Ms. President,
We The Other People—yes, that’s us, the ones who still pay the taxes, mow our own lawns, and somehow haven’t been canceled yet—would like a word. Or several. Delivered right here in your very elegant, very taxpayer-funded chambers.
First off, Ms. President, we’d like some tax cuts. Not the kind where you give us back ten bucks and then raise the price of a dozen eggs to forty-seven dollars. Real cuts. The kind that let a plumber in Queens keep enough of his paycheck to maybe buy his kids new sneakers instead of another lecture on “climate reparations.” And while we’re at it, throw in some deregulation. Just a smidge. Enough so that a guy trying to open a hot-dog cart in the Bronx doesn’t need fourteen permits, a union card, and a signed affidavit swearing he won’t emit any problematic vibes.
We The Other People would also prefer a little less WOKE. Not none—just less. We’re not asking you to ban rainbows; we’re asking you to stop making them mandatory. Our kids don’t need to write apology letters to the ocean for using plastic straws. They need to learn how to change a tire and balance a checkbook. Right now the only thing getting balanced is the “emotional labor” budget in third-grade social studies.
And speaking of schools, Ms. President—on school days! There are Puerto Rican kids in the Bronx marching up and down Fordham Road, belting out the Puerto Rican national anthem like it’s the halftime show at the World Cup. On school days! They’ve got flags, they’ve got drums, they’ve got choreography that would make Broadway jealous. Meanwhile, the math teacher is in the faculty lounge crying because someone misgendered the class hamster. On school days, Ms. President, you go to school. You learn some math. You learn some science. You learn that two plus two is still four, even if the Department of Education now calls it “settler-colonial arithmetic.” We The Other People would like that. We’d like it a lot.
Look, we’re reasonable. We’re not demanding you shut down the parades. We’re just saying maybe the kids could march after 3:15 p.m., when the taxpayers who pay for those sidewalks aren’t still on the clock.
Finally, Ms. President—and I know this one’s gonna sting—we The Other People, at some point, would like a war. Not forever. Not forever-and-ever-amen. Just a quick, tidy, old-fashioned war. The kind where we pick a bad guy, we beat the bad guy, and then we come home and have a parade instead of seventeen years of PowerPoint briefings about “nuanced stakeholder engagement.” We miss winning. We miss the feeling that America is the country other countries call when the power goes out and the lights need turning back on.
Right now it feels like we’re the country that calls a UN committee to ask permission to change our own oil filter.
So, in conclusion, Ms. President: tax cuts, deregulation, less WOKE, actual school on school days, and maybe—just maybe—a little light liberating somewhere with Wi-Fi so we can watch it on TV.
We The Other People thank you for your time.
God bless America. And if you could get the kids back in class before they unionize the conga line, that’d be swell too.
We The Other People—yes, that’s us, the ones who still pay the taxes, mow our own lawns, and somehow haven’t been canceled yet—would like a word. Or several. Delivered right here in your very elegant, very taxpayer-funded chambers.
First off, Ms. President, we’d like some tax cuts. Not the kind where you give us back ten bucks and then raise the price of a dozen eggs to forty-seven dollars. Real cuts. The kind that let a plumber in Queens keep enough of his paycheck to maybe buy his kids new sneakers instead of another lecture on “climate reparations.” And while we’re at it, throw in some deregulation. Just a smidge. Enough so that a guy trying to open a hot-dog cart in the Bronx doesn’t need fourteen permits, a union card, and a signed affidavit swearing he won’t emit any problematic vibes.
We The Other People would also prefer a little less WOKE. Not none—just less. We’re not asking you to ban rainbows; we’re asking you to stop making them mandatory. Our kids don’t need to write apology letters to the ocean for using plastic straws. They need to learn how to change a tire and balance a checkbook. Right now the only thing getting balanced is the “emotional labor” budget in third-grade social studies.
And speaking of schools, Ms. President—on school days! There are Puerto Rican kids in the Bronx marching up and down Fordham Road, belting out the Puerto Rican national anthem like it’s the halftime show at the World Cup. On school days! They’ve got flags, they’ve got drums, they’ve got choreography that would make Broadway jealous. Meanwhile, the math teacher is in the faculty lounge crying because someone misgendered the class hamster. On school days, Ms. President, you go to school. You learn some math. You learn some science. You learn that two plus two is still four, even if the Department of Education now calls it “settler-colonial arithmetic.” We The Other People would like that. We’d like it a lot.
Look, we’re reasonable. We’re not demanding you shut down the parades. We’re just saying maybe the kids could march after 3:15 p.m., when the taxpayers who pay for those sidewalks aren’t still on the clock.
Finally, Ms. President—and I know this one’s gonna sting—we The Other People, at some point, would like a war. Not forever. Not forever-and-ever-amen. Just a quick, tidy, old-fashioned war. The kind where we pick a bad guy, we beat the bad guy, and then we come home and have a parade instead of seventeen years of PowerPoint briefings about “nuanced stakeholder engagement.” We miss winning. We miss the feeling that America is the country other countries call when the power goes out and the lights need turning back on.
Right now it feels like we’re the country that calls a UN committee to ask permission to change our own oil filter.
So, in conclusion, Ms. President: tax cuts, deregulation, less WOKE, actual school on school days, and maybe—just maybe—a little light liberating somewhere with Wi-Fi so we can watch it on TV.
We The Other People thank you for your time.
God bless America. And if you could get the kids back in class before they unionize the conga line, that’d be swell too.
