Barack Obama has been inaugurated at the 44th President of these United States. The last band in the parade has passed, the last dance spun. Workers are now cleaning up the mountains of trash (no doubt Green and eco-friendly) left on the Mall, not to mention the rivers of sycophantic drool and splooge from our courageously independent media.
Despite the gall of Tom Brokaw to compare the inauguration to the Velvet Revolution, the reins of government passed from predecessor in one party to successor in the other with the continuity that has marked our history. This, of course, puts lie to the gibberings of the more deranged species of Bush haters that he was planning some “fascist coup.” Poor dears! They so want to feel persecuted so they can think of themselves as “dissidents,” while the only threat they actually face is the fish sticks served in the faculty cafeteria.
I sincerely wish the new President the best. How could I not do so? To wish him ill is to wish our country ill. He is my President and the President of my country. In saying this, I want to disassociate myself from others of his supporters: the November patriots, the ones who have been sporting the “Not My President” bumper-stickers, the “Re-Defeat Bush” crowd, the “Arrest Bush Now” mob, the war-crimes tribunal proponents. Now that their guy is in charge it’s “from 52 to 48 with love.”
Oh, no. Barack Obama is my President, but he’s not my President with you. For the last eight years, we’ve heard a lot from the I’m-ashamed-to-be-an-American types. Well, now I’m ashamed to be your fellow citizen.