Oh Liz, Liz, my heart is broken.
We on the Estrogen Express thought we’d finally found our Golden Girl.
And now?
This could be your Seamus moment.
This could be the beginning of your end — like when Rim Tim Tim Murray rope-a-doped about releasing his cellphone calls.
I just can’t shake the ridiculous image of you, Liz — a blue-eyed blonde almost as pasty white as me — letting yourself be described as a minority professor, a Native American, for years.
You’ve played the Indian card. You’ve grabbed for minority cred without enduring the minority grief. It’s poached diversity. It’s glommed onto, what, five generations removed, assuming there were some facts way, way back when, as your campaign aides claimed last night.
How long before wise guys in feathered headdresses start dancing around parking lots at your events? Somebody told me yesterday your campaign needs to lie low and “circle the wagons.” Whoops. That same someone quickly realized it was the pioneers who circled the wagons when your Cherokee ancestors were blazing across the prairie on the warpath.
Here’s the problem for you, Liz: We’re not talking some elaborate, arcane, confusing financial irregularity here that nobody can understand. Everybody gets this. It’s letting everyone think you’re something that you’re not. It’s letting stand the idea that you’re part of an aggrieved class of people. It’s a sin of omission, which is not as bad as a sin of commission — like, you know, the typical political ploy of pumping up resumes with fake claims of combat heroism and purple hearts. But it’s a huge problem nonetheless.
You’re running against a Republican most everybody likes in a state filled with lock-step Democrats. And your chief selling point was your upright character. You were the self-described crusader who would take on corrupt greed heads on behalf of the beleaguered middle class.
Now what are you? Well, now you’re in hiding, I guess, trying to get your story straight.
Read more at The Boston Herald.
