Hark, friends, to the words of Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, a man who purports to faithfully represent the people of Kentucky and who has sworn a solemn oath to "support and defend the Constitution" on six separate occasions, as he bravely and unflinchingly condemns Donald Trump's steadfast, stubborn refusal to publicly declare that white supremacists and neo-Nazis have no redeeming qualities.

[oppressive, deafening silence]

[someone coughs uncomfortably]

[a ringing phone is quickly muted]

[sweet, merciful silence]

From a USA Today report from McConnell's inner circle:

Two sources close to the senator, speaking under condition of anonymity to describe private conversations, said the pro-civil rights Republican who lived through the 1960s in Kentucky closely deliberated on the best way forward.

Mitch McConnell is furious with the president, everyone. So angry, in fact, that after thinking carefully for 48 hours about his memories coming of age in Kentucky during the Civil Rights Movement; his time working as a young legislative aide to a senator who helped spearhead the passage of Johnson-era civil rights legislation; and his decades of public service since, Mitch McConnell came out and breathily mumbled some tepid banalities in the style of Michael Scott negotiating a modest salary increase.

In the end, McConnell sent out a statement challenging Trump’s position that not everyone who came to the white nationalist rally had hateful beliefs—saying there “are no good neo-Nazis”—without mentioning the president by name.

Such courage.

It was McConnell's attempt to strike a middle ground. The potential cost of Trump's incendiary remarks is real. And perhaps few understand how far the nation and his party have come than McConnell, who was also present both for Lyndon B. Johnson’s signature of the Voting Rights Act and Martin Luther King’s iconic “I Have a Dream Speech."

It was just two days ago that Mitch McConnell's wife, Transportation Secretary Elaine Chao, stood next to the president and gazed unblinkingly into the distance like the star of the world's grimmest hostage video while Donald Trump indignantly asserted that at least some neo-Nazis are, in fact "very fine people." Two days later, the toughest response that McConnell's camp could muster is a few anonymous anecdotes that purport to show how very troubled the senate majority leader is by all this. Not troubled enough to say or do anything that might sabotage his fading chances at taking health care away from tens of millions of people, of course, but troubled enough to cast himself to journalists as a beleaguered "pro-civil rights Republican"—which, hmmmm—who continues to endure great persecution for his displays of great moral courage. You are awash in sympathy for his plight right now, no doubt.

At this particular inflection point in American history, the knowledge that this duplicitous hypocrite loathes every minute he spends sleeping fitfully in this bed of his own making is admittedly the tiniest and most inconsequential of silver linings, and yet it brings me joy nonetheless. Of course, should Mitch McConnell be so inclined, there remains available to him a simple way to try and reclaim the tiniest sliver of the dignity he otherwise ceded long ago. But I wouldn't hold my breath.

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