On the Arizona State University campus around this time of year, one sign begins to appear on posters, walls and t-shirts. It took me years to discover that it is not a reference to the Japanese icon “Hello Kitty,” but rather a war cry as students prepare for the Territorial Cup football game between the ASU Sun Devils and their perennial rivals, the Wildcats of the University of Arizona. And the war cry is: No Pity for the Kitty!
“No Pity for the Kitty” means take no prisoners, have no mercy with the foe, no sympathy for the enemy as you stomp on its corpse, as you cut off the head of the dragon the way citoyens once guillotined members of the nobility during the French Revolution.
All of the above, of course, is metaphor.
On September 27, 2018,
(Remember, remember the fifth of November
the gunpowder treason and plot.)
Professor Christine Blasey Ford appeared before the Senate Judiciary Committee to tell her story of being assaulted by Supreme Court Justice Nominee Brett Kavanaugh at a party 36 years ago. When asked by a member of the committee how sure she was that her assailant had been Kavanaugh, she replied: “100 percent.”
Judge Brett Kavanaugh followed Blasey Ford’s testimony, and in emotional terms, assured the committee that he was innocent and accused the Democratic party of hatching a revenge plot against him.
(I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason
should ever be forgot.)
I believed Professor Blasey Ford when she said that she was 100% sure her attacker was Brett Kavanaugh. And you do not get to say—as our clown Republican politicians attempted—that you found her credible, but Kavanaugh did not do it. What part of “100% sure” is uncertain?
Our buffoon President displayed greater integrity and moral courage by eventually reaching the straightforward conclusion that Blasey Ford was a liar, and that Kavanaugh was an innocent victim wrongly accused. This of course was Kavanaugh’s own contention, proclaimed in teary protestations and indignant contradictions to the Judiciary committee and the rest of the nation on national television. In the face of such behavior from a Judge with a lifetime appointment to the Federal Court, one cannot help but recall the words of Caesar to the sobbing, terrified Cleopatra in Bernard Shaw’s play: “O ignoble, ignoble!”
Let me reveal my credentials for reaching the conclusions that will follow in this post: I too attended Catholic Prep School (Colegio San José, Rio Piedras, PR, Class of ‘71) and am familiar with the culture of jocks who were guaranteed grades because they were athletes, who thought getting drunk on weekends was a lark and who believed themselves entitled to harmless fun with shy girls.
I too went to Yale College (Class of ’75, same residential college—Ezra Stiles—as Kavanaugh), and am familiar with the type of Yalie who did not wear a “furrowed brow” in an attempt to meet high academic standards, or to create something original and of value, but rather was “happy all the time” because they had figured out how to become lackeys and servants of the empire.
I too went to graduate school at Yale (’78 and ’87). We believed that Yale Law School was full of candidates who had been rejected from our own Yale School of Drama; but we eventually learned about the punishment meted to rebellious outcasts and the rewards in store for shameful complicity.
I love, treasure and am grateful for the privilege of attending these institutions. They became (still are), for an exile without a country like me, true houses of the spirit to which I felt I belonged. I have been (still am) exceedingly disturbed by the trashing these institutions have received in this inglorious Kavanaugh affair. But I also learned in them one cardinal rule, never to be broken: DON’T. EVER. PITY. THE VERY RICH.
(TO BE CONTINUED)