Our Medieval Politics
November 18, 2011
BY DICK METHIA
On America’s march through history we seem to have taken a bizarre u-turn back to middle age. I’m not talking about the day I finally admitted those tight jeans didn’t really shrink in the wash. I’m referring to the Middle Ages, the days before re-cycling and Lady Gaga.
In medieval times, people were pestered by flies, roaming robber bands, horse manure in the streets, and the occasional goofy court jester. Instead of flies we’re pestered by robo-calls and telemarketers. In place of robber bands we have the greedy dudes on Wall Street. The horse manure? Listened to any senators or congressmen lately?
In the Middle Ages people were woefully uneducated, susceptible to all kinds of flim-flam. Armies of peasants roamed the countryside hurling curses against the ruling class, sort of like a Tea Party rally. Pop-up preachers and prophets warned of the imminent end of the world, sort of like a Tea Party rally. Ordinary people rejected the rational thinking of their great new universities in Paris and Pisa and opted for magical solutions instead, sort of like …
Medieval times also had its share of quirky personalities. Joan of Arc immediately comes to mind. The Maid of Orleans cut her hair and dressed in men’s clothing. Think Ellen DeGeneres on a horse. To her credit Joan drove the English out of France. If it were not for this medieval cross-dresser French cuisine would consist of bangers and mash, pork pie, and blood pudding.
Our own Joan of Arc, of course, is Mama Grizzly, Sarah Palin. She hears voices too. “Run, Sarah, run!” Joan’s voices were whispers from the Archangel Michael coming from above. Sarah’s voices emanate from a position just to the right of the intolerant Father Leonard (non-Catholics are all going to hell!) Feeney of Boston.
Then there’s the other medieval throwback, Pastor Terry Jones of Gainesville, the Fra Savonarola of Florida. Savonarola was a Dominican friar in Florence who claimed he received tweets directly from the Almighty. Savonarola convinced the otherwise highly-educated and cultured citizens of Florence to toss their beautiful books, sources of sin and corruption, onto a bonfire in the city center. Pastor Jones was the guy who decided to burn a Koran in public because he knew God wanted it done.
When a culture is deeply afraid of the future, it looks to the past to find some solace. But if history does indeed repeat itself, medieval folk heroes like Glenn Beck, Sarah Palin and Pastor Jones have reason to be worried. When the Maid of Orleans and the self-assured savior of Florence, Brother Savonarola, had run through their set of magic tricks, and the people’s deep seated problems remained, their fans turned against them. In the end, they wound up on the ash heap of history—literally—burned at the stake by the same people who had cheered them on.