Not typically the kind of thing I’d be inclined to share, but I will do so, with my comment from earlier, in reference to this piece in The Atlantic, by Eliot Cohen:
“I wonder if this is partly why I keep seeing people like David Frum circulating in what I will call the resistive discourse: someone who himself bears some responsibility for getting us here, now trying to salvage his place in history. I suppose I should consider reluctantly giving him a seat at the table of common sense, but I just can’t stop being angry at him–and people like Cohen frankly–who helped pave the way for this situation today, and it’s partly why I just can’t get on board with all these Frum pieces and appearances.”
As an aside, can we agree that The Atlantic has become the official home for repentant-non-repetentant Republicans who are beginning to see the light?
I’m not sure they should be given an out. The Train of Justice left the station a long time ago, and they’re scrambling after the caboose. But those of a more measured temperament will surely admonish me for not accommodating our new fellow travelers, however faux-repentant they may be.
Full disclosure vis-a-vis The Atlantic: my war refugee mother, who came to this country by herself at the age of 17, alone, via Ellis Island, speaking or writing no English (it became her third language), with no friends or family to welcome her, and who was quarantined as well for having had Measles at one time, eventually came to publish one of her first short stories of fiction in The Atlantic in the early 60s. It was about a young girl growing up in a Czech village, having to take one of her family’s pigs to market, an animal to which she had grown attached.
The story was a modest success, and was translated in to a few different languages, and published in a few anthologies, and eventually led to her receiving an advance offer from Knopf for her first novel.