Compromises

 The recent hantavirus outbreak on a cruise ship has been dominating the news all week—and doubtless it is prompting many Americans to question whether it was really such a wise choice for us to dismantle our world-class public health system and appoint in its place a bunch of ideological hacks who appear not to even believe in the germ theory of disease. 

In particular—an opinion piece in the New York Times notes yesterday—Senator Bill Cassidy of Louisiana may be regretting his choice to vote in favor of Kennedy's nomination—seeing that public health was, for a time, the one issue most dear to him.

Now, this respected doctor and public health expert has lived to install one of the worst charlatans in American history to the highest position in the public health bureaucracy—a "potent quack," to borrow a phrase from George Crabbe, whose decisions are already costing lives. 

And the worst of it—the piece goes on to point out—is that Cassidy seems to have gotten so little for his betrayal. Trump is still trying to destroy him, despite his willingness to compromise on a matter of principle. 

The going rate for souls appears to be awfully cheap on Capitol Hill these days. Just for a handful of silver he left us / just for a riband to stick in his coat, as Browning put it in "The Lost Leader." Or perhaps, in this case—not even that—since Trump is now trying to edge him out of the primaries entirely. 

The piece quotes James Carville: "Bill Cassidy sold his soul to the Devil, and he didn’t get anything for it."

The author of the column goes on to add: "The tragedy of Bill Cassidy is not that he cast a vote he didn’t want to. It is [...] that [...] the point he was willing to compromise on — the point at which many looked to him to first, do no harm — gave him no political benefit at all."

But if Republicans are willing to sell themselves for so low a bid—that doesn't mean Democrats should follow their example. 

I am in whole-hearted agreement with a piece by David French earlier this week, arguing that we ought not to overlook too hastily the many controversies from the past of Maine Senate candidate Graham Platner, for instance, purely in the name of party unity. 

Look, I am all for the occasional compromise for the sake of politics. I recognize that the principle of the lesser of two evils has some role to play in a two-party system. 

But the main moral advantage that that Democrats have over MAGA Republicans—the very thing that makes them the lesser of two evils in the first place—is that they at least don't have so many Nazis in their ranks. 

The problem with Platner, meanwhile, is that he had a Nazi tattoo. For almost twenty years. And people who knew him reportedly claimed he knew exactly what the insignia represented—though he denies this. 

Obviously, I applaud Platner for erasing the tattoo since running for office. I'm willing to say it's possible that he obtained it in all innocence, and that he may be a decent person. His show of repentance could be perfectly genuine. I'm not going to say he is an irredeemable, garbage human being just because of one tattoo. 

But at the same time—there are only 100 people in the country who get to serve in the U.S. Senate at a given time. I'm fine with saying that one of the qualifications for the position ought to be—no Nazi tattoos. Regardless of the excuse. 

Platner doesn't have to be cancelled or written off as a terrible person. But why should he be one of the 100 most powerful politicians in the country? That seems like an altogether different question. 

It seems, in fact, like one of the primary responsibilities of a senator is not to make terrible decisions like getting Nazi tattoos that embroil you in scandals, even if your intentions all along were pure. 

If we condemn Bill Cassidy for compromising his values and ethics to back a terrible administration and its nominees—solely because he belongs to their party—we need to be willing to apply the same standard to ourselves. 

Arthur Koestler once wrote that his disillusionment with the Communist Party came in two stages. In the first, he felt guilty. Part of him still feared that the Soviet Union might be the only force capable of standing up to Hitler, and that he had betrayed the cause of humanity by breaking with the Communists. 

But then came the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact. Suddenly, Koestler's guilt was gone. The only reasons he had any regret left had evaporated. "That was the end," he wrote. "F]rom then onward I no longer cared whether Hitler’s allies called me a counter-revolutionary."

So too in this case. I often feel a certain shame-facedness in front of my more radical left comrades. I worry I ought to climb on board with every progressive candidate, regardless of their controversies, solely for the sake of party unity. 

But I draw the line at a Nazi tattoo. If the main reason why it is of such urgent, existential importance to defeat Trump and MAGA is because their movement is full of fascists—then electing a fascist (or someone with worrying signs of fascist sympathies) in their place is no answer. 

So too, if Koestler's last lingering ties to the Soviets were founded in his belief that at least they weren't Hitler—the day they inked a pact in blood with Hitler was the day this argument no longer held water.