Our times have given us a Barnum Brutus.
Our Times has published a member of the resistance so brave he gets paid by his opponent to resist. He is so courageous, he will not use his name. He is so afraid of a constitutional crisis that he will ignore the duly elected President of the United States so, having won no votes himself, he can save the voters from what they voted.
The unelected will stop the elected lest the electors be harmed.
Republics, Shakespeare shows us, die when even the noble man, a Brutus, takes the law into his own hands to save the law. Nothing is left, but the ghost of legality.
We, of course, lack a Caesar, but then we have no Brutus. We have only a Barnum Brutus: humbuggery that disguises disloyalty and a lack of courage with pretense. Like some political Fiji Mermaid, he is the head of Reagan stiched to the heart of Benedict Arnold. He is a pompous ass, saving the Republic from republicanism out of his splendid, aristocratic, desire to have a future in Washington.
He is disloyal for the sake of a higher loyalty that refuses to invoke the higher principles lest he fail and so lose his job.
Invoke the 25th. Openly urge impeachment. Use the Constitution, that is no crisis, or resign. Your wine and cheese coup is a crisis. Instead of posturing, tell the truth. Let the voters judge you. Or be prepared to give the oration when your career is done you Barnum Brutus:
Americans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear: believe me for mine expediency, and have respect to mine expediency, that you may profit, as I shall surely profit, having stabbed Trump in the back before all others: censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may be the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Trump’s, to him I say that Barnum Brutus’ love to Trump was no less than his for he paid me. If then that friend demand why Barnum Brutus wrote in the Times, albeit privaly, against Trump, this is my answer: Not that I lov’d Trump less, but that I lov’d my future in Washington more. Had you rather Trump were not lashed by my bold Times editorial, and die without placement, than that Trump were lashed, to live all self-satisfied? As Trump appointed me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valient, I honour him: but as he was cray-cray, I wrote anonymously against him. There are tears for his appointment power; joy for his fortune; honour for his winning; and anonymous words for his unfitness. Who is here so base that would use the Constitution instead of taking it into his own hands? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that would not be a media friendly Republican? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his future career options? If any, speak; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.
Trump: Me, Barnum Brutus, me.
Barnum Brutus. Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Trump than Americans shall do to Barnum Brutus. The question of my editorial is enroll’d in the Google archives; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy, nor his offences enforc’d, for which he suffer’d a harsh, anonymous op-ed. And I still get paid and the Republic remains imperiled.
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