by Jimmie Moglia
“If this were played upon a stage now,
I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.”
(Twelfth Night, act 3, sc. 4)
By general consent, in American elections there is no kingdom for a stage, there are no princes to act, nor monarchs to behold the swelling scene (1). By tacit agreement, elections hover midway between a farce and a theater of marionettes.
These preludial considerations are necessary, lest any of my 25 readers, more fiercely engaged in the electoral process, may suspect me of dubious political leniencies – for I will not join in the rabid attacks on Trump coming from the right, the left, the center and many other angles in-between. Which leaves us to wonder about the reason of such a combination among men who agree in nothing else.