An Open Letter
I watched them endure taunts from your allies, and even from you, Mr. President. Your side called them wackos and nutjobs and racists and everything else in the book. And they endured the insults with a quiet determination worthy of John Wayne or Gary Cooper. But these weren't brawny actors on the safety of a movie set. They were normal Americans who had decided they'd had enough, political neophytes going up against the best the Democrats and Republicans had to offer.
Then I saw them go to the voting booths last November to wage one of the most effective -- and polite -- revolutions in American political history. Their message:
Make the tough decisions, Mr. President. Stop taxing and spending and borrowing and regulating this great country out of existence. We aren't Europe -- we don't want to be coddled!
I don't know how you define "soft," Mr. President, but that's not how I define it.
There is, of course, another American. That's the America of public sector unions and the professionally aggrieved and Wall Street and tottering big businesses. They're the ones crying for bailouts or wailing that they might have to pay a little more than just a couple percent of their own health benefits. They're the ones hurling insults, and generally behaving like small children who have been spared nothing but the rod -- and for a very long time.
That's your American, Mr. President. Those are your supporters. They're the people your political future depends on. And they're the reason -- you are the reason -- the rest of us have had to become as hard as nails.
You might not be able to see that right now, Mr. President. But I can promise you'll feel the hard truth on Election Day.