Manuel Roig-Franzia at the Washington Post described the perils facing Samantha Power: dictators, third world warlords, terrorist. None of them inspired in her the slightest fear.  There was only one thing on earth that gave her pause.  Hillary.

Power’s ascent was interrupted when she resigned as a senior foreign policy adviser on Obama’s 2008 presidential campaign after calling his opponent, Hillary Clinton, “a monster” during an interview with the Scotsman newspaper. Power, who thought her comment was off the record, was referring to Clinton’s campaign tactics. …

If Power had not said that single word — “monster” — she might have started in a much more public role in the first Obama administration. Instead, she was tucked away for four years on the National Security Council staff. She learned the rites of silence.

Silence is golden. Especially in the rarefied air of polite society. Polite society — now there’s a phrase.

Recently the British press has been rocked by a series of revelations that beloved Leftist leaders  were actually pedophiles whose crimes were covered up, time and again by instructions from on high.  The secret lives of the famous were shrouded in decorous silence: those of  ’pop stars, a bishop and top politicians’ was how one publication put it.

The shocking scale of the Establishment cover-up of former Liberal MP Cyril Smith’s sickening sex abuse of boys is revealed today.

For four decades, the depraved 29st [stone=14 pounds] politician was free to prey on vulnerable children as young as eight.

Police received at least 144 complaints by victims of the predatory paedophile yet the authorities blocked any prosecution – allowing Smith brazenly to continue his abuse.

The Liberal Party even put his name forward for a knighthood in 1988 in spite of the rumours of his sordid activities swirling around Westminster.

Jabba the Hutt

Jabba the Hutt

To the press Cyril Smith was a “working class hero”. But by night he allegdly frequented a place called the Elm Guest house, patronized by among others, Anthony Blunt. In that place people could “be themselves”. It was non-denomational sort of place, with grandees from every walk of life, except apparently the femine. “It had a reputation. Somebody told me that their daughter had come home and saw a lot of naked men in the front room as she walked past.”

It was the nightmare on Elm Street before the movie came out. Filled with high minded individuals who had turned orphanages — some of whom they were the patrons — into their own private henhouses and threw the human detritus onto the street when they passed a certain age, where they would, if they knew the form, commit suicide and leave the grandees to a younger generation, they were really the ultimate clubs of power.  They were places where you could show who you were, surrounded by people too afraid to speak out. A place where Silence was Golden.