Santorum's faux pas secures a win for Romney in Puerto Rico

The more Santorum raises issues that don't need to be raised, the more Romney looks like the most re

A few weeks ago, New York Times columnist Charles Blow was asked by a morning-show host on MSNBC why Rick Santorum keeps raising issues that don't need to be raised.

Instead of maximizing his image of being the grandson of a coal miner, father of seven and a man of faith, Santorum talks about the nausea he felt after reading John F. Kennedy's speech on church-state doctrine and the tendency of American colleges to brainwash youth into accepting the evils of liberalism.

Blow's answer, I think, was pretty much right:

This is part of who Rick Santorum is,.It is always going to surface. It has nothing to do with what's happening in the news. ... He has always wanted to fight on this ground and that is what he is doing and that is going to hurt him.

This is the Santorum who surfaced right before Sunday's GOP primary in Puerto Rico -- and it hurt. The island's primaries are rarely contentious, but this year's nomination had ramped up competition for its 20 delegates. That's why Santorum and rival Mitt Romney spent two days stumping in the commonwealth.

But during a town hall meeting, Santorum blow it all away when he said English had to be the first language of any American state. Later on, he clarified his remarks: "Like any other state, there has to be compliance with this and any other federal law. And that is that English has to be the principal language."

There is no such law nor is there any such language requirement enshrined in the US constitution. Nevertheless, a howler like that might have been ignored if Puerto Ricans weren't set to vote in November on whether to vote for statehood. As Albor Ruiz of the New York Daily News wrote:

His comments exploded like a bomb ... It is difficult to believe that even Santorum could have made a mistake so stupid it could guarantee a Romney victory.

It did. Romney won by a landslide, with 83 per cent of votes. Santorum got 8 per cent; Newt Gingrich got 3 per cent.

This is the longest GOP nomination in memory, and the longer it goes, the more moderate Romney appears compared to Santorum. Indeed, this all might be according to plan. Romney has already locked up a lead that's probably insurmountable. Now, he's pivoting from the rhetoric of radicalism to the rhetoric of moderation, where he's most comfortable. The more Santorum raises issues that don't need to be raised, the more Romney will look like the most reasonable guy in the room.

It strikes me that Puerto Rico has something to say about the future of the Republican Party -- ostensible moderates like Romney are more appealing to Latinos than fanatics. As Blow said, Santorum "scares the bejesus out of people."

Though Santorum is Catholic, and though Puerto Rico voters are largely Catholic, they, like their counterparts on the mainland, have rallied around the Latter-Day Saint. The future of the GOP is multicultural, but how can it do that without abandoning a xenophobic past? It probably can't. That is, unless Romney wins. That wouldn't be good for the U.S., but it might be for the GOP.

 

John Stoehr teaches writing at Yale. His essays and journalism have appeared in The American Prospect, Reuters Opinion, the Guardian, and Dissent, among other publications. He is a political blogger for The Washington Spectator and a frequent contributor to Al Jazeera English.

 

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France is changing: an army stalks the streets and Boris Johnson wanders the Tuileries

Will Self on the militarisation of France, and Boris Johnson at the Foreign Office.

At the corner of the rue D’Hauteville and the rue de Paradis in the tenth arrondissement of Paris is a retro-video-games-themed bar, Le Fantôme, which is frequented by some not-so-jeunes gens – the kind of thirtysomethings nostalgic for an era when you had to go to an actual place if you wanted to enter virtual space. They sit placidly behind the plate-glass windows zapping Pac-Men and Space Invaders, while outside another – and rather more lethal – sort of phantom stalks the sunlit streets.

I often go to Paris for work, and so have been able to register the incremental militarisation of its streets since President Hollande first declared a state of emergency after last November’s terrorist attacks. In general the French seem more comfortable about this prêt-à-porter khaki than we’d probably be; the army-nation concept is, after all, encrypted deep in their collective psyche. The army was constituted as a revolutionary instrument. France was the first modern nation to introduce universal male conscription – and it continued in one form or another right up until the mid-1990s.

Even so, it was surprising to witness the sang-froid with which Parisians regarded the camouflaged phantoms wandering among them: a patrol numbering eight ­infantrymen and women moved up the roadway, scoping out doorways, nosing into passages – but when one peered into Le Fantôme, his assault rifle levelled, none of the boozing gamers paid the least attention. I witnessed this scene the Saturday after Mohamed Lahouaiej-Bouhlel ran amok on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice – it was a little preview of the new state of emergency.

On Monday 18 July the French premier, Manuel Valls, was booed at a memorial service for the victims of the Nice attacks – while Marine Le Pen has been making all the populist running, whipping up anxieties about the enemy within. For many French, the events of the past week – including the failed Turkish coup – are steps along the way limned by Michel Houellebecq in his bestselling novel Submission; a via dolorosa that ends with La Marianne wearing the hijab and France itself annexed by a new caliphate.

Into this febrile drama comes a new player: Boris Johnson, the British Foreign Secretary. What can we expect from this freshly minted statesman when it comes to our relations with our closest neighbour? There is no doubt that Johnson is a Francophile – I’ve run into him and his family at the Tuileries, and he made much of his own francophone status during the referendum campaign. In Paris last winter to launch the French edition of his Churchill biography, Johnson wowed a publication dinner by speaking French for the entire evening. He was sufficiently fluent to bumble, waffle and generally avoid saying anything serious at all.

Last Sunday I attended the Lambeth Country Show, an oxymoronic event for which the diverse inhabitants of my home borough gather in Brockwell Park, south London, for jerked and halal chicken, funfair rides, Quidditch-watching, and “country-style” activities, such as looking at farm animals and buying their products. Wandering among ancient Rastafarians with huge shocks of dreadlocks, British Muslims wearing immaculate white kurtas blazoned with “ASK ME ABOUT ISLAM” and crusty old Brixton punks, I found it quite impossible to rid my mind of the Nice carnage – or stop wondering how they would react if armed soldiers were patrolling, instead of tit-helmeted, emphatically unarmed police.

I stepped into the Royal Horticultural Society marquee, and there they were: the entire cast of our end-of-the-pier-show politics, in vegetable-sculpture form and arrayed for judging. There was Jeremy Corbyn (or “Cornbin”) made out of corncobs – and Boris Johnson in the form of a beetroot, being stabbed in the back by a beetroot Michael Gove. And over there was Johnson again, this time rendered in cabbage. The veggie politicians were the big draw, Brixtonians standing six-deep around them, iPhones aloft.

The animal (as opposed to the vegetable) Johnson has begun his diplomatic rounds this week, his first démarches as tasteless and anodyne as cucumber. No British abandonment of friends after Brexit . . . Coordinated response to terror threat . . . Call for Erdogan to be restrained in response to failed coup . . . Blah-blah, whiff-whaff-waffle . . . Even someone as gaffe-prone as he can manage these simple lines, but I very much doubt he will be able to produce rhetorical flourishes as powerful as his hero’s. In The Churchill Factor: How One Man Made History, Johnson writes of Winnie overcoming “his stammer and his depression and his ­appalling father to become the greatest living Englishman”. Well, I’ve no idea if Bojo suffers from depression now but he soon will if he cleaves to this role model. His Churchill-worship (like so many others’) hinges on his belief that, without Churchill as war leader, Britain would have been ground beneath the Nazi jackboot. It may well be that, with his contribution to the Brexit campaign, Johnson now feels he, too, has wrested our national destiny from the slavering jaws of contingency.

Of course the differences between the two politicians are far more significant: Johnson’s genius – such as it is – lies in his intuitive understanding that politics, in our intensely mediatised and entirely commoditised era, is best conceived of as a series of spectacles or stunts: nowadays you can fool most of the people, most of the time. This is not a view you can imagine associating with Churchill, who, when his Gallipoli stratagem went disastrously wrong, exiled himself, rifle in hand, to the trenches. No, the French people Johnson both resembles and has an affinity for are the ones caught up in the virtual reality of Le Fantôme – rather than those patrolling the real and increasingly mean streets without. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt