Posts published in “Meador”

What do a Washington-state beauty queen and several Southern rednecks have in common?

It’s not a joke, although it sounds like the beginning of a bad one. Unfortunately, the answer to the question is even worse than a bad joke: the beauty queen and the rednecks are lily-white yet they believe it’s just fine, thank you very much, to use the n-word.

That ugly word’s deep-seated aura of hatred and despair should see it banished forever from the American lexicon. But, no, white-skinned bigots, dullards and rubes all across the land believe it’s theirs to use.

In a country with a robust record of defending free speech — even awful speech — why is this one term dangerously problematic? Two words: Ahmaud Arbery. Wait. Considering the countless other Black men who suffered fates similar to Arbery’s, it’s a whole lot more than two words.

Although known for my occasional blue language, I do maintain a short list of words I simply won’t say, ever. The n-word is one of those. I won’t even quote someone else saying it, although I wanted to for this column because the word is so jarring. If I’d used it here, I would’ve hoped to evoke the disgust I feel when people like Washington-state beauty queens and Southern rednecks use it.

The reigning Miss Teen Washington ignited all manner of controversy when a video of her using the n-word resurfaced last week. Seventeen-year-old Kate Dixon is set to represent the state of Washington at the upcoming Miss Teen USA pageant, but increasing voices on social media are calling for her expulsion from the competition.

The TikTok video shows Dixon and a friend singing a vulgar audio track and using the n-word. The video has received nearly 8 million views.

I won’t attempt to defend a privileged, immature white girl who believes she can say that word. Not even when it was three years ago when she said it at age 14 — c’mon, it’s been common knowledge among youth that such slurs were absolutely unacceptable way before 2018.

Dixon’s rambling semi-apology spoke volumes about her lack of understanding how this one word can cut. Frankly, I have great difficulty believing her lengthy apology — Dixon spent way more time trying to explain and blame the slur away than she did in humble remorse. I believe she’s lying. She was caught.

Do I believe Dixon regrets saying the n-word? Of course she regrets it. But, in my opinion, her regret is tied directly to the difficulty she’s experiencing in the court of public opinion and the threat to her crown. I do not believe she is mature enough to understand the deep and ancient hurt her casual and privileged use of that word can cause. Maybe someday, but not today.

Then there was the evidence submitted this week in the federal hate crimes trial of Travis McMichael, Gregory McMichael and William “Roddie” Bryan, the trio who ambushed a Black jogger and killed him.

On February 23, 2020, Ahmaud Arbery, a 25-year-old Black man, was out jogging in Glynn County, Georgia. As Arbery ran, Travis McMichael, his father, Gregory McMichael and their neighbor, William “Roddie” Bryan, decided Arbery was a thief so they pursued him, then unlawfully detained him before shooting Arbery three times as the unarmed Black man tried to defend himself. Blessedly, Bryan recorded the entire series of crimes on his cell phone.

The trio was convicted of felony murder, aggravated assault and other charges. The McMichaels were sentenced to life imprisonment with no possibility of parole plus 20 years. Bryan got life imprisonment with the possibility of parole after 30 years.

Last week, these three bigots were tried on federal hate crimes charges. Naturally, defense counsel tried to play down and explain away damning evidence submitted by prosecutors but no intelligent adult could interpret the trio’s own words as anything other than hate-filled.

When text messages and social media posts by Travis McMichael and Bryan were read in court, their bigoted language was shockingly coarse enough to earn a courtroom warning from prosecutors beforehand. Even the defense was forced to acknowledge the unusually nasty nature of the bigots’ own words.

Bryan and McMichael used racist words routinely. All three publicly supported vigilantism. The junior McMichael disliked Black people intensely enough to wish them dead. He referred to Black people as “animals,” “criminals,” “monkeys” and “subhuman savages.” An overweight Black woman was the “walrus.” All three men used the n-word liberally.

Sorry, folks, that’s hate. But as repugnant as this case is, there’s a little poetic justice in using a defendant’s own words to illustrate just how he feels about things. The McMichaels and Bryan made their (eventually fatal) feelings crystal clear.

Now, I hope it’s obvious I am not equating a privileged, ignorant, white teenage girl with armed redneck bigots looking for a fight. Yes, one is far worse than the other. Nevertheless, cavalier use of racist words is arguably an open door to the bigoted way of life. Put another way, one of the first practices of a foolish youth who will eventually become a hardened adult bigot is liberal use of racist language.

It boils down to this: white people, you cannot say the n-word. Not even if you have friends who say it. Not even if you have friends of color who say it. Not even if you’re quoting someone else. Not even if you’re singing along with a rap song. You can’t say it. Ever.

You do not understand the hundreds-year history of hatred and despair that word evokes for so many Black Americans. You do not understand it and you could not possibly understand it without living it. White people do not get to say that word.

Still, sometimes oafish white people vomit out words of pain because they don’t realize those terms cut people who have lived decidedly different lives. And sometimes those outbursts are just stupid gaffes — words of the clueless that, nevertheless, can be occasionally transformed into teachable moments.

As I’ve pointed out more than once, radical change has always relied upon attrition to achieve its end. But while attrition sees the bitter holdouts literally drop dead, the process is ponderously slow and, well, not particularly satisfying from any perspective other than the cynical. Nevertheless, I do believe redemption is possible for some.

Redemption? Yeah, remember that? Redemption was that thing where we allowed people to humbly atone for their mis-steps, blunders and moral lapses back before we decided canceling them was both more fun and more satisfying now that we’ve learned to wield social media like a cudgel.

In the end, I have little sympathy for the Washington-state beauty queen and the Southern rednecks. None have demonstrated humility or heartfelt contrition.

Is redemption possible for people like Dixon? Sure, but, for her, it’s probably not going to come without some maturity and a genuine effort at empathy. And the queen may yet lose her crown.

What about the McMichaels and Bryan? Even they are not beyond redemption but their atonement — if it ever happens — will take place where it belongs, behind prison walls.

Redemption is one thing. Justice is quite another.

Matthew Meador is a former food and wine writer, senior editor and a rare moderate Republican who now writes political commentary. Previously, Matt was an award-winning graphic artist who often put his skills to use during election seasons. Matt has served in various capacities on political campaigns, for pollsters and for elected officials. Contact him at matthewmeador.com.

Photocomposite © 2022 Nojan Namdar and Ussama Azam via Unsplash
 

Please forgive the title of this column. I wouldn’t dream of using those words in conversation. Not today. Not 30 years ago. But for reasons you might understand already or maybe in a few minutes, that vulgar little phrase is probably the perfect title for what might be the eulogy of an era. Besides, they’re not my words — I’m merely quoting a former mayor.

I don’t often find myself moved or saddened by the death of someone of whom I haven’t had a thought in years. But it happened this week with the death of Bud Clark, Mayor Emeritus of Portland. Clark’s departure seems to signal the bitter end of an era, at least to me.

Clark, if you remember correctly, served as Portland mayor from the mid-1980s to the early 1990s. He became known internationally when he posed for Mike Ryerson’s “Expose Yourself to Art” poster, on which Clark was viewed from behind as he seemingly flashed Norman Taylor’s bronze nude “Kvinneakt” on Portland’s downtown transit mall.

But Clark was probably most fondly known as the gregarious and jovial barkeep at his popular neighborhood watering hole, The Goose Hollow Inn. My buddy likes to relate the tale when he and a group of other twenty-somethings received a boisterous invitation from an exuberant, grey-haired, bearded guy standing on the outside deck of The Goose, as the tavern was known. Sure enough, Clark was waving them up to enjoy a cold one, totally earnest in his hospitality to a younger generation. My buddy still recalls the evening as one of those cosmically perfect Portland nights where everything was splendid and the world was worry-free for a while.

With the passing of Clark, they’re all gone. Clark was among the most colorful but he’s also pretty much the last of Portland’s unique downtowners.

Consider a few others. James DePriest, a giant in the world of classical music, will never be seen scarfing a Big Mac while wearing a tuxedo and sitting behind the wheel of his Cadillac outside the service door of the Schnitz. I’ve seen DePriest downing a quick dinner before a show at least three times. For that matter, the captivating lilt of Norman Leyden’s clarinet isn’t on the pops repertoire any longer, either.

Remember when Craig Berkman helmed a dignified and coherent Republican Party? Back then, two remarkably powerful senators might be seen hob-nobbing in various venues around Portland from time to time. Today, you might see Mark Hatfield’s name on a building or two but you won’t even find Bob Packwood’s name scrawled on a restroom wall.

I had a friend who insisted I invite another former mayor, Vera Katz, to one of my parties so he could “pat her on the ass and tell her what a great job she was doing.” His words, not mine — and slightly milder than the titular mayor’s words. Katz could be colorful, herself, but not like Clark. Nobody was as kooky as Clark.

It’s not just people, either. The Brasserie Montmartre is long gone.

Virginia Café made a gallant attempt to recreate its funky ambiance several blocks away from its signature cigarette-and-whiskey-stained wood, which was razed and replaced by clean granite and glass. Even if the V.C. made a good effort, the V.Q. disappeared without a trace.

Such joints went the way of peculiar Portland staples like Stephanie Pierce’s Church of Elvis, which, not coincidentally, was conjoined to what Pierce claimed was the world’s first 24-hour coin-operated art gallery.

A few blocks north, you’d never know Satyricon sold suspicious souvlaki out of a dingy walk-up window while little-known singers like Courtney Love or Kurt Cobain performed on the graffiti-streaked, beer-stained stage inside.

Even the quirky little brewpubs and breweries grew up, trading offbeat for mainstream, then selling out to giant beverage conglomerates. The aroma of hops from Henry Weinhard will never waft through the streets again — now, you’re lucky if all you can smell downtown is pee.

Collectively, these institutions firmly established that Portland had fairly won the “Keep Portland Weird” tag-line from Austin, Texas. But today, these landmarks have been replaced by tourist traps like Six-Flags-Over-Cereal-Donuts or sterile Apple stores. At least the sterility of Portland’s Apple merchant is marred by the better-than-even chance that, at any given time, at least two of its windows have been smashed and await repair. Keep Austin Weird, indeed.

So far, Clark’s amiable tavern has escaped all this progress. The Goose lives but this week it lost its master.

Which brings us back to Bud’s words, two of them, a perfect title for this column had I written it 25-or-so years ago. It’s not so much that the words convey a distasteful misogynist message (they do) than that Portland once could take a distasteful misogynist message and see past the distaste and misogyny to find the ribald humor spoken by a mayor who was a character of characters.

Portland was vibrant, alive, a city that wanted to step boldly into the future. It was a city that could laugh at itself, so confident was it of its place in a progressively constructive world. Portland was a city that could take a joke.

Maybe I’m just being melancholy. Heck, a little woe on my part should go unnoticed in the sea of self-indulgence that marks the 2020s. There was something reassuring — emotional comfort food, maybe — about the late-night Portland television antics of public-nudity-advocate-and-Danny-DeVito-double Jim Spagg. Yep, he was naked. And probably even hairier than his doppelganger.

And while we’re on the topic of TV in the wee hours, drag-queen-cum-televangelist Sister Paula always had an uplifting message as long as you weren’t stuck behind her in the liquor line. That gallon of gin could throw off the center of gravity of any six-foot-four telepreacher, high heels or no.

Always a populist, it’s easy to forget Mayor Bud Clark wasn’t always as popular as we tend to want to remember colorful dead people.

Penny Harrington, who died in 2021, was the first woman in the Portland Police Bureau to become a detective, a sergeant, a lieutenant and a captain before she was appointed chief of the bureau. Ms. Magazine named her “woman of the year,” that same 1985. The following year, Harvard Law School called Harrington one of the 10 most influential women in law. None of those distinctions would prevent Harrington from butting heads with the men entrenched in her command — and with her mayor. Less than two years into the gig, Harrington had enough.

Depending on who you ask, Clark exclaimed “Tits up!” in a badly misguided effort to cheer up a despondent Harrington or in an overly enthusiastic reaction to learning of her resignation.

As tacky and distasteful as I find those words, they were also funny in a bawdy Clarkian sense. In that quirky, old-school, keep-Portland-weird way, those two words sound so much better in the local history books than, I’m sure, they sounded at the time they were uttered.

And today, those two words are somehow the perfect disrespectful and irreverent words to toast the man who said them and the end of the era he so neatly represented.

While the safer, more polite part of me would’ve preferred a parting tribute like a mundane “last call,” the Portland side of me knows safe and mundane were never Clark’s talent and certainly never his preference.

Hopefully, I can be forgiven, just this once, for using Clark’s own words to send him off.

Tits up, Bud. Tits up.

Matthew Meador is a former food and wine writer, senior editor and a rare moderate Republican who now writes political commentary. Previously, Matt was an award-winning graphic artist who often put his skills to use during election seasons. Matt has served in various capacities on political campaigns, for pollsters and for elected officials. Contact him at matthewmeador.com.

(image © 2013 Ferrous Büller via Wiki)

They smeared human feces all over the Capitol. My Capitol. Your Capitol. I just learned this today. Of all the outrageous acts committed on Jan. 6, 2021, this one struck a nerve with me, offending me worse than any other.

I read a lot of news and I may or may not have skimmed over the Republican Capitol defecation and subsequent feces-painting when reading reports of all that transpired on that dark day. But when a friend mentioned the feces today, I truly heard it for the first time and I was appalled. Smearing human feces in the U.S. Capitol building is a disgusting desecration — the act of animals.

I expect fecal activity in the primate house at the zoo. I also expect it from hardened felons with no maturity, no self-control and nothing to lose. I do not expect Republicans to spread their own excrement around the nation’s hallowed Capitol. They purport to love America yet they’re willing to desecrate a historic symbol of its government with their own feces, making much of the world cringe in revulsion.

Right on time, I received an email from one of the Republican propaganda organizations — I get the ones from the Democrats’ propaganda houses, too — that shed a little light on the people wielding feces. The Republican email gloated that a university professor had analyzed the statistical data of the Jan. 6 arrests to discover that — wait for it! — the Trump supporters weren’t Trump supporters at all! No, even worse, University of Chicago Political Science Professor Robert A. Pape discovered the Jan. 6 Capitol besiegers were not Qanon nut-cases but were mostly mainstream Republicans!

Is the GOP so deluded that they think anyone outside the party cares what type of Trump supporter showed up? Most of us knew a lot of so-called mainstream Republicans took part in the Capitol event because they blabbed it all over social media afterward. Business owners, lawyers, realtors, the list was endless.

An article in The Atlantic predicted they were “...a coalition of the willing: deadbeat dads, YouPorn enthusiasts, slow students and MMA fans. They had heard the rebel yell, packed up their Confederate flags and Trump banners and GPS-ed their way to Washington. ...After a few wrong turns, they had pulled into the swamp with bellies full of beer and Sausage McMuffins, maybe a little high on Adderall, ready to get it done.”

U of C’s Pape found “[m]ost arrested were under age 55, many were business owners, had college degrees and came from urban, not rural, counties that voted for Joe Biden in 2020.” Pape compared the statistics of those arrested during the insurrection with the statistics of three broader categories: individuals arrested in recent years as “right-wing violent offenders,” the U.S. electorate in general and Trump supporters.

In his academic paper “American Face of Insurrection,” Pape found “The insurrectionists closely reflect the U.S. electorate on most socio-economic variables and, hence, come from the mainstream, not just the fringe of society.”

In a related Foreign Policy article, “The January 6 Insurrectionists Aren’t Who You Think They Are,” Pape says, considering the mainstream nature of the Capitol participants, “...[m]any millions of Americans sympathize with the rioters who attacked the U.S. Capitol. This large mainstream, popular support for insurrectionist sentiments makes it easier to rationalize political violence in the future. There is a large mass of kindling waiting for an incendiary moment.”

Pape is predicting more violence.

I know I am going to hear from outraged Republicans that “it had to be all the Antifa people rioting in the Capitol — there’s no way Republicans would do such a thing.” The problem I have with this is twofold. First, it has been pretty well established that there were no more than a handful of Antifans mingled in with all the MAGA-hat-clad rioters. Second, the same people who blame the almost-nonexistent Antifans keep trying to hook every awful act on said Antifans. Oh no, the Republicans didn’t do anything.

They’re asking me to believe most of the crowd were Antifa members disguised as MAGA-hatted Trump supporters. And all the deplorable acts were committed by them, just to make the Trumpists look bad. Apparently, the Trump supporters were there as docile tourists.

Seriously? Do you really believe I’m that stupid? Worse, are you really so blindly ignorant as to believe your own cartoon fantasy? Everyone who unlawfully entered the Capitol on Jan. 6 is guilty.

By the many hundreds, Capitol rioters on Jan. 6 boasted about their actions, bragging all across social media. They posted thousands of photos showing their proud misdeeds. Examination of their social media footprints showed people who’d been posting right-side material for months. Many were well-known in their communities. Sorry, apologists, these folks aren’t Antifans. They’re Republicans, they’re Trump fans, they’re rioters and they’re guilty..

And some of them spread human feces around our Capitol building. Classy, huh?

It’s bad enough they broke in with their guns and nooses but some of them produced fresh excrement and painted the halls, too.

Pigs.

I lived in downtown Portland for years. I have been to dozens of protests. Yes, I know there are some real losers among the leftists who make protest a way of life. I also know there are a heck of a lot of teenagers and twenty-somethings at these gatherings who can only parrot the most mundane talking points of the protest du jour. Many are students, many are unemployed and many are there for the action far more than they’re wed to any specific cause. As long as it’s cool, they’re along for the ride.

The sad thing is I know Antifans who’d smear feces in a second. Today, to my shock and disgust, I discovered I also know Republicans who will stoop to that level — who will have a whale of a good time collecting their personal sewage and fouling the walls of the nation’s Capitol.

To be very clear, there is a difference between rioting on the streets of Portland and assaulting the U.S. Capitol. Misbehavior on the streets of Portland is mind-numbingly common — the city is famous for its unlimited tolerance and lack of accountability. Defiling and fouling our Capitol is in a completely different class of dishonorable actions.

In a million years, I never thought I’d be writing a column focusing on people who smeared human feces throughout the hallowed halls of Congress. Even more difficult for me to believe is that it was Republicans — people from my own party — who felt smearing excrement was an appropriate act.

The truth is a bunch of authentic Republicans stormed the Capitol and they did shameful things while they were there. No more quibbling, equivocating, excusing. And while we’re talking about excusing, please forgive my language when I say bluntly that Republicans committed a disgraceful and vulgar act when they smeared their own shit on my Capitol.

It’s your Capitol, too. If you’re not offended, something’s wrong with you.

Matthew Meador is a former food and wine writer, senior editor and a rare moderate Republican who now writes political commentary. Previously, Matt was an award-winning graphic artist who often put his skills to use during election seasons. Matt has served in various capacities on political campaigns, for pollsters and for elected officials. Contact him at matthewmeador.com.

Photograph © Tyler Merbler via Wiki
 

When I was in high school, I took a political science class. The teacher was a proud Democrat who made no secret of his leanings and allegiances. When his lecturing strayed from the neutrality of the curriculum — a common occurrence — he would vigorously deride anything with the red stain of the G.O.P.

This teacher repeatedly and publicly shamed me for my own party affiliation. I was only 16 but already a Republican. My instructor’s blunders, thankfully, were nothing I couldn’t handle.

This educator’s haughty disdain for the Republican Party and his attempts to publicly humiliate a juvenile student for not seeing things through blue-tinted spectacles was absolutely out of line.

As a teacher, it was his job to provide his students with academic information, help them understand it and guide them through the critical thinking processes they’ll need to function as healthy adults.

It was not his job to indoctrinate and humiliate. It was not his job to crank out lockstep Democrats.

This is precisely why we have an interest in keeping partisanship out of secondary school classrooms.

I’m pretty sure a fear of similar misdeeds sparked the greatest public conflagration in my 25 years in Yamhill County.

The most vitriolic, nasty public bickering I have ever seen here was galvanized by two innocuous banners, a Black Lives Matter flag and a rainbow flag. Of course, the impetus was broader than a couple of flags hanging in a classroom — it was the threat of political indoctrination that loomed over the fight. And those banners became useful symbols for events their designers never imagined when a group of conservatives took control of the Newberg, Oregon school board in an election to which hardly anyone was paying attention.

But soon enough, the small-town school board attracted national scrutiny. The board’s ambiguous ban on district employees displaying any sort of political or controversial symbols or images was met with outrage. The ban was followed by the summary dismissal of the district superintendent — well, summary doesn’t note the contractual $175,000 salary and health care benefits the district must pay the ousted superintendent. The board has been accused of acting in secret, acting illegally, acting grossly irresponsibly.

The aggressive recall campaign conducted to oust the board’s two most controversial members not only gathered signatures but was accused of taking steps to affect the employment of the volunteer members, and other ugly actions extending beyond the scope of the members’ official board functions. People participating in the campaign were accused of working not only to defeat the members, but also to destroy them.

No matter what side you took, this was a nasty fight.

While voter turnout was under 19 percent for the targeted members’ election, it was over 50 percent for their recall.

I intentionally stayed out of the Newberg situation and I am not weighing in now, other than this brief synopsis before proceeding to the point of this piece. Even if I wanted to, a 1,200-word essay couldn’t begin to parse this absolute mess of a public gutter-brawl.

From my perspective, it’s fitting that a self-appointed, amateur, one-man press took the lead on this one. Labeling anyone in a sleepy town like Newberg a Super Mafia Mutant Loser Teenage Satan Ninja Sex Cabal (or whatever it was) does tend to attract a certain wild-eyed demographic, if you don’t care who re-Tweets you. Throwing gas on the fires of public outrage is always good for a few laughs. Or clicks.

Back to the story at hand, conservatives were worried by the encroachment of political perspectives into the classrooms of their children. Forty years ago, I would’ve minimized, in spite of my left-lurching high school instructor. But in this new world of sharp relief — where black is black, white is white and shadows of grey nowhere to be seen — political persuasion can take on a hulking malevolence.

Currently, both political parties believe they alone hold the moral high ground, that the other side has morphed from simple opposition to extremist enemy, that an extremist enemy broaches no compromise, that the only option is to destroy the other side before it destroys us.

Hyperbole? Maybe that last bit could use “render irrelevant” or “emasculate” instead of destroy but, other than that, I see little exaggeration. Whatever the case, ideology has never been so narrow, and patience never so thin.

Fans of radical and rapid change fail to understand or accept that the bulk of the population — the bazillions of quiet people who almost never say anything — are not adaptable in radical or rapid terms. Bluntly put, alternative pronouns will enjoy universal and enthusiastic use only after a huge number of the unadaptable drop dead. It’s called attrition, it’s ponderously slow and, whether anyone likes it or not, most radical change has always relied on it.

Any school board would be well-advised not to quash its students’ and educators’ attempts to encourage racial harmony. It’s a fine line between banning ambiguously worded “controversial” political symbols and banning symbols of human unity. Frankly, I believe the phrase “Black lives matter” is one of the purest, most necessary and important phrases to catch the public consciousness in many decades. It’s a reminder to those who need to hear it that, yes, Black lives matter — and, sadly, there are plenty who need reminding.

But could a Black Lives Matter banner representing the BLM political organization be questioned, when placed by an educator?

What about the no-organization affiliation of the rainbow flag? School boards should remember that any group or class of people who courts of law or statutes are holding historically marginalized deserve careful and respectful treatment, regardless of the board’s personal feelings.

But it never really was about flags anyway.

So, the immediate fight is over. What are we going to do now?

Yes, another local recall is underway and several lawsuits still loom. But I find it difficult to believe either side wishes to continue in the vein we’ve seen, especially if the other side is willing to meet them halfway.

Surely the prudent course of action would be to make a real effort — both sides — to sit down and find common ground. Believe me, it’s there. Conservatives know we live in a pluralistic society. Most are comfortable with some compromise, acknowledging our plurality. Indeed, I know many conservatives who rather enjoy — gasp! — diversity, even if they don’t see eye-to-eye on every issue with their progressive counterparts.

Level-headed liberals know all conservatives aren’t nutcase Qanon acolytes who remain fixated on a stolen election. The image of angry white racists hell-bent on protecting Whitelandia from encroaching brownness or transness or whateverness is an inaccurate cartoon, unfair to many conservatives.

I’m hoping the two Newberg recallees recognize enough of their constituents are unhappy with them that they make an honest and vigorous effort to conduct a candid dialogue with those who opposed them.

It’s going to take both sides being honest, earnest, polite and willing to meet the opposition halfway.

Back to my high school teacher, imagine if the situation was reversed: a Republican educator shaming a Democrat student. Aside from the term “Republican educator” seeming to meet the threshold of oxymoron these days, the situation is equally unacceptable.

Right now, both sides should stand down, find common ground through honest conversation and remember we’re all human — and maybe start acting human again.

Matthew Meador is a former food and wine writer, senior editor and a rare moderate Republican who now writes political commentary. Previously, Matt was an award-winning graphic artist who often put his skills to use during election seasons. Matt has served in various capacities on political campaigns, for pollsters and for elected officials. Contact him at matthewmeador.com.

Photograph © Robin Jonathan Deutsch via Unsplash
 

How dare you?

How dare you deface this sacred symbol with your crybaby nonsense? You made a choice to refuse a vaccine that countless health professionals from all over the political spectrum say you should get.

I’m cool with your choice. It’s a free country, after all.

This month, many jurisdictions will see vaccination requirements of some sort kick in. While many people believe this is an entirely new tyranny, I wonder where their kids were when they were required to attend public school. Surely they weren’t all home-schooled?

We’ve had vaccine requirements since before I was born — this is not new. Further, I understand some of the reluctance to get the vaccine; I would’ve preferred to go without, too. But I live in an imperfect world and enough highly-educated health care professionals are telling me to get vaccinated. So I’m vaccinated.

I chose to be vaccinated.

You can choose to remain unvaccinated and you can either accept the consequences or you can complain like there’s no tomorrow.

But how dare you vandalize the holy image of this yellow star?

You chose not to get a vaccine. Yes, you might be refused entrance to a restaurant but there are other restaurants that will welcome you. You might not be able to attend church or a concert but you should know by now that your choices have consequences.

You chose not to get a vaccine.

You were not fired or prevented from working because of who you are — if you did lose your job, you had a choice.

You were not kept out of restaurants or theaters because of who you are — you had a choice.

You did not have your business ransacked and looted before it was confiscated by the government.

You did not have your place of worship set alight as the fire department watched and laughed, making sure neighboring structures didn’t burn. You did not have to watch while holy objects from within your church were desecrated in the street. You did not see your grandparents’ graves vandalized and violated.

You were not forcibly loaded aboard cattle cars along with your children, denied food and water, one bucket serving as a toilet for dozens of people on a journey to hell. You didn’t arrive, freezing, stinking and terrified at camps where thugs in Hugo Boss uniforms decided you would live or die with the flick of a wrist.

You did not see an S.S. officer hold your infant child by its hind leg and bash its head against the steel of a truck when the child wouldn’t stop crying.

You weren’t forced to hold your infant child up in front of you so the barbarian about to kill you could get you and your child with one bullet.

You didn’t see your family forcibly separated from you, your spouse and children sent to a killing chamber disguised as a shower, where gas caused people to claw atop each other in attempts to find air to breathe that didn’t choke them. Your children weren’t found buried beneath the human mountain of death that remained once the poison had done its job.

You weren’t housed on wooden pallets, no comfort, no heat, in vast dorms of filth, with more than triple the number of human beings for which the space was designed. You weren’t given a scoop of dirty, lukewarm water ­— with hunk of turnip in it if you were lucky ­— for your daily meal. You weren’t forced to stand for hours in freezing rain while monsters obsessed with counting counted you, over and over.

You weren’t infested with lice and disease then denied even rudimentary health care.

You weren’t forced to work in a crematorium feeding body after ghoulish body into the hellish flames, sometimes recognizing a dead friend, neighbor or even child before you burnt them to ashes. You weren’t then forced to feed the funeral pyres when the ovens couldn’t keep up with that Teutonic efficiency.

You weren’t eventually liberated to find everything you once had gone — your home, your business, your family, maybe even your town.

The Judenstern represents a horror beyond what you can imagine. How dare you raise your pathetic “suffering” to the level of the Shoah — the most monstrous atrocity in human history.

You are free to complain, to cry, to declare how terribly unfair it all is. You are free to magnify your vaccine-free suffering as much as you like.

But you are also free to get the vaccine.

What you are not free to do is to hijack the sacred symbol of a people who had no choice, who know what true suffering is — the suffering of unspeakable sorrow, of unimaginable genocide.

How dare you equate your small suffering with the horror of the Shoah? How dare you take this liberty?

If you want to remain vaccine-free, so be it. Buck up and accept the consequences of your choice.

Do not create repugnant false equivalencies by elevating your self-imposed suffering with the Holocaust.

Just don’t.

How dare you?

Matthew Meador is a former food and wine writer, senior editor and a rare moderate Republican who now writes political commentary. Previously, Matt was an award-winning graphic artist who often put his skills to use during election seasons. Matt has served in various capacities on political campaigns, for pollsters and for elected officials. Contact him at matthewmeador.com.

Photocomposite unknown provenance
 

Now the fun begins. Maybe it’s not really fun but, I’ll tell you what, you can see where they’re going to go with this. It’s as predictable as, well... It’s as predictable as the unions and other great fans of keeping things just as they are lining up behind Establishment Kotek.

Oops, I meant Tina Kotek. Dang autocorrect.

Predictably, Oregon Secretary of State and Kotekian Acolyte Shemia Fagan ruled exactly like expected — or at least, exactly as Kotek and her establishment overseers and minions expected, anyway. It seems Pulitzer Prize-winning former New York Times reporter Nicholas Kristof is not a three-year resident of Oregon after all and, thus, is ineligible to run for governor.

What a surprise.

Kristof was armed with the published opinions of three former Oregon secretaries of state — Jeanne Atkins, Bill Bradbury and Phil Keisling, all three Democrats — which attested to there being no reasonable argument against granting Kristof assumed residency in Oregon. Kristof also had a legal opinion stating that he has been a resident of Oregon since at least November 2019 “...and likely much longer,” issued by retired Oregon Supreme Court Justice William Riggs.

It seems the pesky rules requiring three-year residency actually aren’t all that specific in instructing a poor secretary of state in determining just how to validate that. Unfortunately, the same not-terribly-specific guidelines freeing the five former secretaries of state to welcome Kristof as a resident also give license to Fagan to deny him that same residency. Yeah, that would really suck — the last thing the Kotekians want is someone who will come in and shake things up, maybe think outside the box and get some stuff done.

It should be noted that Secretaries Atkins, Bradbury and Keisling stated, “[w]hen it came to determining candidate residency and related questions, our North Star was a simple one... Absent compelling evidence to the contrary, a person should be presumed to be a resident of the place or places they consider to be home.” Clearly, when you’re beholden to the establishment and powerhouses like the public employees union, it’s easy to interpret the rules somewhat differently than your predecessors.

To be clear, I am not slamming rank-and-file Democrats — many of my friends are proud Ds, I am married to one and, these days, I practically caucus with them, given the chaos and insanity that’s seized my own Republican party. But no one should be surprised at Fagan’s ruling because Fagan is part of the crowd that thinks everything in Salem is just fine the way it is, thank you very much.

Oh sure, they’ll wail and gnash their teeth while they gently tell you the establishmentfolk are the ones with the expertise to fix things. But then we’ll just plod along like we do these days and absolutely nothing of note will get done. But, whew! At least the blues are still holding the reins of the cart that goes nowhere!

Honestly, I can’t blame the Democrats for trying to preserve their iron-fisted grip on power in this state. The G.O.P. would be doing the same thing if they had the monopoly. As it is, when the Republicans walked out in recent years, I never held it against them. Sometimes a walk-out is the only tool the minority has when it’s dominated so effectively by the opposition. In our 250 years, both parties have used such tools when convenient or necessary. A party sometimes gotta do what a party’s gotta do.

In a world where many of the current elected Oregon Democrats have never needed to seriously worry about losing, it must be unsettling to lack a golden child, a clear and favored front-runner who’s almost guaranteed to win. People like Nicholas Kristof aren’t supposed to barge in and pose a genuine threat to Tina Kotek’s presumed ascendance to the gubernatorial throne. I’m pretty sure the Oregon Democratic leadership considers that very bad manners.

Then there is Betsy Johnson. True to her nature, Johnson put it better than anyone when she told Willamette Week that Kotek “...has taken the unchecked exercise of power to an art form.” She nailed it: if you like Kate Brown and her one-party ways, vote Kotek.

The way I see it, we have three current left-center candidates who strike me as habitual out-of-the-hemp-basket thinkers: Kristof, Betsy Johnson and Yamhill County Commissioner Casey Kulla. If you’re like me at all, you’ve come to the conclusion what Oregon needs right now more than anything is someone who is clever, imaginative, and most importantly, willing to do things differently. I’m almost to the point where I think that last characteristic pretty much outweighs any other, including annoying residency rules and their (mis-)interpretation.

So what of Kristof?

Willamette Week summed it up like this: One of Kristof’s attorneys, Misha Isaak who happens to have served as counsel for Kate Brown, said, “Either Mr. Kristof was always an Oregon resident because he always considered it to be his home — as he maintains. Or he has been an Oregon resident since 2018, when he began living here more regularly to write his book about Oregon people and issues and to manage the overhaul of his farm.”

Isaak also cited a 1916 Oregon Supreme Court case which determined that where a person votes “...is of no consequence.” In theory, this renders the 2020 ballot Kristof cast in New York a moot point.

If you consider Isaak’s take along with the three former secretaries of state and the former supreme court justice, Kristof is a corn-shuckin,’ wood-chuckin’ Oregonian.

On the other hand, Willamette Week pointed out that even though the city in which a person votes is not supposed to be a deal-breaker, there is precedent for removing an official from office when it was determined he did not meet residency requirements based on a vote he cast. This occurred in 1935 when the North Dakota Supreme Court removed Gov. Thomas Moodie from office.

I guess we’ll see how the court rules.

As for Kulla, he’s a long shot but he’s likely positioning himself for a future race or more immediate gubernatorial appointment. Although his chances are slim the way this race is shaping up, if he plays his cards right, when his name comes up four years from now, he’ll have the firmly established recognition he’ll need — both with the party apparatus and Oregon voters.

What about Johnson? Can she get elected? Oh, yes. Even unaffiliated? Especially unaffiliated. (Did I mention these are weird times?) Will Johnson act as a spoiler? You bet she will, but I couldn’t guess who she’s gonna spoil or by how much yet.

Absolutely no one should underestimate Johnson’s ability to attract enthusiastic support from across the spectra of politics, economics and even polemics. Her blunt-spoken voice has always had its appeal but I suspect people are listening now like never before. If her message is right, being unaffiliated will only help her in the political wasteland that is 2022.

I mean, it’s not like she needs their money or anything.

Whatever you think, this is gonna be a heck of a race.

[Bear with me, my conservative friends. Although I am holding off on the Republicans for the moment, I won’t be ignoring them. First, I need to figure out if any of them are truly electable. If I’d heard that statement in the last 10 years, I would’ve laughed but I’m not laughing in 2022 — anything is possible. Whatever happens, I do miss the days when my party possessed both dignity and a real chance of winning.]

Matthew Meador is a former food and wine writer, senior editor and a rare moderate Republican who now writes political commentary. Previously, Matt was an award-winning graphic artist who often put his skills to use during election seasons. Matt has served in various capacities on political campaigns, for pollsters and for elected officials. Contact him at matthewmeador.com.

Photograph © World Economic Forum
 

Is this what we want?

Have we rejected our pluralistic roots? Do we now favor a narrowed ideology, requiring everyone around us to fit into parameters we, ourselves, deem acceptable?

To be sure, some ideologies are repugnant. Some are already illegal. Even so, we’ve always accepted a broad spectrum of ideas, expecting disagreement, sometimes even welcoming dissent.

Not so much now.

Both sides seem madly determined to enact their causes, elect their hacks, force their policy into law. Regardless of which side wins, we’re facing some level of totalitarianism.

If the right wins, we get a spastic, Janus-faced Trumpocracy where we piously proclaim the separation of church and state even as we read Bible verses at school board meetings. We legislate morality, we pooh-pooh Jim Crow, we mistake a handful of principles for sweeping, theoretical postgraduate-level studies that couldn’t be put into secondary school curricula even with great effort. We tell you what you do in your bedroom is your business — as long as it’s one man, one woman and one (missionary) position.

If the left wins, we get the utter insanity of wokeness as policy — we label the opposition’s positions hateful, bigoted, racist, homophobic, transphobic, xenophobic, anyphobic or just plain impolite. If we can’t get the opposition to shut up, we get their platform defined as hate speech. Without the slightest sense of irony, we pat ourselves on the back for how tolerant we are — tolerant, that is, as long as you agree with us. And we relish in embracing every self-indulgent, lunatic vagary that comes along, especially if it pisses off the right.

We’ve become third grade bullies, only with obscenities, vendettas and guns.

Back when I debated, the moment I made my opponent angry enough to call me a name, I won the battle. It was understood that name-calling was outside the framework of proper debate and, thus, grounds for losing. Today, we begin with the name-calling. Right up front, we scream names at the other side. It’s easy, too, because, as I already pointed out, the left has labeled everything they deem unacceptable from the right as some kind of awfulness that needs to be outlawed.

To be sure, sometimes they’re correct. But simple disagreement is not hate.

Hate is a strong word. So are bigot and racist. We throw these words around, a cacophony of careless name-calling, each inappropriate utterance cheapening the real and vile meanings of words we should be careful using. Just because someone disagrees doesn’t automatically brand them a hater, bigot or racist. When those terms are watered down to the point they mean little, we’re going to have to come up with some new words to shout. We’re dangerously close to that point.

The right doesn’t have the benefit of catchy terms to hurl at the left. Somehow, socialist doesn’t have the damning cachet and communist lost its punch way back when Jane Fonda was holding signs and chanting slogans. There’s always liberal — or the absurdly popular libtard — but those names only have pejorative meaning to those who actually use them. No one else cares. Still, the right boasts an equal amount of hate directed at the left, enough so I’d call it a draw. Plus, words be damned, the right likes to show up at showdowns with guns.

Where has all this unyielding nastiness gotten us?

Each side now believes the other is beyond salvage.

The Fascist Right is an ignorant, racist, militant, gun-loving, anti-science mob pining for the days when law-abiding white people had it good, Black people weren’t clamoring for change, a Latino majority was still 50 years away and nobody ever heard of alternative pronouns. We must eradicate this jack-booted Fascist Right lest they destroy our American way of life!

Or it’s the Marxist Left which is hell-bent on indoctrinating our children with collective white guilt, transgenderism and Bolshevist ideals, a hyperventilating over-woke mob who despises the U.S. and would love to see a red revolution or at least a suffocating cap-and-trade enacted. We must eradicate this Pinko-Commie Left lest they destroy our American way of life!

This thinking has given us a dangerous gift called permission.

The other side is so irreparably broken, that our side now has a holy mandate. This holy mandate gives us permission — permission to do whatever we need to do to achieve our ends because that end-goal is now a moral imperative. This is frightening.

Both sides are now absolutely convinced they hold the moral high ground.

Any person or group who believes with religious (or religiously secular) fervor that they hold the moral high ground also usually believes their moral rightness allows them not to worry much about pesky details like rules because their lofty end-goal justifies any means.

They have permission.

I am reminded of one event neatly summing this up. Back in 2018, two teenage girls were quietly and legally protesting outside an abortion clinic in Toronto. It doesn’t matter that this took place in Canada and the issue is less important than how it was addressed. A hairdresser who was vigorously pro-choice first defaced the protesters’ signs, which led to one of the girls recording his actions with her cell phone. Without warning, the hairdresser then violently roundhouse-kicked the girl’s upper body, causing her phone to fly out of her hand. This man was incensed by protesters he considered morally wrong, enough so he felt justified in drop-kicking one because he, himself, was piously right.

The irony is both delicious and sickening and it’s not limited to a leftist hairdresser.

When both sides are convinced they hold the moral high ground, we get drop-kickers, both blue and red.

Let’s take it a step further.

When you hold the moral high ground, it’s easy to see your end-goals as sacred. Heck, when you’re certain you’re right and the other side is wrong, why compromise? Even worse, many people consider ANY compromise to be a personal failure, an abandonment or disparagement of morals they hold sacred — even a capitulation.

When you consider your opposition to be racist, Nazi-style fascists, you believe you have an obligation to eradicate them — dialogue and compromise are not on the table. Likewise, when you consider your opposition to be collectivist God-hating Marxists, you believe you must eliminate them — dialogue and compromise are the furthest things from your mind.

The similarities in how the two sides justify their actions is remarkable — not only can they not talk to each other, they can’t yield even a single point or else it’s somehow endorsing or legitimizing an unendorsable, illegitimate entity.

See how that works?

When you’ve cartoonized the people you oppose into hateful, awful, alien gangs — or when you’ve retreated into your own cartoonized mob of ogres — you effectively kill discourse. Without discourse, one side must become strong enough to force the other side into compliance with its constricted ideals.

And that’s where we’re headed.

In the realm of public politics, it doesn’t matter how correct we think we are, it’s critical to have the ability to compromise. But now, we are electing grievance activists to office — people who drank the Kool-Aid then went back for more. Little will stand in the way of these true believers seeing their end-goals met.

Not that long ago, an elected official might be targeted with the occasional hurled tomato out in the country or the tomato’s city equivalent of an f-bomb or ten. These days, we’ve sworn off heckling with fruit and curses. Instead, we work hard to destroy an elected official with whom we’re displeased. No longer are we content to wait until the next election to vote the offending official out, now we must do as much damage to the official as we can. The moral certainty of rightness gives us license to go after an elected official’s livelihood, housing, even family.

“His employer needs to know what he’s up to,” said one breathless post. Never mind that the employer had nothing at all to do with the offender’s public service. Never mind that the employer probably already knows.

And that’s not all.

Some groups like to send members to observe the opposition, for “security,” they say. Even if they just stand silently and stare, hulking guys with guns create menace, not security. Of course, everyone knows this, even if they play stupid. The menacers monitor campaign gatherings and post themselves outsides officials’ homes. Nothing illegal, mind you — just a subtly threatening reminder that those who seek to serve are being scrutinized by the other side.

Reasoned centrists are becoming unwilling to serve — not worth it, too dangerous, too much to lose. Who’s left? The grievance activists with their endless supplies of hyperbolic invective and Kool-Aid. What they lack in real intellect they make up for in their ability to rile a crowd. And they feed off the vitriol.

Maybe it’s just me but I cannot imagine living in a world where everyone around me is required to act, speak and think more or less as I do.

And I’m tired of living in a world determined to get us there.

Matthew Meador is a former food and wine writer, senior editor and a rare moderate Republican who now writes political commentary. Previously, Matt was an award-winning graphic artist who often put his skills to use during election seasons. Matt has served in various capacities on political campaigns, for pollsters and for elected officials. Contact him at matthewmeador.com.

Photograph © Jose Moreno via Unsplash
 

They were little paper turkeys, “thankful turkeys” they were called. You know the type of kids’ craft: turkeys cut and colored from outlines of human hands. The happy little hand-made paper turkeys were a thank-you-themed youth group project from a Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints congregation in Blackfoot, Idaho. Seven giggling girls piled into a car along with their female adult chaperone and set out to spread some gratitude with their little homemade gifts.

You’d think a handful of girls delivering cheerful paper thankful turkeys would be easily distinguishable from thugs, felons or other people with criminal intent. Or at least you’d think the top law enforcement officer in the county would be intelligent enough or adequately trained to discern the difference.

Not in Bingham County, Idaho.

On Nov. 9, the carload of seven exuberant LDS girls, ages 12 to 16, set off to deliver their thankful turkeys with their hand-written notes to members of their congregation. Because the turkeys were supposed to be delivered anonymously, the girls would tape the colorful turkey-shaped papers to front doors, ring the bells or knock, then run back to the car before they were seen.

About 8 p.m., Bingham County Sheriff Craig Rowland let his small dog out just as two girls ran from his door. Suspicious, the sheriff checked his patrol car then returned to his house. The girls had turned to disappear when Rowland opened his door so they were unable to leave the intended thankful turkey.

The girls left another turkey on a nearby house then returned to Rowland’s house to make a second attempt at leaving their gift. This time, Rowland said he heard his screen door creak open followed by a knock on the door. Afraid or angry or some high-strung combination, Rowland grabbed his service weapon and exited the house wearing his long underwear and t-shirt.

Digital footage from Rowland’s Ring doorbell device picks up the next bit of the story. The video was viewed as part of the ensuing investigation.

On the video, Rowland looks down at the thankful turkey and reads the words “thank you,” printed on the cheery paper. Evidently threatened or insulted by the small offering, the sheriff says aloud, “That’s frickin’ bullshit.”

Classy, huh?

Unaware they’re being pursued by an angry man with a firearm, the giggling girls have returned to the car. As the chaperone starts to drive to the next house, Rowland steps in front of the car, motioning her to stop.

According to a probable cause affidavit released by the Idaho Attorney General’s office, the chaperone stopped, opening the car door which lit the interior of the vehicle and revealed the seven girls. The group leader told Rowland they had just left something for Rowland’s wife.

“Get the fuck out of the car!” screamed the sheriff, pointing his service weapon first at the chaperone, then at the two terrified young girls in the front seat.

The chaperone attempted to shift the car into park, a delay that further enraged Rowland. Grabbing a fistful of the youth leader’s hair, Rowland wrenched her violently from the car, holding his gun just inches from her face.

“I will fucking shoot you!” screamed the sheriff, demanding to know the woman’s identity. In his blind rage, the sheriff did not recognize the chaperone, who’d grown up next door to Rowland and had considered him a family friend for more than 30 years. “That’s when I really got scared,” the chaperone stated in the affidavit. “Because the gun was still at my head and he didn‘t know who I was.”

A moment later, the top law enforcement officer in Bingham County told the carload of LDS girls and their leader to, “get the fuck out of here.” Boy, if that’s how Rowland talks to young church girls, I’d hate to see how he addresses hardened felons.

On Tuesday, the Idaho Attorney General’s Office charged Rowland with felony aggravated battery, felony aggravated assault and misdemeanor exhibition of a gun. The attorney general is prosecuting the case to avoid a conflict of interest with the Bingham County District Attorney. Because Rowland is the elected sheriff, he retains his position but he voluntarily took leave for the length of the investigation. He is back at work now.

According to the affidavit, Rowland later told Blackfoot Police Chief Scott Gay that he had “really screwed up” regarding his actions the night of Nov. 9.

Rowland has admitted to most of his deplorable behavior. He claims he drank one alcoholic beverage that night, but he was clear-headed. He told investigators about threats made against him and he said the end of Daylight Savings Time “really messed me up.” Seriously?

Then Rowland made it even worse.

“I have been doing this job for 36 years,” declared Rowland. “I have had drunk Indians drive down my cul-de-sac. I’ve had drunk Indians come to my door. I live just off the [Fort Hall] reservation, we have a lot of reservation people around us that are not good people.”

On top of his lack of observation, judgment, self-control and maturity, Sheriff Craig Rowland is an unapologetic racist. I do not use that word lightly. You’d think the guy would be embarrassed and contrite but, no, he tries to blame Native Americans. What a colossal moron.

I know law enforcement is a thankless and exhausting job. But guys like Rowland are the ones who are actively and aggressively disgracing the profession.

I believe we needed to hear the startling and controversial 2020 demands to “defund the police.” Obviously, anyone with a level head knew we could never abolish law enforcement — without it we’d have chaos and anarchy. But those words got our attention and made people start considering some critical changes.

I want to emphasize I am absolutely not anti-police — my father wears a badge. But it’s long past time to take out the trash, the officers like Rowland who spit on the honor of law enforcement with their dull-witted racism, their out-of-control rage, their utter inappropriateness to carry the power of life and death over the public.

In recent times, I have discussed police reform as a crucial need — a realistic, workable set of reforms that will take policing to a new level. One of the key components of this reform is a robust screening that will weed out the dullards and racists — people who have no business in law enforcement.

Another component is categorizing the law enforcement profession by itself. This also means elevating the profession: raising the bar for candidates, revamping and adding training, increasing pay, maintaining transparency and accountability. (You can read more about proposed reform here.)

Law enforcement is as close to a no-fail mission as a public servant gets. Unlike other professions, a mistake in law enforcement can have lethal or life-changing consequences. Life-changing mistakes in law enforcement often don’t warrant second chances. In this case, seven young girls were traumatized to witness their sheriff rip their youth leader out of the car by her hair, assault her, threaten to execute her, all the while screaming vile obscenities.

For church girls handing out paper turkeys.

This is supposed to be one of the good guys.

Aggravated battery can earn a 15-year prison term. Aggravated assault is good for five. Rowland also faces a misdemeanor charge of unlawful exhibition or use of a deadly weapon.

Idaho law limits actions against an elected sheriff accused of a crime. Rowland can only be removed if convicted of a felony or an offense violating the oath of office.

Rowland is scheduled to appear in court Dec. 22.

If at one time Rowland was an honorable cop, he clearly isn’t now. He has disgraced his badge, his department and his profession. His own racist words clearly establish a bias that, by itself, renders him unfit to serve.

It’s too late for Rowland to salvage anything like a legacy. But in a final act of dignity, he could quietly surrender his badge and leave law enforcement forever. The absolute kindest way to frame this is that Rowland is no longer competent to wear a badge or carry a gun — let alone lead a law enforcement organization.

Sorry, Sheriff Rowland. Law enforcement is a unique line of work. You don’t always get second chances as you do in other professions. Sometimes, your “mistakes” are deal-breakers.

It’s time to take out the trash.

Matthew Meador is a former food and wine writer, senior editor and a rare moderate Republican who now writes political commentary. Previously, Matt was an award-winning graphic artist who often put his skills to use during election seasons. Matt has served in various capacities on political campaigns, for pollsters and for elected officials. Contact him at matthewmeador.com.

Photocomposite © Bingham County Sheriff