Since his campaign headquarters is on the same block as my illustrious place of daytime employ, James Webb‘s thumbnail self-characterization is constantly popping up during my periodic escapes from the asylum.* The former Assistant Secretary of Defense (under Reagan) is running for Senate as a Democrat, and just about every car on the block has a bumper sticker:
Jim Webb: Born Fighting
Now, I understand why he feels the need to establish his bona fides as being “strong on defense,” since the lazy dopes who pass for journalists in our imperial capital assume, and write as if they assume, that every Democrat is “weak on defense.” But “born fighting”—is this a good thing? The slogan may work, and if it works it will be obvious why it worked. But I can’t shake the image of little Jimmy on his zeroth birthday, emerging from his mother’s loins, fists cocked like the Notre Dame mascot, ready to land a solid right on the first object that crosses his cloudy little field of vision. “Born fighting”—yikes!
I would hope that every tyke in this great land is entitled to at least three or four years of not worrying where the next threat to his baby well-being is coming from; maybe even five years of not looking to take down the snot-nosed punk next door; perhaps, on the outside, six years of not throwing a shoulder into Bobby to impress Sally. I don’t know—is that too much to ask? Am I out of touch with my own country?
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*This is an example of Myshkin’s notoriously droll sense of humor. Please humor him. Please do not fire him.—Ed.
