This entry was posted on 1/30/2009 9:58 AM and is filed under uncategorized.
It would not be much of a tribute to Molly Ivins, who died January 31st two years ago, if I got all weepy on her.
Her weapon was wit and her stock in trade, laughter, so she would probably prefer I have a beer in her honor and use my talent to throw pies in the faces of the "blue-bellied full-blooded nincompoop who holds elected office" rather than dropping to my knees with a Wayne's World-type I'm not worthy accolade.
Although it's true. I'm really not.
It's a damn shame that Bush and his cronies have given the state of Texas such a bad name, because Texas is also the home of some of the greatest broads EVER, like Molly Ivins, Ann Richards, and their suriviving pal, Liz Smith. Lady Bird Johnson, while not as bodacious as her more vocal Texas sisters Ann and Molly, made a powerful mark on the conservation movement, herself, and not just by beautifying highways. The Johnson Ranch is home to more wildflower seeds, lovingly preserved and beautifully displayed every spring, than anywhere else in the country.
Boy, do I miss those gals, and none more than Molly Ivins.
Back when W and his Rovian minions were first spreading their sulphurous fumes around the state, trying to unseat Governor Richards by claiming that she was still drinking and doing drugs, (which of course, she hadn't done in decades), Molly wrote that, charming devil though he may be, she thought good ole W was enough of a little-man type of bully that some people needed to take him more seriously.
"Like," she pointed out, "Maybe Saddam Hussein."
And while we miss her delicious scorn and wise laughs to this day, THIS is the kind of prophecy that we really miss from Molly.
Of course, nobody paid attention to her really, at the time. But she wrote those words fifteen years ago.
Fifteen. Years. Ago.
Molly didn't just sit around bloviating like so many pundits and pontificators. She FOUGHT. She fought for what was right, fought to expose what she knew was wrong, and by God, she kept fighting right up to the day she died.
My best friend died of breast cancer, so I have some small idea of the toll that particular battle takes. But in Molly's last column, when I can only imagine how physically weak she must have been at that point, she was fighting--not the disease and the unfairness of it all--but THE WAR:
We are the people who run this country. We are the deciders. And every single day, every single one of us needs to step outside and take some action to help stop this war. Raise hell. Think of something to make the ridiculous look ridiculous. Make our troops know we're for them and trying to get them out of there. Hit the streets to protest... If you can, go to the peace march in Washington on January 27. We need people in the streets, banging pots and pans and demanding, "Stop it, now!"
Who else with her stature had the guts, in 2007, to just yell, STOP IT, NOW!
She noticed Obama, too, and not just in 2006 when he caught the political world's attention, but in 2004. After watching the famous speech at the Democratic convention, she turned to a friend and said, flat-out, that she thought he would eventually be president. Later, when he announced his candidacy, she was all for it, saying, "Yes, he should run. He's the only Democat with any Elvis to him."
Of all the tributes I've read to Molly Ivins, perhaps the most moving was the one that appeared today at Buzzflash.com. It was written by Betsy Moon, who was Molly's "Chief of Stuff" for six years, worked closely with her, and came to love her.
Writing from Austin, Moon says:
The question I have been asked most often during the last two years is, "What would Molly think about this?" Molly Ivins would have loved this election. She would have loved the beautiful sight of "We the People" finally stepping up to become the real deciders. She would have loved the drama, the comedy and the characters.
We miss her regular twice-weekly comments and insights, and want to hear her dissect, slice and dice, and make fun of the events and revelations of the week. No one could do it like she did. She made us feel like we weren't alone. She made us want to be our better selves and stand up and use our power. She would be so proud that we finally woke up and worked to make this happen.
Molly believed that, as U.S. citizens, we--each and every one of us--possess more power than anyone else in the world. She believed with all her heart that one voice can indeed change the world. She was a woman ahead of her time who missed perhaps the greatest of all times to be Molly.
But if I know one thing about my fellow Texan, it is this. She would be furious with us if we just shook our heads sadly and said, "Too bad she's gone."
Because she's not gone.
As Betsy Moon quotes in her tribute, from a letter Molly sent to the ACLU, a cause to which she donated much of her estate:
"Every time someone down the line is irreverent about authority, I'll have my monument. Every time some kid who was born a nigger, a kike, a wop, a Polack, a gook, a gimp, a fag, or just a plain maverick lifts up her head and dares anyone to stop her, I'll have my monument. Every time they peaceably assemble to petition their government for redress of a grievance, I'll be there. Whenever they worship as they please (or not at all), I'll be there. Whenever they speak up and speak out and raise hell, I'll be there. And every time some blue-bellied, full-blooded nincompoop who holds elected office is called to the floor for deciding to keep us safe by rewriting the Constitution, or by suspending due process and holding a citizen indefinitely without legal representation, I'll be there. Now that is immortality. I don't have any children, so I've decided to claim all the future freedom-fighters and hell-raisers as my kin. I figure freedom and justice beat having my name in marble any day. Besides, if there is another life after this one, think how much we'll get to laugh watching it all."
So Molly, sistuh-girl, here's a beer to ya darlin'.
We're proud hell-raisers, all of us, and we will continue to speak up and speak out. We will beat the hell outta those pots and pans.
You showed us the way. Now we're crashin' our own gates.
Molly died too soon, for example, to find out that, while New Orleans drowned and Iraq burned, W was pitching his little-man fits outside the Oval Office because his staff dared to show up on a Saturday without a coat and tie.
Priorities.
I can just imagine the laugh she'd get out of that one and the razor-sharp word-filleting she'd do right NOW, while the Bushies are going all out to rewrite history and put a warm, fuzzy sheen on their hero.
Molly, I've got my pots and my pans right here and I'm beating the high holy hell out of them.
I KNOW you can hear me.
And THAT'S my tribute.
