perspectives
gwinnettdailypost.com
Todd Cline, Editor
todd.cline@gwinnettdailypost.com
Page 13 A • Sunday, April 9, 2017
Precedents set, karma and the nuclear option
WASHINGTON — For euphemism, dissimulation and outright hypocrisy, there is nothing quite as entertaining as the periodic Senate dust-ups over Supreme Court appointments and the filibuster. The arguments for and against the filibuster are so well-known to both parties as to be practically memorized. Both nonetheless argue their case with great shows of passion and conviction, then shamelessly switch sides — and scripts — depending on the ideology of the nominee. Everyone appeals to high principle, when Charles Krauthammer everyone knows these fights are about raw power. When Democrat Harry Reid had the majority in the Senate and Barack Obama in the White House, he abolished the filibuster in 2013 for sub-Supreme Court judicial appointments in order to pack three liberal judges onto the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals. Bad karma, bad precedent, he was warned. Republicans would one day be in charge. That day is here and Republicans have just stopped a Democratic filibuster of Neil Gorsuch by extending the Reid Rule to the Supreme Court. To be sure, there are reasoned arguments to be offered on both sides of the filibuster question. It is true that the need for a supermajority does encourage compromise and coalition building. But given the contemporary state of hyperpolarization — the liberal Republicans and conservative Democrats of 40 years ago are long gone — the supermajority requirement today merely guarantees inaction, which, in turn, amplifies the current popular disgust with politics in general and Congress in particular. In my view, that makes paring back the vastly overused filibuster, on balance, a good thing. Moreover, killing the filibuster for Supreme Court nominations (the so-called nuclear option) yields two gratifications: It allows a superb young conservative jurist to ascend to the seat once held by Antonin Scalia. And it constitutes condign punishment for the reckless arrogance of Reid and his erstwhile Democratic majority. A major reason these fights over Supreme Court nominations have become so bitter and unseemly is the stakes — the political stakes. The Supreme Court has become more than ever a superlegislature. From abortion to gay marriage, it has appropriated to itself the final word. It rules — and the normal democratic impulses, expressed through the elected branches, are henceforth stifled. Why have we had almost half a century of massive street demonstrations over abortion? Because the ballot box is not available. The court has spoken, and the question is supposedly settled for all time. This transfer of legislative authority has suited American liberalism rather well. When you command the allegiance of 20 to 25 percent of the population (as measured by Gallup), you know that whatever control you will have of the elected branches will be fleeting (2009-2010, for example). So how do you turn the political order in your direction? Capture the courts. They are what banks were to Willie Sutton. They are where you go for the right political outcomes. Note how practically every argument at the Gorsuch hearings was about political outcomes. Where would he come out on abortion? Gay marriage? The Democrats pretended this was about principle, e.g. the sanctity of precedent. But everyone knows which precedents they selectively cherish: Roe v. Wade and, more recently, Obergefell v. Hodges. Liberalism does not want to admit that the court has become its last reliable instrument for achieving its political objectives. So liberals have created a great philosophical superstructure to justify their freewheeling, freestyle constitutional interpretation. They present themselves as defenders of a “living Constitution” under which the role of the court is to reflect the evolving norms of society. With its finger on the pulse of the people, the court turns contemporary culture into constitutional law. But this is nonsense. In a democracy, what better embodiment of evolving norms can there be than elected representatives? By what logic are the norms of a vast and variegated people better reflected in nine appointed lawyers produced by exactly three law schools? If anything, the purpose of a constitutional court such as ours is to enforce old norms that have preserved both our vitality and our liberty for 230 years. How? By providing a rugged reliable frame within which the political churnings of each generation take place. The Gorsuch nomination is a bitter setback to the liberal project of using the courts to ratchet leftward the law and society. However, Gorsuch’s appointment simply preserves the court’s ideological balance of power. Wait for the next nomination. Having gratuitously forfeited the filibuster, Democrats will be facing the loss of the court for a generation. Condign punishment indeed. Charles Krauthammer’s email address is letters@charleskrauthammer.com.
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Rhubarb Jones was one of a kind I first met Warren Jones in 1988. My daddy was in intensive care at Crawford Long Hospital. So was Warren’s uncle. You know how it is. Families sit around together in hospital waiting rooms for days at a time, and they get to know one another. They answer the phone for one another. They hurt for one another. They pray together. They bond. My daddy didn’t make it and neither did Warren’s uncle. We’ve held that in common for nearly three decades now. I was still in my first life as a high school basketball coach in 1988. Warren Jones was already well on his way to become a household name in Atlanta and the North Georgia Piedmont — but that name would be Rhubarb, not Warren. He was a legendary country music DJ on Y106 and later Eagle 106.7. He would make the Georgia Radio Hall of Fame and the Country Disc Jockey Hall of Fame, and after Atlanta radio got too big and sophisticated for her britches and pushed Rhubarb out, he became an educator and a beloved member of the Kennesaw State University family. He once
should pass away while out amongst the people he knew and loved, but how tragic for all of thus that he is gone. And he was only 65. I’m 65. That used to be old, but now it is so, so young. George Jones once wrote a song about “all those radio Darrell heroes.” Possum was talking Huckaby about the artists that touch our souls and brighten our days and make life a little bit told me that it was the most more bearable for the averfulfilling job he’d ever had. age man and woman. But the I learned of his death the people who talk to us on the way I learn of just about radio — the people we invite everything these days — on into our homes every day, or social media. I logged onto to share our commute with us, Facebook on Monday and they are special, too. They are saw a breaking news report often like friends we haven’t from WSB-TV that he had met — or, if we are fortunate passed away. No details — friends we have. were given at the time. All I The list of the heroes in Atcould post was, “Oh, no. Not lanta radio who have become Rhuby!” friends to all is pretty short. I would later learn that Back in the day there was Rhuby had had a massive Skinny Bobby Harper and heart attack while shopping Gary McKee. Then there was at Walmart in his hometown Cadillac Jack, Dallas McCade of Tallapoosa. Now I know and Mr. Moby. If you like to he wasn’t born in Tallapoosa, listen to folks talk, there was but make no mistake about Ludlow Porch, Neal Boortz it — Tallapoosa was his and Clark Howard. And there hometown. He was raised was Rhubarb. there and moved back there to Rhubarb was as big as any live a few years ago. And he of them — and I don’t just was a Walmart kind of guy, mean in girth, although he too. How appropriate that he really was a big man. He had
a larger-than-life personality and his heart, which failed him much too soon, was as big as his persona and made of pure gold. Don’t take my word for it. Ask the public — the people who waited in line to talk to him at festivals and open houses and senior citizen beauty contests. Ask the kids who took his classes at Kennesaw State. Ask his cohorts and competitors on the airwaves. Ask the people who worked with him in his annual charity golf tournament that benefitted Leukemia and Lymphoma victims — or the hundreds of kids he visited in hospitals or the people at the Jerry Lewis Muscular Dystrophy Telethon that he cohosted for years with Atlanta television icon Ken Cook. There will never be another Rhubarb Jones — not in Atlanta, not anywhere. He was one of a kind, and he will be sorely missed. My first instinct when I heard the news was the correct one. Oh, no. Not Rhuby. You will be missed, my friend. You will be sorely missed. Darrell Huckaby is an author in Rockdale County. Email him at dhuck008@ gmail.com.
Broccoli up the nose ends political dream My fellow Americans, it is with heavy heart that I inform you today that I am not now nor will I become a candidate for public office. I felt compelled to share my decision with you after I was deluged with mail this past week urging me to offer myself for public service. (Note from editor: He got three emails. Big deal.) However, there is much work yet to be done in carrying out the awesome responsibilities with which you have entrusted me. (Note from editor: Barf.) I would have tweeted or twittered or whatever my decision to you, but that is so gauche. I can’t imagine any politician worth his hashtag doing that kind of thing. There is no question I would have been a formidable candidate. Looking like Brad Pitt doesn’t hurt. Also, I know a lot of stuff about a lot of stuff. And then there is my political philosophy, which says whether my friends are supercilious liberal snoots or sanctimonious gun-toting Baptists, I am always for my friends, except when they are not my friends. And, my friends, I feel strongly both ways. Had I chosen to run, my campaign pledges would have included building a wall around the Golden Isles to keep out undesirables (anybody from north of
opportunity to send me a lot of rants in an effort to educate me on the political facts of life. (Did you know that Barack Obama was not born in the United States but in the backseat of a ’49 Packard, and that there are some people who actually take Dick Meryl Streep seriously?) Yarbrough And even for someone as eminently qualified as I, there is that nagging issue Ringgold or south of Jakin.) of having to raise money for I would have declared saint- my campaign. That means hood for Ray Charles Robin- sucking up to a bunch of son, of Albany, Ga. (allizard-loafered lobbyists though I think he is already who would claim that their a saint.) Broccoli would be political contributions to my labeled a psychedelic drug, campaign in no way would meaning that anybody who raise their expectation that I eats the stuff would have give their company or client to be out of their mind. any special treatment. They And, yes, I would reapare just being public-spirited point Cynthia McKinney as citizens interested in seeing Ambassador to Outer Space. democracy in action. (Wink, If something is working, you wink.) I’d rather kiss a goat. don’t mess with it. Even worse, I would So why have I come to have to be nice to people this decision not to run for I don’t like. I hate being public office? For one thing, nice to people I don’t like. the dry cleaners misplaced That includes those who are my clown suit. What is intent on undermining our politics without a bunch of public schools in Georgia, clowns? like Alice the Wal-Mart I can’t decide on a party Lady and the Koch Brothers affiliation, being that I am at the American Legislaliberally conservative when I tive Exchange Council and am not being conservatively their Punch and Judys in the liberal. This creates much Legislature who would suck consternation for wingnuts the bark off a tree stump if on both ends of the politiso ordered by that sinister cal spectrum but, happily, crowd. it gives their life meaning I would have to be nice because it presents them the to athletic supporters at
You-Know-Where Institute of Technology, who keep reminding me that when their scholar-athletes come to Athens for a scrum with the scholar-athletes at UGA, they consider it a home game. They fiddle with their slide rules until the last two minutes when their side somehow manages to win. I hate that. So, my fellow Americans, while I say thank you for the pledges of support, after consulting with the fearsome Woman Who Shares My Name, I must decline what would no doubt have been a stellar political career. The thought of having broccoli shoved up my nose was admittedly a critical factor in arriving at my decision. She doesn’t kid around about things like that. But all is not lost. I return now to my familiar role as a modest and much-beloved columnist where I will continue in the spirit of H.L. Mencken, an acerbic editor of the early 20th Century. Mencken said his job was to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. I couldn’t have said it better. Now, send in the clowns. You can reach Dick Yarbrough at yarb2400@ bellsouth.net; at P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, GA 31139; online at dickyarbrough. com or on Facebook at www. facebook.com/dickyarb.