Deep Throat, Man of the People
As the flag-waving jingoist masses were busily drooling over the murderous troops last weekend, a REAL hero slithered out from the shadows of anonymity into the bright and lucrative glow of stardom. No bones about it, W. Mark Felt is the personification of courage. Any moron can pick up a gun and shoot some poor Iraqi kid in the ass, but it takes real guts to leak government information to the media under an alias, deny it for 30 years, and then blurt out in a fit of senile dementia, "I am Deep Throat! Where are my pants? I like cheese."
The Repugs are, of course, in full spin mode. The unveiling of the legendary Deep Throat draws more scrutiny to the current crook in office, and astute comparisons are already being drawn between Nixon and the Shrub. But instead of accepting the fact that Bush and Nixon are two heads on the same conservative dragon, the repugs are attacking the messenger. They're calling a true American patriot everything from a "rat fink" to a "slutty, trailer park ho'" who concocted the entire story when Nixon spurned his sexual advances. Even Deep Throat's much deserved beatification by the New York Times won't stem the tide of right-wing hate. I wouldn't be surprised if Felt wound up dead in a park of an apparent "suicide", Hunter S. Thompson style. The GOP simply won't forgive the man who brought down their beloved Richard Nixon, ended the Vietnam War, and proved to the whole world that republicans are too damned corrupt to be allowed to govern.
The red state troglodytes can keep worshipping uniformed fascists for all I care, but progressives know that the real American heroes are the whistleblowers - at least, those who blow the whistle on Republicans. And like Richard Clarke, David Brock, Ethel and Julius Rosenburg, and other great whistleblowers before them, the self-righteous tweet of Mr. Felt's mighty whistle will echo through history.
