By the time you read this, Attorney General William Barr will have resigned in disgust, or been fired in disgust, or is still on the job, disgusting the rest of us. Or has been forgotten by an American public that at this moment is preparing to shelter in place from the COVID-19 pandemic, which I wasn’t allowed to write about because “Pandemics aren’t funny, Ed!” Unlike William Barr, who isn’t funny either, except for one thing ...
ANYBODY ELSE THINK William Barr looks like Elton John? Barr never wears those heart-shaped glasses during congressional hearings, but other than that—and the pinstripe suits Elton wouldn’t be caught dead in—I can’t tell the difference. It would be nice if Barr actually was Elton John; then he would spend more time at the piano and less time undermining judicial process and the rule of law.
I’d have little complaint if the worst thing the attorney general had done was write “Philadelphia Freedom,” a song so sappy it makes me hide from the radio, unpatriotically, and that’s hard to do while driving. I’d let that slide, of course, if he had also written “Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting”—which still gives me chills at the hook—and a dozen other hits that occupy what’s left of my aging brain cells. I might not remember the names of beloved relatives, but I’ll never forget the words to “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road”: “Goodbye yellow brick road, where the something ti tum ti tum, you can’t plant me in the something, I’m going tum ti tum it tum ...” Great song.
But back to William Barr. Regardless of his current status of employment, he will always be remembered for his decisions to intervene in cases involving friends of the president by overruling line prosecutors and his challenges to settled law. He may agree that Justice is blind, but he sees that as a serious handicap, and wants to help by putting a thumb on one of her scales. An advocate of “traditional values,” the only thing he likes about Lady Justice is the length of her dress.
Barr has a well-known affection for an unencumbered executive branch, an imperial presidency that on its best days only works if the king is not a narcissist flirting with madness. Despite that, Barr short-circuited due process with impunity, whitewashing the Mueller report by downplaying its corrosive findings, accusing his own FBI of spying, and gaslighting us with disproven conspiracies about Ukraine, to name just three. (To be honest, I’ve never been clear on this gaslighting thing. But I think it means keeping matches in the bathroom.)
Barr is partly motivated by his anxiety at society’s inevitable change, and in a speech last October at Notre Dame (the one with the football team), he blamed the country’s “moral chaos” on an eroding religious commitment. (Although I doubt he’s concerned about low attendance at mosques.) Like conservative icon William Buckley, Barr wants to “stand athwart history, yelling stop,” even though when you stand athwart, your legs are at a funny angle, which totally ruins the moment.
Regardless of where Barr’s career ends, his legacy will be part of our nation’s steady collapse into a banana republic. And although banana republics have healthier levels of potassium—which is good if you suffer from leg cramps at night—the daily psychological charley horse Donald Trump provokes makes me get out of bed and listen to Elton John. And discover that, even though I never understood the lyrics when I first listened in my dorm, “Madman Across the Water” finally makes sense.
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