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On this week's seasonably chilly Independent comics page: This Modern World puts together the GOP's dream debate; Jen Sorenson doesn't want to go to arbitration; The K Chronicles applauds some athletes who did the right thing; and Red Meat declines a sporting offer.

Published in Comics

Politicians are corrupt. Voters base their votes on marketing and money. Politics is not the same as “real” work. The media as a whole has a liberal bias.

If only it were that simple.

I ran for Congress in 1996. I’d never run for public office before, and there were many things I had to learn. One key skill was how to respond to reporters. Since I had little money for my campaign, most of my exposure was via free media, as opposed to paid ads. That meant something would be in the news, and I would be asked to comment, or I would call a press conference to make an “announcement,” followed by questions.

When I ran, most local media sources were pretty conservative. The majority of registered voters in this area were Republicans. Democrats could be found in pockets here and there, but most locals then—even in the gay community—were self-described “economic conservatives,” concerned primarily about the economy while being non-dogmatic on social issues. Oh, sure, we had those few rabid pro-life factions, or critics of “liberal” education (like sex education in schools), but mostly, local voters wanted the economy to keep working, with the underlying belief that smaller government was in people’s best interests, and government should work effectively but be non-intrusive.

When most reporters pose questions on a specific issue or news story, they generally already know what slant they expect to give the story. The questions they pose are intended to get a response that fits that narrative.

If you only catch politicians on the news, you’re lucky to get, at most, 15 seconds of their response to a question. So how does the candidate make sure you get their best sound bite, regardless of how the piece is edited? Politicians have a bottom-line message they want people to walk away with. What I learned was that no matter what questions were asked, every answer had to include my sound bite, because I never knew which 15 seconds would make it onto the air. The reporter might ask five or six questions; each answer must sound responsive, but you still need to get the sound bite in there. While you’re doing it, it seems horribly repetitive, but it’s the only way to overcome whatever slant the reporter may have.

Students who want to go into media take courses to learn how to interview. Business people and public figures join organizations like Toastmasters to learn about eliminating “um” and “er” and “ya know” from their speech patterns. But who teaches politicians about the ability to be responsive in a way that will actually inform?

Debates are clearly different than interviews, if only because candidates are up against others who may be more skilled at the techniques. Those trained as lawyers, for example, are good at jousting with questioners, but they can also come across as argumentative. Educators can come across as pedantic. Business executives can come across as clueless about the difference between being “the boss” and leading a government.

The most recent GOP presidential debate, on CNBC, was roundly criticized for political bias, badly framed questions, poor research and a lack of follow-ups. It’s not that smart, probing questions weren’t asked; it’s that questions were clearly framed to generate controversy rather than inform. Even when good questions were asked, the participants went after the panelists rather than responding to enlighten voters.

As an example, when Donald Trump was asked whether his campaign might be described as a “comic-book campaign,” that was an opportunity for Trump to talk about the substance of his campaign (which is not always readily apparent). A good communicator would have easily made that pivot.

Let’s face it: When you’re president, reporters shout out questions all the time, often slanted to push a specific narrative or challenge a decision. If the president can’t handle that, how is that individual going to resolve intractable conflicts, both domestic and foreign?

I like to separate policy and politics, and I believe either is an appropriate subject for inquiry in a debate—they just should not be confused as being equivalent. The idea that candidates should only be questioned by people who share their ideology is ridiculous—but that is what’s currently being demanded by the candidates. I would think the opposite would be more enlightening: Only those who disagree with the candidates should ask questions: Let’s really see how they deal with having their ideas challenged.

Here are the kind of questions I would ask if I were running a presidential debate:

  • What is the very first action you will take as president that will make the clearest statement about your administration’s focus?
  • You claim one of your highest priorities is to create jobs, yet you also say that government itself doesn’t actually create jobs. How do you reconcile those two positions? What specifically can government do to create jobs without controlling the private sector?
  • You may not have a Congress run by your own party or one that agrees with your priorities. Is bipartisan support something you would pursue? How?
  • On what issues are you not willing to compromise, no matter the result?
  • Is the threat of America as a superpower more important than soft power—the ability to negotiate and convince? Or does one require the other?
  • How can we influence other nations toward peace in areas of the world that are plagued with violence and political upheaval? Would you ever act alone?
  • What is government’s role in addressing homelessness and extreme poverty?
  • With some states not as concerned as others with expanding access to medical care, what is the federal government’s role, if any?
  • Education has always been seen as a locally controlled system. What exactly should be the federal role be in education?

Since the debate formats have been challenged, here are my suggestions for a format that should be followed regardless of party:

  • No more than eight candidates should be onstage at the same time. Have a lottery to decide which candidates take part and hold as many as necessary.
  • Limit total debate time to two hours.
  • Allow each candidate to make 30-second opening and closing statements. 
  • Have a red light to let candidates know when they have 10 seconds left, and a buzzer that goes off when their time is up. Moderators should be able to shut off a candidate’s microphone if they go more than 10 seconds over their time.
  • Answers that are nonresponsive to the question, or that stretch the truth, should be exposed with immediate follow-up questions. Moderators need to do their homework and cite sources.
  • Audiences should withhold the temptation to cheer or boo once the debate begins. Perhaps there should not be an audience.
  • Candidates should not know the questions in advance.

“We get the government we deserve” has long been the mantra of those who aren’t happy with electoral results. It shouldn’t be up to politicians and political parties to decide what we do and do not have the right to know, or how questions are asked. How candidates handle both policy and political questions is crucial information for voters.

We not only need good debate panelists and fair formats; we also need to hold politicians accountable for practicing their profession responsibly. When we tune in hoping for outrageous sound bites, we end up voting for entertainers, not leaders.

It’s not the “biased media” at fault; it’s us!

Anita Rufus is also known as “The Lovable Liberal,” and her radio show airs Sundays from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. on KNews Radio 94.3 FM. Email her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Know Your Neighbors appears every other Wednesday at CVIndependent.com.

Published in Know Your Neighbors

They call it a party, though there’s no music or dancing. But there’s plenty of politics in the air to liven up the rectangular, windowless room—with free drinks from an open bar to help loosen the lips.

Saturday night has arrived at the California Republican Party’s fall convention, which took place last month at Anaheim Marriott. The Saturday shindig put on by the Bay Area GOP will feature an announcement about the state party’s preliminary 2015 platform, which will be ratified by a vote the next morning.

Luis Buhler, publisher of BayAreaGOP.com and former vice chair of the Bay Area GOP, delivers the tentative platform to the room.

Things get interesting when the platform’s “equal opportunity” wording comes up.

“The platform committee added language opposing discrimination in housing on the basis of sexual orientation,” Buhler says.

A sudden interruption rings out: “BOOOO!”

Everyone turns to a smug, clean-cut young man sitting in a chair with his arms crossed.

He makes no effort to stand. “BOOO!” he repeats.

Buhler continues, acting unflapped: “That is, by the way, the law of California,” before attempting to move on to other platform details.

But there it is again: “BOO!”

The man, dressed in a sport coat, remains hunkered in his seat.

Buhler persists: “So our platform now is in compliance with the law.”

A few minutes later, immigration comes up.

“The immigration section was clearly the most controversial,” Buhler says. “In total, (it) takes some very conservative, traditional positions of the Republican Party.”

The young Republican regains his voice.

“Bullshit!”

Another smartly dressed man approaches the heckler from behind, taps him on the shoulder and says, “You need to be respectful.”

All eyes go back to Buhler, but seconds later, the heckler erupts. “Really? Really? I’ll leave, I don’t need security.”

As he walks out he says, “Bye! Go be Democrats!”

A man near the door gives the heckler a piece of his mind. “Where’s your bed?” he says, seemingly suggesting the heckler is a child, or too drunk—or both.

Leaving the room, the heckler turns.

“Liberals!” he yells.

Buhler, meanwhile, has never stopped talking: “… but it does call for language, English and English only, as the language of government.”

The man appears in another doorway to the room.

“Boooooooooo!”


En route to the convention via Interstate 5, the only English-language radio station coming through in the Central Valley is KSFO 560AM. On it, conservative talk show host Mark Levin rails for more than an hour against the media’s handling of the second Republican presidential debate, which occurred a day earlier.

He calls it a food fight, and picks on the media—both CNN and Fox News before it—for using their debates to create theatrical conflict amid candidates to boost ratings.

Levin wants substance.

The point resurfaces the next morning, after the conference begins. Tom Palzer, who’s running a campaign for U.S. Senate against more well-funded, white male candidates, approaches for a chat and ends up riffing about the media.

“When you’re running for office, you’re running against your own party; you’re running against the other party; you’re running against the independents; you’re running against the media,” he says. “The media is always waiting to chop your head off.”


For as much as GOP presidential candidates love California for fundraising purposes—it’s the richest state in the union—they often appear otherwise indifferent to California, and for good reason: Its voters haven’t supported a Republican candidate since George H.W. Bush in 1988, more than a quarter-century ago.

With 16 candidates vying for the 2016 Republican nomination, only the dregs of the current campaign—Scott Walker and Mike Huckabee—agreed to speak at California GOP’s Sept. 18-20 convention. But on Sept. 13, Walker’s campaign announced that, due to flagging poll numbers, he would not appear and instead would attempt to shore up support in South Carolina and Iowa, two states critical to securing the nomination. (Walker pulled out of the race altogether Sept. 23).

So Huckabee became the sole headliner, slated for the Friday VIP luncheon.

As the attendees munch on their salads, the room goes dark, and two giant screens light up on the left and right behind the stage.

“Every day of my life in politics was a fight; sometimes, it was an intense one,” Huckabee tells the camera, referring to his long odds in succeeding politically in Arkansas, a longtime Democratic stronghold. “But any drunken redneck can walk into a bar and start a fight. But a leader only starts a fight that he is prepared to finish.”

The three-minute film featured Huckabee’s wife, Janet, who praised him for sticking by her side after she was diagnosed with cancer early in their marriage.

When the lights come back on, California Republican Party Chairman Jim Brulte takes the stage to introduce the former Arkansas governor, calling him “one of the best governors in America.” After Huckabee takes the stage to a standing ovation, he immediately starts digging into the Sept. 16 debate, where he was given little time to speak—and when he did speak, he foundered. (One thing he said during the debate: “The most dangerous person in any room is the person who doesn’t know what he doesn’t know.”)

“I’m excited to be here for several reasons, not the least of which I’ve been allocated three times more time than I got in three hours of the CNN debate,” Huckabee says. “I told Bill O’Reilly last night: I wasn’t sure if I was in the CNN debate, or if I was standing in line at the DMV. Insufferably, a three-hour tour. I thought I was in an episode of Gilligan’s Island, and we got shipwrecked out there. I kept looking around for Ginger and Mary Ann.

“The essence of the questions was intended to try to get us all to fight with each other,” he says. “I, for one, as a Republican, say it’s time we say to the networks: The purpose of a Republican debate is not to create fodder for your entertainment value.”

The debate, Huckabee says, should be about deciding which candidate can not just get to the Super Bowl, but win it.

“I’m also delighted to be able to spend these few minutes with you, because I do believe we have an incredible opportunity to get America going again. There are a lot of reasons for us to be disturbed, disgusted, even outraged at what’s happening in our country,” he says.

“I understand there is more than just a little bit of dissatisfaction with the way our country is going. It’s better described as a seething rage. People are not just unhappy; they are outraged, to the point that in some cases they don’t really care if they elect somebody who has any understanding of what it means to govern.

“Here’s the truth: Why am I running for president? Because I have five grandkids now. And I feel so blessed to be an American. I haven’t just read about the American Dream; I have lived it. And I for one am not willing to walk my grandchildren through the charred remains of a once-great country called America and say, ‘Here it is, kids.’”

The ballroom erupts with applause.


John Myers, senior editor of KQED’s California politics and government desk, stands in front of a camera in the Anaheim Marriott’s convention area hall, poised to deliver a sound bite on the health of the Republican Party in California.

“Set aside all of the spin and the bluster that comes with politics: The challenges of the California Republican Party are ones of numbers. There are about 4.9 million registered Republicans in the state; that’s about 400,000 fewer than there were just six years ago. Democrats have also lost numbers as people have moved to register as independents, but Republicans have lost more, and now make up only 28 percent of the overall electorate.”

Myers’ producer asks that he shift his position, so they can do another take.


It’s late afternoon Friday, and the bar at the Anaheim Marriott is filling up. At the corner are two women joined by Joy Delepine, a 2014 state Assembly candidate from District 14, which mostly encompasses Contra Costa County. After making it into the general election by finishing second in the primary as a write-in candidate, Delepine won 31 percent of the electoral vote.

Her friends commiserate with the bartender, seeking cocktail advice.

“We like alcohol,” one says.

A man I later learn is Sean Lee takes the barstool to my right. He is Asian American, in his mid-40s, and says he has never tried Guinness. He asks for a sample, and satisfied with the taste, orders a pint.

Before long, Lee—who was educated at UC Irvine and the University of Southern California—starts talking about Donald Trump, and the state of politics in America.

“We had two sessions in office, and now there’s two sessions of a Democrat in office. But what’s changed? Not much; they’re all playing politics,” Lee says.

Lee is an entrepreneur and runs a company, Political Data Inc., that he says can get the most up-to-date voter information on the market. He doesn’t sell his services to Democratic candidates.

“The core issues are what’s deteriorated: the safety of our country, our economy and relation to all the other countries,” Lee says. “That’s what needs to be fixed first. Donald Trump represents someone that’s very fresh, something different.”

But Lee later flips on the idea that Trump’s popularity is hinged on him not being a politician.

“I don’t think life is that different whether you’re a politician or a businessman,” he says. “You’ve got to deal. It’s a give and take. You’re trying to get the best deal for your side and come out on top.”


Mike Madrid’s day is not going well.

It’s day two of the convention, and one of the state’s pre-eminent campaign strategists is having a hard time controlling a basic seminar about winning local elections.

When he tells the attendees they should focus on door-to-door outreach, mailers and social media, cries from the crowd are immediate. Lawn signs, they say, are the most important thing to get elected.

Madrid is persistent, and spends another 10 minutes explaining his logic: Signs don’t ultimately sway voters. Period. “I’m not saying lawn signs are not important. What I’m saying is, they’re the least important.”

Madrid steers the conversation toward door-to-door strategies, and says candidates should spend at least nine weekends, as well some nights after work, knocking on doors and meeting their would-be supporters.

“When they go to the polls, they’re going to remember who you are,” he says. “If you knock on more doors than your opponent, your chances of success are exponentially greater.”

Then Madrid—ready to talk about how to disarm people answering the door, or how to use Facebook effectively—calls on a woman with her hand raised.

The woman wants to say lawn signs are the most important factor in getting elected in her district.

Madrid winces.

“What lawn signs are really about,” he says, “they’re about politicians needing to see their name out there and give them a sense of comfort.

“Being a candidate is not easy. It’s not that fun, and if you like it, we also have therapy.”

The room laughs.

“If (lawn signs are) my strategy, then I need to change my strategy,” he says. “After you’ve bought your slate mail, Facebook ads, after you’ve had all your events, buy a lawn sign. And if you win, let me know, and I’ll still disagree with you.”


The bald white guy talking to two other white guys is wearing a pin on his white dress shirt: “Stop Co-Ed Bathrooms,” it says.

Past him down the hall is a table covered with conservative bumper stickers, which the purveyor has qualified with a sign reading: “Warning | Politically Incorrect Area | Rampant Insensitivity Authorized.”

Among the bumper-sticker offerings: “Evolution Is Science Fiction,” “Keep Honking … I’m Reloading” and “Save the Males.”


Increasing the female vote is key for the state’s Republican party, and the subject of a Saturday afternoon seminar.

It begins with GOP strategist Richard Temple presenting some sobering statistics: 67 percent of unmarried women voted for Obama in 2012, and 58 percent of women voted Democrat in 2014.

Add to that, 58 percent of women don’t feel the Republican party understands them.

Temple then implores the women in the room to step up: “The issues are there for us,” he says. “And women can say stuff we can’t say as men.”

A handful of women follow Temple on the mic, the second being state Assemblywoman Kristin Olsen, a young politician out of Modesto.

“Negative campaigning is not going to inspire women,” says Olsen. “Maybe it’s because we’re tired of hearing our kids whine all day.”

But she encourages women to run.

“The women who run tend to win,” she says. “We have a terrible track record in getting women to run in the first place.”

Next up is Roseann Slonsky-Breault, president of the California Federation of Republican Women, which she says is the largest all-volunteer political organization in the country.

“We’ve got to win back that White House, and we’ve got to get boots on the ground to do that. Women’s issues are what men’s issues are,” she says.

“Remember the soccer moms from 2004? Well, the soccer moms are back,” she adds. “Everyone is worrying about the future.”


Outside the Marriott Saturday night are women and Asian men dressed as medieval maidens.

The Marriott is across a plaza from a Hilton, and the Anaheim Convention Center sits just to its west.

It turns out the Hilton, concurrent to the GOP convention, is hosting TouhouCon, and spilling outside into the plaza are rows of slick Hondas custom-painted with Japanese anime characters. Maidens are everywhere, posing for pictures.

Touhou enthusiast David Storm, who is circulating in the plaza amid the cosplayers, explains that Touhou is a video game created in 1996 “by one drunk programmer” that has since captured a cult following.

“It’s like half of Japan’s underground culture,” he says. “If you go to anything there, it will be like half Touhou. It’s ridiculous. You go out to the raves over there; it’s ridiculous.”

But what do the cars have to do with game?

“Nothing,” Storm says. “People just like the cars.”


After Dana Rohrabacher leads the pledge of allegiance at the convention’s Saturday-night dinner event, he announces he will be singing a song.

“We just pledged our allegiance to the flag, right,” says Rohrabacher, a U.S. congressman from Costa Mesa. “That’s what this is really all about. It’s all about America. It’s all about what America stands for. It’s not about politics; it’s not about titles. It’s about our country, our country that stands for freedom, our country that is the shining example of liberty and justice for the entire world, the only hope for the world.

“I’m not a very good singer,” he hedges, and picks up a guitar. “It’s called ‘God Bless Our Freedom.’”

And then he puts his pipes to work.

“God bless America, God bless our freedom, and God bless the people who work everyday. God bless the folks, who built this great country…

“Beauty and progress are one with the land, and neighbor helps neighbor, we all understand … ”

The night’s featured speaker was scheduled to be Gov. Walker.

On short notice, the California GOP recruited John Bolton, former U.S. ambassador to the United Nations under the George W. Bush administration, to take Walker’s place. He didn’t come to the stage with Rohrabacher’s optimistic energy, but rather, fear and loathing.

“For the eight years of the Obama administration, we’ve had our security and our place in the world put at risk,” Bolton says. “We’ve seen America retreat from positions of security that have been built up by decades of effort. We’ve witnessed international terrorism grow back to the point that it was on Sept. 11, 2001 and even gotten worse than that … .

“All across the Middle East, state structures are breaking down, and new ones are being created, and not to our advantage. ISIS now controls territory in Iraq and Syria equal to the size of Great Britain. They are creating a new country. They have a currency, a central bank, a national budget—which puts them ahead of us … ”

Laughter fills the room, briefly, and Bolton goes on about Benghazi, and how weak Obama is on foreign policy.

“There are enormous changes going on the world, all of them negative,” Bolton says. “The outlook, I’m afraid to say, is uniformly gloomy. I wish I had better news for you, but we have made a huge mistake as a country in electing this man president twice.”

The room erupts with applause.


Saturday night, after the Bay Area GOP shuts their party down, the bar at the Marriott fills up, mostly with men.

Dave Titus, chief of staff for Beth Gaines, a state Assemblywoman from the Sacramento area, pulls up to a vacant stool and surveys the scene.

“Look at all these dudes at the bar,” he says. “It’s like sword-fight city. It’s like spring training.”

Titus is talking about the high number of men at the bar, but he could also be talking the 2016 Republican presidential race—or, for that matter, the party itself. Men in a fight.

That’s not how Luis Buhler, the former vice chair of the Bay Area GOP who was heckled by the young man in the sport coat, sees it. Two days after discussing the party platform at the Bay Area GOP party, he publishes a blog post about the convention: “California Republicans wrapped up their annual fall convention Sunday optimistic and united,” it begins.

Later, he adds this: “Republicans have avoided controversial internal fights and expanded (their) reach to groups traditionally excluded from the party.”

Published in Politics

In light of the recent uproar over Donald Trump’s blast at Fox News anchor Megyn Kelly—about “blood coming out of her eyes, blood coming out of her wherever,” after she asked him a question he didn’t like—I want to announce that I am not only the Lovable Liberal; I am also the Goddess of Political Correctness.

My history includes Russian and Polish ancestors. I have exes who are Irish, Mexican-Indian (Mestizo), British, African American and Canadian. I was born Jewish; chose Unitarian, Baha’i and Buddhist; and married a lapsed Catholic. I’m a pro-choice feminist with a gay son and a lesbian cousin, was born in New Jersey, and was raised in California. I lived in the South. And, yes, I am blonde.

There is almost no group you can insult where I won’t take offense. I am hypersensitive to jokes, comments, observations or judgments based on anyone’s color, religion, nationality, region, accent, sexual orientation, gender, physical disability, appearance or size.

Yes, I can laugh at genuinely funny jokes if they’re told by someone who speaks from an insider’s experience: Italian family stories told by Italians, Jewish jokes from Jewish comedians, stereotypes about low-riders told by those who have driven them, gay dating disasters when told by gays, insider observations on women by women—if the jokes are funny, I’ll laugh.

By contrast, jokes that denigrate others based on stereotypes and that come from an assumption of superiority … not funny.

Political correctness is very much in the news as Trump, accused of misogynistic statements, responded with, “I don’t, frankly, have time for total political correctness.” Trump claims his comments about Kelly don’t require an apology, because the audience laughed and applauded when he inserted a joke saying that Rosie O’Donnell was “a fat pig” while Kelly questioned his other comments about women. Kelly was asking whether he felt his previous statements reflected “the temperament of a man we should elect as president”—a serious question, by the way.

Trump said he couldn’t recall specifics of insulting women—although he published disparaging comments about his ex-wives and others in his books, specifically about their roles as women. I don’t think he considers those comments insulting, merely descriptive. When he was subsequently disinvited to a conservative forum because of his remarks about Kelly, he said, “This is just another example of weakness through being politically correct.”

That use of the term “politically correct” is merely a shield. While it’s bad enough that a “politically correct” comment may be offensive to those being disparaged, it also reflects badly on the person saying it. It’s like my non-Jewish friend who emails jokes about Jews that are really offensive, and then says, “A Jewish guy sent it to me,” as if that makes it OK that he’s sending it on to others. It’s not unlike Trump’s re-tweeting of comments describing Kelly as a whore and worse, and then being unwilling to take any personal responsibility for the sentiments.

So what exactly is “political correctness? Merriam-Webster defines it as “agreeing with the idea that people should be careful to not use language or behave in a way that could offend a particular group of people.” Sounds reasonable, doesn’t it? The Free Dictionary says it is “conforming to a particular sociopolitical ideology or point of view, especially to a liberal point of view concerned with promoting tolerance and avoiding offense in matters of race, class, gender, and sexual orientation.” Does that mean promoting tolerance and avoiding offense is somehow confined to liberals? I hope not.

People who align with the political right often say political correctness is intended to stifle free thought. In other words, people shouldn’t have to self-censor before saying things that demean or insult others. Really?

When did “political correctness” even become an issue and part of our politics? It wasn’t until the early 1990s, when conservative author Dinesh D’Souza used the term to condemn efforts to promote multiculturalism in society, through policy efforts such as affirmative action, designations of hate speech, and a focus in school curricula on all aspects of American history and culture (i.e., black history and women’s studies).

In 1991, at a commencement ceremony for a graduating class of the University of Michigan, then-President George H.W. Bush spoke out against what he called “a movement (that would) declare certain topics ‘off-limits,’ certain expressions ‘off-limits,’ even certain gestures ‘off-limits.’” So I guess it was just political correctness when the Germans outlawed all public references to Nazism or displays of Nazi symbols.

Those on the right quickly adopted the term to criticize any individual reactions or public policies that they felt attempted to limit language or actions that might offend or disadvantage any group of people. Liberals responded by claiming conservatives were merely attempting to divert public attention from issues of discrimination and the need to respond with public policy. Both are right.

The best weapon we have for combating discrimination and moving toward an equal, inclusive, and tolerant civil society—the hallmark of what America stands for, if it stands for anything—is through the one weapon that has always worked to hold people accountable for their prejudices: social disapproval.

So does political correctness mean you can’t say what you think? Frankly, I hope not. I want to know how ignorant you are, and how insecure you are that you’re willing to diminish others to make yourself feel superior, and how unevolved you are in matters of race or religion or acceptance of others.

Donald Trump’s behavior reflects a boorish disregard for the reactions of others, a compulsion to take everything personally, and a willingness to appeal to “spit-in-their-eye” malcontents who don’t care about issues, but only want to feel less disempowered. In the words of Palm Springs radio host Chad Benson, “Trump says things that people think, and they don’t want to feel bad about it.”

Every woman ought to know that Trump’s comments about Megyn Kelly were implicitly “on the rag” in nature. Many other instances of his denigration of women are well-documented in his writings, tweets and public statements. Look it up!

This is not about political correctness; it’s about small-mindedness and the reality that no one can say out loud what they don’t already think. You can’t possibly use the “N” word to describe someone if that word, and its traditional meaning, isn’t already in your head. You can’t put down women if you don’t already think of them as a lesser category of human beings in your head; saying “I love women” doesn’t change that. You can’t stereotype behaviors as “gay” if you’re not afraid of being associated with such behaviors yourself.

As the Goddess of Political Correctness, I want you to get conscious about the characterizations and assumptions you actually hold about others whom you see as unlike yourself. When someone reacts negatively to something you think you said innocently, instead of getting defensive, why not ask them why they are offended and learn something? You can't self-censor until you're aware of what ought to be censored and why.

Finally, with regard to that “on the rag” nonsense—rather than being insulted, just remember what feminist icon Gloria Steinem said: “Why isn’t it logical to say that, in those few days, women behave the most like the way men behave all month long?”

The best defense is a legitimate offense—especially if it’s not only funny, but true!

Anita Rufus is also known as “The Lovable Liberal,” and her radio show airs Sundays from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. on KNews Radio 94.3 FM. Email her at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Know Your Neighbors appears every other Wednesday.

Published in Know Your Neighbors

On this week's moving Independent comics page: Jen Sorenson wishes she could use her bike more; The K Chronicles wonders if some right-wing converts are for real; This Modern World enjoys the presidential-primary process; and Red Meat gets a special message from God.

Published in Comics

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