It's okay to speak ill of the evil

Yesterday, one of the main perverters of our political culture, Rush Limbaugh, finally succumbed to lung cancer. He was I really don't care what age he was, because whatever it was he lived too long.

I don't believe in the nostrum of "Speak not ill of the dead." Does this conceit apply to Hitler? Pol Pot? Stalin? Bobby Knight?

What little I've seen of the media response to his demise has been of the variety of calling him "brash" and "outspoken". You know who else was brash and outspoken? Julius Streicher, one of Hitler's most vile propagandists, who was hanged at Nuremberg. Shall we not speak ill of him?

I know that this stricture is so as to let time pass and allow history to have a judicious review of the deceased's life. We don't need that in the case of Limbaugh.

I don't care that Rich Lowry will have starbursts up his thigh every time he thinks back wistfully on his friend. Limbaugh has done more damage to this country than Osama Bin Laden. He was the trailblazer who weaponized and monetized white grievance. And it really doesn't matter if he was just doing it for money and fame and power. It's actually worse if this was all an act, a pantomime.

He targeted Blacks, Hispanics, the LGBTQ+ community, women, and anyone who wasn't a white male in his vitriolic tirades. This was the man who called Sandra Fluke a slut for lobbying Congress for contraception to be accorded the same status as Viagra within health plans. He called the nation's first Black president "Barack the Magic Negro". He would celebrate the deaths of those who succumbed to AIDS. He was a COVID denialist. The list goes on and on. He appealed to the worst instincts of his audience, reifying their blinkered beliefs, because it made him money, and because he believed what they believed. He worked almost up until the Devil recalled him to Hell spewing hatred and animus. He is not someone to be admired, or of whom to not speak ill. He spent his entire career spreading a cultural illness, and damned right I'm going to celebrate his death.

American squeamishness around the passing of major figures will be on full display for the next few days as encomiums pour in. Not from those whom Limbaugh tortured with his words, but from the great and good who are afraid of his ghost. His sycophants will accord him a place in the empyrean heights alongside Cicero, while the guardians of the media will produce anodyne reflections of his impact on this country. I expect nothing else out of the Right. And, truthfully, I expect nothing better from the fourth estate. Whatever else he was, he was one of their own. They socialized at the same parties, and he provided inches of text. He had power, and instead of confronting him, they would castigate liberal media figures as equally culpable, and avoid any uncomfortable discussions.

I celebrate Limbaugh's death. I will celebrate the death of everyone who works to oppress others, and who traduces the fabric of this Republic. I don't care about his family. I don't care about those who "loved" him. Just because you were loved by someone doesn't erase the stain of your crimes. For every garbage can its lid.

Perhaps if speaking ill of malefactors were more of a thing, people would think twice about decisions they make. I certainly will not participate in the hypocrisy of honoring the dead, no matter how wretchedly vile they were. I have more respect for my intellect, and yours.