Precisely three years ago, when Nancy Pelosi returned to the city of her youth to eulogize her late brother Tommy, she delivered a political philosophy now considered utterly naïve in the aftermath of barbarism.
Her language sounded like something out of Scripture. At the same time, Donald Trump’s daily language sounded like some 12-year-old in mid-tantrum. He was calling the Speaker of the House “Crazy Nancy.” He believes such name-calling is the essence of biting wit and nimble sophistication.
Pelosi — the daughter of one former mayor of Baltimore, Thomas D’Alesandro Jr., and sister of another, Tommy III — spoke that morning from the pulpit at St. Ignatius Roman Catholic Church, on North Calvert Street. Growing up in Baltimore’s Little Italy, she declared she was handed down a family philosophy for all political confrontations, even the most rancorous.
“’He that throweth mud loseth ground,’” she said.
In the current atmosphere, those words sound sweet and civilized — and frighteningly outdated and naïve.
We’ve gone beyond muddy language now. In the dark hours of Friday morning, Oct. 28, a haunted lunatic broke into the Pelosi household in San Francisco, demanding “Where’s Nancy?” and attacked her husband, 82-year-old Paul Pelosi, fracturing his skull and damaging his hands and arm with repeated hammer blows.
The suspect’s words echoed the cries of the rioters who attacked the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, with their rage and insane political fantasies. They also reflect the growing, enormous number of death threats to members of the U.S. Congress, including thousands to Pelosi.
In the years since Trump first became president, the number of recorded threats against members of Congress have increased more than tenfold, according to the U.S. Capitol Police, with more than 9,600 threats last year.
On Sunday, Oct. 30, the New York Times reported that Republicans have spent more than $227 million in ads featuring Pelosi in the last three years. One example: Pelosi’s face framed by the barrel of a gun, complete with the sound of a bullet firing as red bleeds down the screen.
The man charged with attacking Paul Pelosi is 42-year-old David DePape, who went beyond mere threats. Police are checking blog posts attached to someone with that name. The posts espouse antisemitism, racism, “elite” control of media, the typical deranged hatefulness turning half the country mad.
This is not the America we thought we knew when Donald Trump shoved his way into politics. The bigots and the bullies have always been out there. But Trump spoke their language in a way no other president ever has, and thus liberated them.
His earliest remarks about immigrants, all the way to his latest threats about Jews, gave license to bigots who’d previously hidden in America’s shadowy corners.
Trump legitimized roughhouse tactics, from his earliest rallies where he urged crowds to physically attack any dissenters, to his unconscionable equivocating about the racists marching in Charlottesville.
And with the country splintering, he’s continued to lie about his election loss to Joe Biden.
All of this has fed his followers’ darkest fantasies, including the deluded attacker of Paul Pelosi.
Nancy Pelosi was 3,000 miles from her husband when the attacker arrived. She’d gotten the awful news in the middle of the night and quickly ran to get a flight west. Imagine the fear and anxiety and sheer exhaustion of the moment.
Three years ago, as she eulogized her brother Tommy, Pelosi had just stepped off a plane from Afghanistan, where she spoke to U.S. military leaders and troops. As she stood in a quiet corner of St. Ignatius, a mourner whispered to her, “You must be exhausted.”
“I don’t do exhaustion,” she replied with a wan smile.
Minutes later, she told the gathering she didn’t throw mud, either. It sounded so civilized. And in this miserable moment, so defenseless, as well.
Michael Olesker’s latest book, “Boogie: Life on A Merry-Go-Round,” was recently published by Apprentice House. It’s the life story of Baltimore legend Leonard “Boogie” Weinglass, an original “Diner” guy who grew up to create the Merry-Go-Round clothing chain and contribute millions to charity.
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