Why Does Politics Taste so Bad?

Here I am in class, and we’re discussing a hypothetical: Clinton had a lesbian love affair at Wellesley, you’re on an opposing team, what do you do? Leak it? Sit on it? Post it anonymously on a blog?

Quote: “Why not sit on it and wait until it can really strike a fatal blow?”

Why on earth is the election of a powerful world leader occasion to “strike a fatal blow”?

We talk in circles about how to get it out to the press anonymously, because no one wants to be seen as homophobic. Well then, don’t use it! Or perhaps I’m too strong a proponent of honesty, but I’d like to see someone slip it in the papers and have Clinton say, “oh, yeah, that’s right, I did have girlfriend once. It didn’t work out.” I’ve completely lost track of why on earth this is a relevant topic for discussion. When did the foibles of people’s private lives—and we all have them—become the basis of our decision to elect them?

I feel a bit like I’m drinking liquor from the bottle: it burns. It makes my head spin. It tastes awful.