Too, Too Annoying
Challenged recently to name our least favorite prince of the church, THE SCRAPBOOK barely hesitated: That would be Archbishop Desmond Tutu, onetime primate of the Anglican communion in South Africa.
Yes, we know, he’s a much-loved avuncular figure, with his googly-eyed glasses, ski-lift nose, and comical accent, always mugging and dancing and laughing uproariously, and turning up everywhere from Zanzibar to Kalamazoo. We long ago lost count of the number of honorary degrees he’s collected from American universities, and what would panels and commissions and holiday Aspen seminars be without the presence of Archbishop Tutu? (Did we mention that he won the 1984 Nobel Peace Prize?)
The trouble is that a little Desmond Tutu goes a long, long way. To be sure, the archbishop was a principled opponent of apartheid in South Africa, for which we are pleased to commend him. Less pleasing, however, is his corresponding lack of interest in freedom anywhere else in the world, and his relentless–some might say obsessive–disapproval of American foreign policy and most of our recent presidents (sample: Ronald Reagan was “immoral, evil, and totally un-Christian”). Archbishop Tutu is one of those paradoxical celebrities whose hatred of the United States is matched by his delight in exercising his right to free speech within its borders.
True to form, Tutu recently took to the pages of the Washington Post to celebrate the election of Barack Obama (“I want to jump and dance and shout”) and, in characteristic fashion, offer some archepiscopal snarls at the man Obama succeeds: “For those of us who have looked to America for inspiration as we struggled for democracy and human rights,” he wrote, “these past seven years have been lean ones.” After the 9/11 attacks, Tutu continued, “we had our first shock, hearing your president respond not with the statesmanlike demeanor we had come to expect from a U.S. head of state but like a Western gunslinger. Later, it seemed that much of American society was following his lead.”
Readers will note that the retired Anglican archbishop has nothing to say about the tyranny of the Taliban in Afghanistan, or the sinister character of Saddam Hussein’s regime in Iraq. No, his first shock after 9/11 was George W. Bush and his administration, which has “riled people everywhere. Its bully-boy attitude has sadly polarized our world.”
Ordinarily, THE SCRAPBOOK wouldn’t trouble itself to point out the conceit in Tutu’s observation–George Bush, not Osama bin Laden, is the international “bully-boy”–or his boilerplate prose. But we were gratified to observe, a few days later, that one Post reader, Edward H. Beck of Burke, Virginia, couldn’t contain himself. After enumerating the “effectiveness of several international programs, including the attacks on malaria and HIV/AIDS, carried out by the Bush administration,” Mr. Beck drove to the heart of the matter:
That is, if Archbishop Tutu can stop jumping and dancing and shouting for a moment, and contemplate the moral blindness and obtutusenesss of a celebrated Anglican archbishop.
The Bunker Mentality
Well, it’s finished. It took the better part of two decades and slightly more than half a billion dollars, but construction of the Capitol Visitor Center–the huge, underground facility by which tourists will now enter the U.S. Capitol building–has been completed. The center opens to the public on December 2, roughly 18 years after Congress first authorized the project.
Has it been worth the wait? Let’s see: Instead of waiting in long, interminable lines for hours on end, exposed to the elements and without easy access to restrooms, those seeking entry into the People’s House will wait in long, interminable lines for hours on end, in a climate-controlled underground bunker with movie theaters, gift shops, computers, and–we are not exaggerating here–26 restrooms.
The creation of the Capitol Visitor Center is, in its way, a lesson in American democracy. Congress approved the project in 1991 with a budget of $71 million. When construction began in earnest in 2002, the budget had ballooned to more than $250 million. By 2003, $370 million. Construction was supposed to be finished in December 2005. Three years later, the total cost has mounted to $621 million. Those 26 restrooms must be pretty nice.
There’s a larger point, however. Sometimes it seems as though our political class possesses an insatiable desire to burrow underground while inhibiting access to the nation’s treasured monuments. For example, the beautiful east steps of the Capitol will be out of reach to most of the public come December 2. It will be difficult for visitors to take in the grandeur of the building up close. Here’s how Catesby Leigh put it in an article in these pages some years ago (“Subterranean Blues,” January 13, 2003):
We couldn’t have put it better.
Fool Me Once .  .  .
A couple of pranksters have been up to no good, taking credit for the smears of Sarah Palin by pretending to be “Martin Eisenstadt,” a “senior fellow” at the “Harding Institute for Freedom and Democracy” who advised John McCain’s presidential bid. Turns out Eisenstadt claims to be the “source” of many of the anti-Palin leaks that have bubbled up in recent days. Of course, the whole thing is a hoax–neither Eisenstadt nor the Harding Institute actually exist. Which, funnily enough, didn’t stop credulous media outlets from repeating his claims. According to the New York Times, among those who fell for the hoax were MSNBC, the Los Angeles Times, and the New Republic.
Wait a minute. The New Republic? You’ve got to be kidding!
Signs of the Times
Spotted on the National Mall: a group of Japanese tourists posing for photographs in front of .  .  . the Federal Reserve.
Overheard at the intersection of Connecticut and L Streets in DC: a panhandler yelling, “Obama said it was time for change. .  .  . So give me some change for a hot dog!”
Articles We Didn’t Start
“Obama’s Good Start” (David Broder, Washington Post, November 13).
You Can’t Make It Up
“I woke up the next morning [after Election Day] still under the spell of solidarity and love. I decided to make the spell last. I gave away my tickets to a performance of some late Shostakovich quartets, because for once I was not interested in the despair. Instead I spent the day listening to the Ebonys and the Chi-Lites and the Isley Brothers. For lunch I went to Georgia Brown’s for fried green tomatoes” (Leon Wieseltier, New Republic, November 19).
