/money that is Trump).  That the rest of the Republican Presidential field has been at best belated and at worst spineless in denouncing Trump’s demagoguery does not bode well for the GOP’s ability to win national elections in the future. This is also obvious.  

Trump is not only the Republican Party’s Frankenstein’s monster.  He is also Dr. Frankenstein, who created the monster by pushing himself and his money and his ‘influence’ into the GOP mainstream. Creator and Creature: nifty double move.

Squelched Consideration #3:  Everyone’s talking about the effects Trump’s candidacy will have on the 2016 Presidential race.  Conventional pundicratic wisdom has been that Trump will not be the GOP standard-bearer but that he will either screw up the field so monumentally that (presumably) Hillary Clinton will win overwhelmingly or that he acts as a mouth-frothing foil to other Republican candidates, who will seem relatively measured and sane in contrast (and one of them may win). 

In the last day or so, there’s a new scenario: Trump running as an independent.  O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’  Hillary (or Bernie, or Joe, or even more improbably, Martin or Jim or Linc) in a landslide!  I don’t disagree, so I don’t have much to add.  I’m old enough to remember Ross Perot looking under the hood. 

The wrecking ball swings both ways.  It can make other GOPers look reasonable, for now, or it can destroy the current and perhaps future Republican Party.  South-of-the-border immigrant-bashing is not a smart long-term strategy. 

It’s hard to satirize, parody, or caricature Donald Trump because he presents himself as a comic-book figure . . . one composed of self-validated financial, intellectual, rhetorical, patriotic, self-confident, and virile laminae topped with a honey-badger toupee crowning a distinctively belligerent face.

I mention Trump’s profoundly cartoonish look because it makes me think of the only new thing I have to offer about the Donald phenomenon: similarities with Benito Mussolini.

Some parallels may not be more than chin deep. Mussolini had two wives, many mistresses, and five (known) children; Trump has three wives and five (known) children. For both men, personal conduct has little connection with public pronouncements about morality.  More important, both men easily reverse political positions. Mussolini was an ardent and active socialist before he was a fascist; Trump was an equal-opportunity campaign donor and a pro-choice, vaguely liberal businessman before he became a radical birtherite and, eventually, the reactionary Presidential candidate we’re confronted with today.  A potent combination of nationalism and xenophobia seems to have served (to be serving) Mussolini and Trump well. 

Certainly, they look alike.  Much more distressing, they may think alike, and Trump may think like the mainstream of his party. As Benito Mussolini stated, “Fascism should be more properly be called corporatism, since it is the merger of state and corporate power.” 

Mussolini tapped into Italy’s deep interwar malaise, rose to power, and made deals with the devil.  Trump is trying to do (or simulate) the same thing, at least in reference to the small but politically important (and maybe GOP-primaries-crucial) section of the electorate that wants a loud voice to articulate its aggrieved and fearful ignorance, and to make the demographic-change trains run backwards, on lost time.  

That’s all I got.  

Keep on Piyushing: Presidential Candidate Name-Calling

                                             Nomen est omen.  — Plautus

Louisiana Governor and Republican Presidential Candidate Bobby Jindal has been hovering on the edges of recent political news.  And not in a good way.  His ‘official’ social media rollout was accompanied by a creepy hidden video of Bobby and wife announcing the yes-we’re-in decision to their completely uninterested, drone-camera-ambushed children.  The very fact that Jindal decided to jump aboard this cycle’s Republican crazy train opened his dismal gubernatorial record to national scrutiny.  More damning, perhaps, is the existential scorn issuing from the Indian American community (for starters, google Hari Kondabolu’s #Bobbyjindalissowhite). 

This scorn coalesces around Jindal’s systematic erasing of his ethnicity.  From his early conversion to Evangelical Christianity to his condemnation of ‘italicized Americans’ to the inartfully ‘whitened’ portraits festooning his gubernatorial offices to the purported vestimentary prohibitions (no family members or supporters can appear in saris, dhotis, Nehru caps, salwar kameez, turbans, bangles or bindis or Brahmanic threads), Jindal has tried to expunge marks of difference that could have made him a more compelling candidate, if he’d galvanized his small but potentially powerful core constituency.

Jindal and his portraits:  Tanned, Rested, and Ready (see his website)

The easiest target of derision has been his self-generated name change.  Jindal was born to immigrant parents who gave him the nice but somewhat unusual name of Piyush, which in Hindi means ‘nectar’ or ‘ambrosia.’  One would guess that the name was meant to convey something like the divinely ratified sweetness of having a boy-child in a new country of unlimited opportunity.  Unfortunately,  to native English speakers, ‘Piyush’ just sounds funny, as it trails homonymic clouds of ‘pee on you’ or vaguely unsavory rhyming chimes like ‘tush,’ ‘mush,’ and ’bush.’  It’s understandable that Jindal as a young boy preferred ‘Bobby’ as a name-of-choice, although its origin—Brady Bunch fandom— does not inspire confidence. ‘Bobby’ also masks the more relevant English homonym of ‘Piyush’: ‘push,’ the verb that even Jindal’s supporters say characterizes his relentless pursuit of the next best/prestigious/challenging thing, the verb that’s propelled the undeniably intelligent and ambitious Governor to peter-principle himself into inevitable failure.

Let’s be fair.  What about other Presidential candidates’ given names, or nicknames?  What do the first names they choose to call themselves suggest?

Somehow I omitted Rick Santorum in my inaugural photo montage.  So here he is, 

plus his fellow 'I'm not a dick.' 

To quote a friend re stupid political stuff in general, beware a Biblical plague of dickheads.  Some of our current Presidential candidates have taken this warning to heart.  The Richards in the field (Santorum, Perry) have wisely preferred the nickname ‘Rick’ to the older nickname of ‘Dick’ (one my late father did not eschew, as he never acknowledged its double-entendre risibility).  ‘Rich’ could have been an alternative, but not a wise one for a political-office seeker in this era of income-inquality consciousness.  Alas, a dickhead by any other name is still a dickhead.

Another name with gender overtones is ‘Lindsey.’  There was a time when gender-neutral names (like Evelyn, Joyce, Francis/Frances, even Hilary) enjoyed some currency on both sides of the X-Y chromosome divide.  Not today (for boy-children, anyway — for years, a healthy number of girl-children in the United States have been gifted with unisex or family names . . . like Taylor or Hadley or Hunter or Clarke, not to mention the fusty names mentioned above).  Senator Graham’s now-coded-feminine first name perhaps unconsciously reinforces the aura of prissiness enwafting this ‘confirmed bachelor.’  His middle name, ‘Olin,’ doesn’t offer many more attractive options.

Omega and Alpha of male monikers?

In contrast, Donald Trump’s first name radiates masculinity: in the original Scots-Gaelic, it means ‘ruler of the world’ and was the name of two 9th-century Pictish kings.  The popularity of the Disney cartoon character Donald Duck diluted the name’s virility to some extent; the Donald seems hell-bent on reclaiming every drop of man-essence from the noble name ‘Domhnall,’ in the process ratifying Jon Stewart’s inspired choice of an alternate appellation for candidate Trump, ‘Fuckface von Clownstick.’ 

Then there are the reduplicatives.  ‘Jeb’ is not short for Jebediah (‘beloved of God’ in Hebrew) but an acronym of 2016 candidate Bush’s actual name:  John Ellis Bush.  I read somewhere that saying ‘Jeb Bush’ is like saying ‘ATM machine’ . . . not an inapt comparison.  Jebush Bush: a covert appeal to rural Southern Republicans for whom ‘Jebus’ is a non-cussing equivalent to Jesus?  ‘Jeb Bush’ is somewhat similar is ‘Chris Christie.’  His name is like Tweeting in all-caps: IF YOU’RE TOO DUMB TO REMEMBER MY NAME I’LL SAY IT TWICE —THEN SIT DOWN, MORON, AND SHUT UP.

Double the pleasure, double the chins?

Other male presidential candidates have ordinary (in the U.S. cultural-linguistic sphere) names ranging from the somewhat old-fashioned (Bernard, George, Martin) to the permanently unobjectionable (Benjamin, John, Michael, James, Scott).  Marginal outliers are ‘Lincoln’ (a nod to an impeccable but now irrelevant Republican pedigree, thus the change to ‘Linc’ and the metric system and the Democratic party) and ‘Randall’ (2016 candidate Paul prefers a Fountainhead-inspired short form rather than the full given name, with its Game-of-Thrones-ish meaning ‘wolf shield’ ).  A fitting companion to ‘wolf shield’ is ‘Marco,’ with its root meaning approximating ‘god of war’s hammer.’  Candidate Rubio wisely has not messed with his first name, as it’s easy to pronounce, similar to the normative Anglo form of Mark, yet retains a whiff of the ‘exotic’ that, he hopes, will appeal to non-Anglo voters. Plus he can hawk ‘Marco Polo’ shirts in his campaign web store.  In contrast, candidate Rafael Edward Cruz has opted for the pugnaciously profane bear-name (or, if we’re being uncharitable, which of course we are, serial-killer name) of ‘Ted.’

Candidates hostage to syllabic harmonies.

Both of the female candidates’ names show vestiges of the rule-of-rhythmic-syllable-distribution that influenced early (white, middle-class) baby-boomer parents’ naming of girl children.  The orthodox rule:  the given, middle, and family names should exhibit, in some order, a one-, two-, and three-syllable word.  I should know: I was christened Deborah (3) Scott (1) Baker (2) and my sister was christened Alison (3) Hobbs (1) Baker (2).  The relaxed rule was that the given and family names should have different syllable counts. Thus we have my age-mates Cara (2) Carleton (soft 3) Sneed (1) and Hillary (3) Diane (well, it’s actually 2, but 1 if you slur a whole lot) Rodham (2).  

Neither woman’s given name has been a predictor of personality (pace Plautus).  ‘Joyful hilarity’ is not exactly what one associates with calculatingly robotic candidate Clinton, and ‘cherished beloved’ does not exactly describe the ruthlessly unsuccessful former Hewlitt-Packard CEO.  That said, candidate Fiorina’s decision to change ‘Cara’ to Carly — a name that begs for a heart-topped letter ‘i’ rather than a ‘y’ — may be an effort to reinforce nominal warm fuzzies.  Hillary Clinton has sensibly left her phonetically lyrical liquids alone.  

Dayum -- what more do you want?  The man can almost sing and govern 

and chew Nicorette at the same time, plus his name sanctifies Nobel Peace Prize objectives.

Jebus knows I’ve probably omitted one or more current Presidential candidates — there are so damned many ( ‘damned’ from the Latin damnare:  ‘ to condemn, judge guilty, blame, reject’).  At this point, I’m not excited about any of them, although a few are more acceptable to this moderately progressive Democrat than are most of the rest. I suspect I remain in thrall to the imperfect but admirable current office holder, whose name ‘Barack’ means ‘blessed’ (with a scary etymological connection to ‘blood sacrifice’ and eventually, via another linguistic route, to ‘wounded,’ as in the French blessé) and whose intelligent, compassionate, morally upright, peace-seeking Presidency may in the future be judged worthy of his given name.  

[Full disclosure note:  my given name, Deborah, is usually linked to the Hebrew for ‘bee.’  But its root cluster (d-b-r) in Semitic languages also means ‘to pronounce, say, reason, judge’ — thus the name for the judge-empress Deborah {Judges 4} who went with General Barak {!!!} against Sisera {commander of Canaanite troops enslaving Israelites: his name incorporates the root s-s, meaning horse, implying [foreign] military force}. The connection between ‘bee’ and ‘judgment’ is speculative, ranging from the metonymical (buzzing, noise, saying) to metaphorical (manna, honey, divine sustenance/wisdom).  Whatever.  I say my name means I can write all the blogs I want and that the judgments contained therein will be sweetly but logically correct.]

Cuba Libre!

It’s cocktail hour, and today calls for a Cuba Libre.  President Barack Obama and President Raoul Castro announced the (re-)opening of embassies, and the rapprochement between the United States and Cuba has taken another big step toward neighborly normalization.

Most people in this country applaud this long-delayed, sensible move. The exceptions are the old-guard Cuban exiles, particularly those centered in South Florida. Their political abuela, Ileana Ros-Lehtinen (R-FL 27th district), has been all over the media today, decrying this sensible swerve from Cold War politics that obviously have not worked, at all, during the last fifty-plus years.  Her arguments, which she’s put forth for decades, have grown increasingly thin if not to say silly.  Reparations to plantocrats?  Old history and anyway, that’s the way the coquitos crumble during a revolution.  Dealing with dictators who violate human rights?  Can we say Saudi Arabia and China at present, or our shamefully pragmatic history of enabling pet strongmen (Pinochet, Mobutu, Zia-al-Huq, Duvalier)?  

Predictably, Republican Presidential candidates are tripping all over each other to express the most outraged outrageous outrage.  For some it’s knee-jerk pandering to an important part of their traditional electoral base (the Floridians Rubio and Bush, the New Jerseyite Christie, whose state is home to a significant number of Cuban Americans) and/or their ethnic affiliations (add Cruz).  But the rest, it seems, just cannot resist joining another if-Obama-is-for-it-I’m-against-it circle jerk. This stance seems paradoxical, if not downright contradictory: doesn’t normalization open opportunities for things the GOP champions, like new markets, free trade, spreading ‘American’ (Cuba is part of the Americas, but no importa . . . ) values?

The other reason for the GOP’s posturing may be compensatory.  Not a single Republican Presidential candidate has chastised Donald Trump for his insanely offensive comments about Mexicans; maybe they think that posturing against the sitting president’s Cuba initiative shows that they really truly have Hispanic Americans’ interests at heart.

With that face-palm-worthy thought, it’s time to return to Cuba Libre — the cocktail that’s been in existence twice as long as the United States’ embargo of Cuba and that has an intriguing actual and symbolic history.

The recipe is simple:  Rum (preferably Cuban, preferably Bacardi), Coca-Cola, and a twist of lime, over ice.  Leave off the lime and you have a plain old Rum-and-Coke.  Add club soda and you have a Cuba Campechana (half-and-half).  Substitute Vanilla Coke and you have the Gringo.  

But let’s take the classic cocktail.  Rum is made from sugarcane, for centuries Cuba’s most profitable export.  Indeed, sugarcane cultivation fueled the slave trade throughout the Caribbean; after abolition reached British and French islands, Cuba remained a slave-based economy in which (almost all white) plantation owners relied on Black slave labor to cultivate, harvest, and process sugarcane.  Slavery was finally abolished in 1886.  (In the 19th century, limes and other citrus were grown in Cuba, but not for export.)  In the very same year, Coca-Cola was concocted by an Atlanta pharmacist. By 1899, Coca-Cola was being bottled and sold, via aggressive advertising campaigns, throughout the United States and beyond.

By the time of the United States occupation of Cuba (1898 — 1902) after the Spanish-American war, both rum and Coca-Cola were widely and inexpensively available throughout the Americas.  The origin myth of the Cuba Libre cocktail: in 1900 a Havana-based United States Signal Corps captain ordered a Bacardi rum and Coke with a slice of lime; he then toasted “Por Cuba Libre,” a declaration of U.S. success in ‘freeing’ Cuba from Spanish rule.  

This emancipation inaugurated a new imperialism. U.S. and Cuban political and business interests colluded to make the island a laissez-faire fantasyland (for North Americans) and to make Bacardi, Coca Cola, United Fruit, and the Mafia tons of money.  Castro’s Revolution upset these cozy relationships (Bacardi moved to Puerto Rico, Coca-Cola moved to take over the rest of the world, United Fruit redoubled its efforts elsewhere in the Caribbean, and the Mob moved back to the States), and the subsequent embargo (no more Coca Cola in Regla or Cienfuegos?) sundered them permanently.

Except that the Cuba Libre has endured as a sort of bibulous aide memoire. The cocktail’s history suggests that it’s exactly what Republicans should be drinking tonight — to toast the restoration (or possibility of such) of a mutually profitable relationship between Cuba and the United States.

I’d like to visit Cuba for different reasons, academic and aesthetic, but I’d really enjoy having a Cuba Libre in Havana.  So let me invite the normalization naysayers to stop their worn-out carping and have another drink.  Salud!  Todos ganan! Cuba Libre!