December 24, 2009--The Ladies of Forest Trace: Obama Knew
“What you’ve been writing on that blog, or whatever you call it, misses the whole point.”
My more than 101 year-old mother was calling from Forest Trace, the retirement community in south Florida where she lives. It was the morning of Christmas Eve and I had a lot of last minute work to do since we were planning to cook dinner at her apartment later in the day and so I was hoping what she had to say would be something simple and, more important, brief.
“Yes, mom,” I said with a bit of an exasperated sigh, hoping she would sense that I had other things to do than talk about politics. She was always exceptionally good at picking up hints of this kind. It was a survival strategy for women of her generation who felt pressure to accommodate others. Especially men.
“It’s about Obama.” I was right—I have that anticipatory sensibility as well. “And health care.”
“We’ve spent a lot of time talking about this and you know . . .”
“Yes, I know your views. You’re disappointed with the bill in the Senate and feel he hasn’t been a forceful enough leader, fighting for whatever it is that you would like him to do.”
“No, not what I would like him to do but what he said during the campaign that he would do. It’s a matter of . . .”
She cut me off again, I am sure thinking she knew what I was going to say. “You and your friends expect too much. You refuse to be realistic about what’s possible.”
“I’m not sure I agree with you. I don’t know enough about what needs to be done to reform the unfair and too costly health care system we have; but I voted for him enthusiastically thinking he did and that he would fight for what he believes is or, should I say, was the necessary thing to do.”
“You are sounding a little sarcastic to me. But I will let that go. Though about the point you were making I do not have a problem. It is right to hold the people we elect to what they said to get us to vote for them. Though of course we know that even the best politicians break some of their promises. In fact, this is what I want to talk with you about.”
“You’re losing me mom. You just said that we should put pressure on the people we elect to do what they promised they would do but then you make excuses for them when they don’t.”
“I can see that you’re confused because that’s not at all what I am saying. Or, rather, want to say to you.” She paused for a moment as if to collect her thoughts. “You have time now, don’t you? You’re not due to be here until three o’clock.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I have to . . .”
Before I could complete my thought, actually my attempt to get off the phone, she quickly said, “Sit for a moment so I can talk with you.” I pulled up a stool and did as I was told, as I always do when it comes to my mother, and sat down, leafing though the recipe for the orange cashew rice I would be making for her this evening.
“Here’s what I think he did. I’ll tell you what I believe happened.”
“I’m listening.”
“Then be quiet for a moment.”
“Sorry.” I realized I had the wrong kind of cashews—I had the raw ones but needed them roasted. I thought, maybe I’ll be able to . . .
“We agree that he is very smart?” I nodded assuming she would sense that. “And he knows his history, correct?” Again I nodded. “Well, after he was elected, probably before, he must have understood how difficult it would be to get any significant legislation passed. At best he had 60 so-called Democrats. I say so-called because with that Lieberman and those other mad dogs, whatever they call themselves, some of them are hardly real Democrats.”
“Blue Dogs, mom. Conservative Democrats.”
“Yes those. They are not dependable Democrats. Look how Obama had to bribe that Nelson. They care more about their own reelection than doing what’s good for the country or even their party. With them he must have realized it was impossible, no matter what he did, to get 60 of them to vote against the Republicans for anything bold or controversial. Especially anything that would upset the people who give them money. So he knew from before day one that he would not get through Congress what he talked about during the election campaign. He then had to decide to either insist on a public option and that there be nothing more said about limiting abortions, things of that kind, drawing a line in the sand as some of the pundits keep saying on TV, and I think you have said as well, or allow the congressmen to come up with a bill that they would feel was theirs and that enough of them would then vote for so at least something good would happen.”
I had not said anything while she laid this out and so she asked, “Are you still there?”
“Yes, yes, I’m listening. So you’re saying that Obama, as smart as he is and as good a student of congressional history as he is, got as much as he always thought was at least possible? That it’s not as if he stumbled or acted weakly?”
“Yes, that’s right. I am certain of that. He took the risk to look weak and indecisive to get at least this much done. That takes a certain kind of strength—to look weak in order to succeed.”
“Hum,” I said. “That’s not uninteresting. Very Eastern. I may try to write something about this.”
“Be my guest. And what’s more, he also knows from history that always when there is this kind of legislation approved it is never what anyone would ideally want. Like Social Security and Medicare, for example. The way they are now is not how they looked when they first were passed. They were amended and added on to and in that way, at least I feel, they were improved. Though there is that stupid donut hole in the prescription drug addition to Medicare, and though that Bush refused to put the cost of it into the budget, it is better than not having had it at all, which Medicare did not have for about 40 years.”
“You could be right. What you’re saying is at least a possibility.”
“More than a possibility. Tell me this—you have all those friends of yours who write blogs, no?”
“Yes. What’s your point?” Maybe, I thought, I could roast the cashews myself. After I get off the phone, I’ll look up on the Internet how to do that.
“I am feeling that you are not really listening to me.”
“No, mom. I’m with you.” I quietly closed the recipe book.
“Do you and your bloggers really think that if Obama had gone for broke that he could have gotten the kind of a bill passed that you, and I, I might add, wanted? Admittedly a much better bill? Gotten 60 senators to vote for it? If you do, then you’re not dealing with reality.”
“I still don’t entirely agree. But you do make a good point. Get done as much as you realistically can and then during the rest of your time in office, or after that, hope that the program will be improved.”
“Exactly!” I heard her chuckle. “Now that we have this settled, I’ll see you at two o’clock.”
“Closer to three,” I said. She always tries to get an extra hour slipped into our time together.
“And remember, not too much salt.”
My more than 101 year-old mother was calling from Forest Trace, the retirement community in south Florida where she lives. It was the morning of Christmas Eve and I had a lot of last minute work to do since we were planning to cook dinner at her apartment later in the day and so I was hoping what she had to say would be something simple and, more important, brief.
“Yes, mom,” I said with a bit of an exasperated sigh, hoping she would sense that I had other things to do than talk about politics. She was always exceptionally good at picking up hints of this kind. It was a survival strategy for women of her generation who felt pressure to accommodate others. Especially men.
“It’s about Obama.” I was right—I have that anticipatory sensibility as well. “And health care.”
“We’ve spent a lot of time talking about this and you know . . .”
“Yes, I know your views. You’re disappointed with the bill in the Senate and feel he hasn’t been a forceful enough leader, fighting for whatever it is that you would like him to do.”
“No, not what I would like him to do but what he said during the campaign that he would do. It’s a matter of . . .”
She cut me off again, I am sure thinking she knew what I was going to say. “You and your friends expect too much. You refuse to be realistic about what’s possible.”
“I’m not sure I agree with you. I don’t know enough about what needs to be done to reform the unfair and too costly health care system we have; but I voted for him enthusiastically thinking he did and that he would fight for what he believes is or, should I say, was the necessary thing to do.”
“You are sounding a little sarcastic to me. But I will let that go. Though about the point you were making I do not have a problem. It is right to hold the people we elect to what they said to get us to vote for them. Though of course we know that even the best politicians break some of their promises. In fact, this is what I want to talk with you about.”
“You’re losing me mom. You just said that we should put pressure on the people we elect to do what they promised they would do but then you make excuses for them when they don’t.”
“I can see that you’re confused because that’s not at all what I am saying. Or, rather, want to say to you.” She paused for a moment as if to collect her thoughts. “You have time now, don’t you? You’re not due to be here until three o’clock.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I have to . . .”
Before I could complete my thought, actually my attempt to get off the phone, she quickly said, “Sit for a moment so I can talk with you.” I pulled up a stool and did as I was told, as I always do when it comes to my mother, and sat down, leafing though the recipe for the orange cashew rice I would be making for her this evening.
“Here’s what I think he did. I’ll tell you what I believe happened.”
“I’m listening.”
“Then be quiet for a moment.”
“Sorry.” I realized I had the wrong kind of cashews—I had the raw ones but needed them roasted. I thought, maybe I’ll be able to . . .
“We agree that he is very smart?” I nodded assuming she would sense that. “And he knows his history, correct?” Again I nodded. “Well, after he was elected, probably before, he must have understood how difficult it would be to get any significant legislation passed. At best he had 60 so-called Democrats. I say so-called because with that Lieberman and those other mad dogs, whatever they call themselves, some of them are hardly real Democrats.”
“Blue Dogs, mom. Conservative Democrats.”
“Yes those. They are not dependable Democrats. Look how Obama had to bribe that Nelson. They care more about their own reelection than doing what’s good for the country or even their party. With them he must have realized it was impossible, no matter what he did, to get 60 of them to vote against the Republicans for anything bold or controversial. Especially anything that would upset the people who give them money. So he knew from before day one that he would not get through Congress what he talked about during the election campaign. He then had to decide to either insist on a public option and that there be nothing more said about limiting abortions, things of that kind, drawing a line in the sand as some of the pundits keep saying on TV, and I think you have said as well, or allow the congressmen to come up with a bill that they would feel was theirs and that enough of them would then vote for so at least something good would happen.”
I had not said anything while she laid this out and so she asked, “Are you still there?”
“Yes, yes, I’m listening. So you’re saying that Obama, as smart as he is and as good a student of congressional history as he is, got as much as he always thought was at least possible? That it’s not as if he stumbled or acted weakly?”
“Yes, that’s right. I am certain of that. He took the risk to look weak and indecisive to get at least this much done. That takes a certain kind of strength—to look weak in order to succeed.”
“Hum,” I said. “That’s not uninteresting. Very Eastern. I may try to write something about this.”
“Be my guest. And what’s more, he also knows from history that always when there is this kind of legislation approved it is never what anyone would ideally want. Like Social Security and Medicare, for example. The way they are now is not how they looked when they first were passed. They were amended and added on to and in that way, at least I feel, they were improved. Though there is that stupid donut hole in the prescription drug addition to Medicare, and though that Bush refused to put the cost of it into the budget, it is better than not having had it at all, which Medicare did not have for about 40 years.”
“You could be right. What you’re saying is at least a possibility.”
“More than a possibility. Tell me this—you have all those friends of yours who write blogs, no?”
“Yes. What’s your point?” Maybe, I thought, I could roast the cashews myself. After I get off the phone, I’ll look up on the Internet how to do that.
“I am feeling that you are not really listening to me.”
“No, mom. I’m with you.” I quietly closed the recipe book.
“Do you and your bloggers really think that if Obama had gone for broke that he could have gotten the kind of a bill passed that you, and I, I might add, wanted? Admittedly a much better bill? Gotten 60 senators to vote for it? If you do, then you’re not dealing with reality.”
“I still don’t entirely agree. But you do make a good point. Get done as much as you realistically can and then during the rest of your time in office, or after that, hope that the program will be improved.”
“Exactly!” I heard her chuckle. “Now that we have this settled, I’ll see you at two o’clock.”
“Closer to three,” I said. She always tries to get an extra hour slipped into our time together.
“And remember, not too much salt.”
posted by Steven Zwerling at
5:55 AM
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