Wednesday, September 10, 2008

on pale palin

I have zero respect for antichoice politicians, that goes without saying. Apparently there is more to liking Sarah Palin than her antichoice positions.

She’s a hockey mom. Okay, GROSS. Friedan identified how pathologizingly dehumanizingly awful it is to be a slave to your own offspring and linoleum flooring and never see the light of day or your own name on a pay cheque. And that was 45 years ago. The banality of suburban existence has been satirized effectively by X number of films , novels, sit-coms, etc. Why would we suddenly find this appealing?

Okay then maybe just focus on how she’s a mom. But whatever. So is my mom. And my mom’s actually an advocate for women and mothers, and you don’t see her running for vice-president. Palin’s a white woman who procreates like a bunny well into her trisomy-21-predisposed forties, and like I have argued before, I argue again that in this fearful, xenophobic era of anti-islamicism and waning western fertility, the white woman who actually bites the bullet and sacrifices her body, time, career, fun, independence, etc to give birth is the new prophet.

And not only that, she’s a mom to a Down’s kid! Well congratulations. It is nice when some rich, powerful person takes on a little extra responsibility, not that Palin is actually able to be responsible for baby Trig, what with running a massive election campaign and all, and then possibly having to RUN THE WORLD. But let’s not forget she hid the pregnancy because she thought people would oppose it. Honestly, who opposes Down’s kids? Really, in this day in age? Maybe I am deluded, but I believe you can decide not to continue a trisomy 21 pregnancy and that is fine, and if you don’t terminate, everybody thinks Down’s kids are endearing and that you are a saint.

And not only that, she’s so into keeping the WASPY race going that she promotes teenage pregnancy! And WASPY pregnancy is so desirable it’s above scandal! You can have an “unwed” pregnant daughter not yet old enough to toast her fecundity with a glass of champagne; you can have rumours that your last pregnancy was actually your daughters’; you can waltz between the gossip minuets of adultery, firings, and reckless amniotic-fluid-spilling trans-continental-flights- and you will survive the media tempest because you once graced the cover of vogue and now self-populate half of the town of which you were once mayor.

Be pretty, be white, be playful, and goddammit, be fertile, and you won’t threaten a soul.