Welcome to Chiquita-ville. We are more and more living in a banana republic. And for younger readers, I don’t mean the clothing store.
Maybe you don’t believe this. I suggest you chat with hombres from Honduras and Guatamala and Ecuador.
Tell them how the Democrat primary was fixed. To let Bernie play. To pretend he had a chance. “Hey, Senor. Dees sounds like my country. All de elections are feexed, for sure.”
Tell them the main media here are in bed with the politicians. “Senor, in my country the politicians own the media. If dey don’t own them, they murder them.”
Everywhere you look, we look like a banana republic. People who obviously have committed crimes do not even get investigated. Because they are prominent politicians.
America has become an international playground. You are a foreign government? A foreign business? You want a favor that politicians can grant? Pay up and you will get it. You want to get your hands on technology that is forbidden to you? Maybe some uranium? Pay up and you will have your way.
Do you want the State Department to help you out? Maybe give a job to a pal. Maybe turn the other way when you do something nefarious? Maybe sneak through some provision that will make millions for you? Pay up, and your dreams will come true.
You may end up paying the money to a flim-flam charity known as the Clinton Foundation. Or some other bogus charity. One of those belonging to a senator or congressman. You may end up slipping money to folks via speaking fees. You may have to buy $500,000 worth of seats at the next big dinner for the President. As long as you pay the money you will get what you want. Everything is for sale in the American political system.
Tell a guy in a banana republic his justice department will nail such characters. “Si, Senor. Dees weel happen when iceburgs close de Panama Canal. Our justice department only goes after enemies of de political bosses. It ignores the crimes of de politicians and their friends.”
Ask him if his IRS is a political weapon in his country. “Oh, Senor, you know eet is.”
Tell him that in America some of our top politicians lie almost as much as they breathe. Tell him pay-to-play grips this country in Washington, in New York State, in New York City, in Buffalo. “Senor, beeg deal. In my country eet is our national anthem.”
Tell him a few of our leaders have raked in over $100 million selling influence in the last few years. “Senora, at least you can count de dollars. In my country we can only guess after we assassinate them. Swiss bank accounts ees our meedle name.”
Tell him one of our leaders may soon be in the White House. Even though he is credibly accused of raping a woman. Even though he is credibly accused of abusing many women. Even though his wife is credibly accused of assisting in the abuse. Even though he was dis-barred. For lying to a grand jury under oath. Even though the scandals of him and his wife are too numerous to list.
He will shrug. “In my country dey weel win medals and honors. Dey sound like model leaders.”
When you see the shrug, tell him millions of Americans shrug when they are confronted with this. “Hey, Senor. Dees is de way de tortilla crumbles.”
Tell him some brave souls have revealed details of much of this. They have hacked into email systems.
“Oooh, Senor. In my country dees is a dangerous ting to do. Do dees and maybe you be murdered.”
By the government? “Maybe. And maybe by de guys you hack. Dangerous. Hey, you want another margarita? Enjoy yourself here in Chiquita-ville. Eet is nice dat you could join us. And you bring your entire country weeth you!”
From Tom…as in Morgan.