How Class Realignment Broke the Democrats

The world Mr. Continetti describes below is a pleasant world.

And he is right. These conferences always have a lot of mood lighting. (It’s one of the things I like about these get togethers admittedly. I’m a sucker for some subdued purplish hues with a backdrop of ambient music.) Usually there’s a logo of some organization or another projected onto the wall or the floor of the hotel reception area. Drinks are had. Hors d’ oeuvres enjoyed. Then discussion and speeches. Then breakout sessions. And so on.

Like I said, it’s pleasant. But it isn’t reality.

(From The Washington Free Beacon)

The summit Dovere describes is a parody of a group therapy session for the liberal gentry, a cutaway scene from Veep minus Selina Meyer. “There was a morning meditation and yoga session, and an evening concert with Chance the Rapper and The National,” he wrote. Lucky ducks. He noticed a chalkboard where attendees were free to write down their hopes. “Samples: ‘We speak better and listen,’ ‘Americans will see each other’; ‘my nephews will escape toxic masculinity.'” One speaker asked the crowd, “Is there space among the woke for the still-waking?” (Not on college campuses.) The same speaker also mentioned something called the “starfish illusion.” Pretty psychedelic. I had to look it up.

Even the former president seemed aware of the absurdity of the proceedings. “Obama spent two feel-good but amorphous days making pop-in appearances at sessions and watching with bemusement, first as people didn’t realize he was in the room, then at the wave of squeals and applause that swept over as they realized he was there,” Dovere continues. “José Andres was at the hotel bar. Prince Harry was on stage, in jeans.” Mateo Renzi, the former Italian prime minister, was present as well. Lin-Manuel Miranda free-styled. At the pop-up bookstore you could buy Ta-Nehisi Coates’s latest, along with Man’s Search for Meaning. Someone told Dovere that he had entered “the sanity bubble.”

The sanity bubble! What a perfect label for the environs of the self-satisfied and righteous, the elegantly appointed ballrooms where the high and mighty, silhouetted in magenta up-lighting, nod reverentially at clichés mouthed by the latest faddish “thought leader,” before tucking into, say, a caprese salad with arugula and pesto, followed by spinach and gorgonzola tortelloni with caramelized pears and bleu cheese cream. Within the sanity bubble life is pleasant, comfortable, and agreeable, its niceties and pleasures and fixed ideas interrupted by only the maelstrom of political and economic change outside.

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