Okay, so I’m starting to understand.

Don’t get me wrong. This by no means that I’ve suddenly decided to start supporting you, or even really start to like you. I’m still an Obama supporter, through and through. And I respectfully disagree with you on many of your positions (the Gas Tax Holiday, universal health care, Social Security, etc).

What I’m getting as is the driving force behind your intense push for the Democratic presidential nomination. Since March I’ve been wonder why you’ve kept going. It’s rare that a Primary goes this long. Since I’ve been old enough to pay attention, there’s usually been a clear candidate by this point (we all knew it was going to be your husband in 1992; I don’t know where you’re getting June from), so the fact that you want to take this to the convention (regardless of what you’re telling people) is a bit alarming.

You thought you were the chosen one.

Sixteen years ago, you were the wife of a man who was en route to the White House. Bill was all over the place, vying against an incumbent who promised “no new taxes” but created them anyway. Many point to the appearance on The Arsenio Hall Show as the turning point. Others say it was his charisma that did the trick. The package of Bill and you and Al and Tipper made the ballot, and the people (well, a good chunk of the people) spoke. George and Babs and Dan and whoever Dan’s wife was were outta there.

You then attempted to become the most active First Lady since Eleanor. It made perfect sense: Bill was rather popular with his moderate ways and smooth demeanor, Al was showing that a Vice President can be more than a guy with his finger on the button or a guy who can’t spell “Potato,” and Tipper had already raised a stink over dirty lyrics in music (we still hate her for that, by the way). Rather than feel left out, you went before Congress and pushed a health plan they didn’t want. A Congress controlled by your own party.

I’m not sure what had happened; I was too young at the time to understand why this was such an odd thing. I learned later that Reagan got along better with the Democratic Congress than you and your husband did in his first term. In the long run, it didn’t matter much. Life went on, then the Republicans took control of the Senate and House, and all Hell broke loose.

Bill fought off sex scandal after sex scandal, then the “vast right wing conspiracy” came after him. I’m not sure why. The whole country was up in arms over a blowjob, and the Federal Government decided to get involved. About as silly as your colleague Arlen having hearings over the Patriots cheating, but it happened. And it cost a lot of money.

For your part, you stood up for yourself, distancing yourself from the women described by Patsy Cline and being your own person. This was a good thing. But you stayed married to him, and by his side. Not being a woman, I’m not sure what the protocol on that is, but it sure seemed odd to me at the time.

Bill’s presidency came to an end in 2000. Looking back, he really didn’t make a damned bit of difference. He didn’t push to make cars and trucks more fuel efficient, he spoke out against gay rights and bombed Iraq to take the focus off his impeachment hearings. There were a number of other things as well, but I might break WordPress if I list them all here.

You and he wrote books (well, paid people a percentage of your fee to write books for you) and you got more money than Bill did. This was the first time we saw aspirations from you, leading into your strange run for the Senate in New York. As a New Yorker, I was confused as all hell.

You relocated to New York from Arkansas via D.C. You waffled over which baseball team to support. You didn’t appear to have a chance until Mayor Guliani “took ill” and sent some unknown schlub to take his place. You became a Senator, and suddenly had real power. Constitutional power, no less.

You decided to use this power against free speech. You still are, as you support bills suppressing the rights of designers to make any video game they’d like, just because a kid might play it at some point. You’ve even sided with Democratic turncoat Joe Lieberman on this issue. Sadly, this is the only thing I remember you for as a Senator.

What this all balls up to is this: it should have been a cakewalk. You were the First Lady, one that tried to do more than tell kids to “Just Say No.” You were the Senator from progressive bastion New York, albeit the unlikely Senator. You were the wife that didn’t simply stand there (at least for a few minutes) when your husband made a public mistake.

You would have pulled it off, if it weren’t for those meddling kids.

And by meddling kids, I mean Barack Obama.

Nobody expected it. Not even myself. The Democratic Party is about as immutable as its Republican counterpart. Very little change has come around since Jack Kennedy dared to be a Catholic in power, diplomatically steering the nation away from WWIII. So this bright spark was about as foreseen as a Spanish Inquisition.

2004 rolls around and a young man takes the stage in Boston. He delivers a speech that makes many take notice. They start talking, and the words “Presidential candidate” start getting dropped in the same breath as “Barack Obama.” The spotlight was shifted from you, the most viable female candidate in history (sorry, Carol Moseley Braun) to Senator Obama.

I can see why you feel scorned, both by your party and the nation. Can’t be a great feeling, either. Nobody likes to be the silver medalist.

So, yeah, I get it. I get why you’re still fighting. My only issue is that you’re fighting dirty.

But this letter isn’t about that. It’s about me coming to grips with what I’ve mistaken as insanity, or vengefulness, or hurtfulness or stupidity. You simply feel left out. Like you didn’t get picked for kickball, or make the cheerleading squad.

Perhaps it’s all for the best. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Maybe Bill Richardson, John Conyers and Martin Sheen were planning on dumping goat blood on you in Denver, Carrie style.

For what it’s worth, the moment I knew things had changed was when my mother brought up something political. She hadn’t done so, beyond chastising President Bush for warmongering.

She said that she was watching 24, in which the fictional United States had a fictional African-American President. She suddenly arrived at the notion that we would have a black president before a female one. My mother may not be James Carville, but she doesn’t make such statements without a certain insight.

I hope my rantings (and the declaration of my mother) haven’t caused you to stir. I’m sure you’ll never see this epistle, and even if you did, the ramblings of a displaced New Yorker probably doesn’t hold much weight to what your supporters, friends and family have to say.

I just wanted to get this off my chest. I understand, Senator Clinton. I see where you’re coming from.

Best of luck in Puerto Rico today, and in Montana and South Dakota on Tuesday. I have a feeling you’ll need it. And I say that with no malice whatsoever.

Regards,
Tom Tostanoski
Citizen