A matter of perspective… No, no, it isn’t

I was reading just yesterday, on that excellent means for wasting time and creativity, QUORA.com a defence of the US Republican Party against the frequently made charge that they are on the right wing edge of a political system so out of whack compared with the rest of the rich, industrialised world that you might as well be looking at the court of Philip II of Spain, or maybe one of the Manchu Emperors for all the connection they have with civilised political discourse.

It was a good defence, pointing out all the things the Republicans had in common with European parties and calling out  to the many more extreme, dictatorial and cruel governments there are in the world. I almost wish I could find it now to take to pieces the rhetorical devices that had me nodding along and saying ‘Yes, yes, why can’t we all get along…’

(Brexit fatigue is hitting pretty strongly just now.)

And then today I read this.  

It’s the story of how a teacher in California who is sick with cancer is having to make a financial contribution to the salary of the substitute who has taken her place.

It gets worse.

The law under which this is done was passed in 1976.

Both my parents were teachers. I have ranted before about how right wing politicians in particular like to bully the people who try to ensure that the next generation can read, write, do basic arithmetic and wipe their own arses.

And since the time when I was just completing my post-graduate year at Manchester this vile piece of legislation has been there to make clear to the world that the people the Californians elect to run their affairs consider the teaching profession a bunch of worthless skivers who if they grow too sick to turn up and perform their thankless tasks must be punished for having the temerity to want to be public employees.

My good will for the conservative wave in modern culture has just evaporated again.  I am prevented by my age, ill  health and basic laziness from organising a revolution but I do wish I had done more recently to discomode the fellow travellers in the Tory party.

I  voted LibDem in the European elections (some of us have postal votes you know) so Nigel Farage sending me a photo of his repulsive visage and a bunch of self-serving drivel this morning was wasting his time. But I do wish I could do something that would get through the seemingly infinite thickness of the PM’s skull and that she could not rationalise away.

Ah well, it’s too late to take up tumbril driving at my time of life, citizens.