Comments on Current Politics, with a Nod to the 15th Century

One of the most spectacular acting performances that I’ve ever seen was in 1994, at the Utah Shakespeare Festival in Cedar City.  (We had hoped to slip down there for two or three plays this week, but I’ve been a bit under the weather.)  Even after thirty-one years, I still remember Gary Armagnac playing the horrifying title role in Richard III.

Richard is one of the darkest villains in all of English literature, and Gary Armagnac did him full, um, justice.  Since then, though, I’ve come to have Doubts about whether Shakespeare’s portrayal of the last of the Plantagenet monarchs is even remotely fair or true to real history.

Such doubts added an extra bit of enjoyment to my just-concluded reading of Josephine Tey’s 1951 detective novel The Daughter of Time, the last book that she published during her lifetime.  In 1990, it was ranked number one by the Crime Writers’ Association in Britain among The Top 100 Crime Novels of All Time.

She focuses in particular on the infamous murder of the two “princes in the tower,” which has almost universally been ascribed to King Richard III.  She, by contrast, blames his successor, Henry VII, the first of the Tudor dynasty (and the father of the ever-lovable Henry VIII), and says that both we and Shakespeare have been the victims of Tudor propaganda.  Henry VII was attempting — quite successfully, it seems — to justify his overthrow of Richard and his usurpation of the English throne.

In The Daughter of Time, her detective hero, Inspector Alan Grant of Scotland Yard, is laid up in the hospital with a broken leg, and he is utterly bored.  However, he becomes intrigued with the face — and, thereby, with the character — of Richard III, as it is shown, I think, in the portrait below.  So, with the help of some friends and especially of an American researcher who is temporarily working in England, he takes up an investigation from his hospital bed, using only logic and reference books, of the case of the two young princes.

It’s a good read, although you might need a score card or a small notebook handy.  You might want to have a computer or a reference work or a genealogical chart nearby in order to keep the names and family relationships straight.  (There’s a family tree in the back of the Kindle edition of The Daughter of Time, but I didn’t know that until I had finished the novel.)

Last night, as we often do, we met up with a group of friends and neighbors for dinner and then attended a play at the Ruth and Nathan Hale Theater in Lindon.  (They were, of course — as I’ve explained here several times before, and as should be obvious — actually my wife’s friends.  Understandably, given my gross character flaws and my viciously mean-spirited and grotesquely toxic but nonetheless buffoonish personality, as those have been meticulously chronicled and documented over on the Peterson Obsession Board, I can scarcely be expected to have any real friends of my own.)

The play was An American in Paris, with music and lyrics by George Gershwin and Ira Gershwin and following the book by Craig Lucas.  It’s heavy on dancing, which, alas, does little for me — I’m pretty much immune to the charms of Terpsichore — but even I could recognize that the dancing was exceptionally well executed and that the play was beautifully performed.  And, of course, once again, the music was by George Gershwin.

Incidentally, Gershwin offers yet another illustration of the tragedy of unrealized potential in mortal human life.  He died rather suddenly in 1937, at only thirty-eight years of age.  Think of the music that we might have had!

Three notes on the current political scene:

First, to put it with utmost mildness, I’m not a fan of socialism, whether in its “democratic” form or in its very common (and often mass-murderous) undemocratic forms.  For that and for many other reasons, I was not happy to see Zohran Mamdani win the Democratic nomination for mayor of New York City.  (I’m aware, of course, that Andrew Cuomo was a thoroughly unpalatable alternative.)  I’m worried about the prospect of Mamdani’s becoming mayor, but I’m also deeply distressed at the fact that a sufficient number of New York voters are so historically and economically uninformed that he could win the nomination.

I am, furthermore, mightily displeased at the religious bigotry that has been manifest at the rise of Mr. Mamdani’s candidacy.  Here are two paragraphs from Mariya Manzhos, writing for the Deseret News:

But once in the spotlight, Mamdani’s faith quickly became a target of virulent attacks. He faced repeated accusations of antisemitism and endured a smear campaign, where one ad digitally darkened and exaggerated his beard. Worse, he received explicit bomb threats, prompting an NYPD Hate Crimes Task Force investigation.

Conservative influencer Laura Loomer posted on X: “There will be another 9/11 in NYC and @ZohranKMamdani will be to blame.” Others have called him “terrorist sympathizer” and Rep. Andy Ogles (R‑TN) referred to him as “little muhammad” and questioned the legitimacy of his naturalization process, calling for his deportation.  (“A Muslim mayor in New York City? What we learned about religious pluralism from New York City’s mayoral primary”); see also the disturbing things reported in “Mamdani’s New York victory sparks Islamophobic backlash in US: Advocates say attacks targeting mayoral candidate’s Muslim identity show Islamophobia remains tolerated in US politics.”)

There are plenty of reasons to oppose Zohran Mamdani.  However his Muslim religion, as such, is not one of them.

My second item:  A few days ago, speaking with reporters, President Trump let fly with an f-bomb.  Many seem to appreciate this sort of thing, coming from him, as a sign of his “authenticity.”  At the very least, they’ll give some excuse about our not having elected a choirboy.  (That’s certainly obvious!)  I, however, do not appreciate such language from a president, and I don’t excuse it.

Now, I’m fully aware that he’s not the first president to have used vulgar or profane language.  Vice President Joe Biden was caught on microphone using an f-bomb in a comment to President Obama after the passage of a major piece of health-care legislation.  Richard Nixon was caught on tape using some pretty crude language.  Harry Truman was famous for his salty tongue (though — and I may be wrong on this — I don’t know that he used obscenities).  Mr. Trump’s use of the f-word during remarks to the press, though, stands out for its very public and open nature.

Why does this bother me?  It’s not as if I haven’t heard vulgar language before.  My father owned a construction business, after all, and I grew up around construction workers, often (especially during summers) working alongside them.  There was plenty of colorful language in such circles, and I usually worked as the assistant and errand boy to a mechanic who was one of the most eloquent profaners whom I’ve ever known, a true artist of swearing.  (See “Red Faler, Scriptorian.”)

But the American presidency combines the roles of offices that are generally distinct in parliamentary systems.  He is both head-of-state (comparable to Britain’s monarch or Israel’s president or maybe Canada’s governor general) and functioning head-of-government (comparable to a prime minister).  In the former role, more ceremonial, he is responsible for leading the nation in mourning (e.g., commemorating solemn occasions, placing wreaths, addressing us after a Space Shuttle disaster) and he should, therefore, assume at least the appearance of decorum, propriety, and moral rectitude.

My third issue:  In the current renewed spat between Elon Musk and President Trump, the president has spoken casually but punitively about eliminating subsidies to Mr. Musk’s companies and has even halfway entertained the thought of deporting Mr. Musk.  Now, I’m not enthusiastic about government subsidies in the first place.  My quasi-libertarian economic inclinations are strongly oriented to free markets and limited, non-interventionist government.  But, if there are going to be subsidies, they are either justifiable on their merits or they’re not.  If they’re not, they shouldn’t exist.  If they are, though, they shouldn’t be granted or withheld on the basis of a person’s or a company’s agreement or disagreement with some policy or piece of legislation favored by a powerful politician.  Ours is supposed to be a government of laws, not of men.  This is a republic, not a personal fiefdom ruled by whim, in which the ruler doles out the spoils.