Hillary and the happy ending

It’s time to come clean. Against my better judgment, I think I may have had a soft spot for Hillary. Just a few weeks ago, I dreamt that the two of us were walking hand–in–hand. She was unusually charming. I was feeling guilty for not supporting her bid to become America’s next top commander. And Bill was sporting a nasty furry upper lip. It’s no wonder I woke up in a sweat.

Whatever warm and fuzzy feelings I may have had for the senator from New York are long gone. But my hope for her early exit has, to date, not been realised. Like the Bride of Chucky, she survives for another day –- captured in front–page photographs of beaming insincerity. Unsurprisingly, my moment of weakness is now over. My dream world is once again a safe space, a liberated Clinton-free zone.

Importantly, Clinton’s victories in last week’s Democratic primary barely dented Obama’s pledged delegate lead. And while the bulk of the upstanding party faithful seem to be waiting for who-knows-what before they make up their minds, her superdelegate lead is still narrowing week by week. Over the past couple of months, it has shrunk by almost two-thirds. Soon it may disappear altogether, as it should.

For now, however, the amazing race continues. After this coming weekend’s little contest in Guam, primaries in Indiana and North Carolina follow. If Obama takes both, as he could, the race may effectively be over. Or it could limp along for a few more weeks, much as it has. But come mid-June, we should know who will face John McCain in November’s election. My money, for what it’s worth, remains on Obama.

Despite real fears of the White House remaining in Republican hands, I am still optimistic that the American public will do us proud, particularly given unprecedented primary turnouts and rates of voter registration. If they do, they will join electorates across the world –- including in countries such as Nepal, Pakistan and Zimbabwe –- who have also chosen to rid themselves of antidemocratic leaders.

Speaking of which, anyone notice how well Kim Jong-Il’s personal playground played host to the run of the Olympic candle? There was no need for sweeping tackles of counter–revolutionary agents, not to mention crowd control. Instead, a seemingly lobotomised nation waved their little flags, danced a little and smiled as if competing for votes against a handsome, smart and articulate African-American.

The streets of Pyongyang, wide enough to accommodate a handful of tanks driving side-by-side, are a fitting tribute to all that is rotten about the Beijing Games. They reflect a planet that cares more for perception than reality, the semblance of order over the muck of man–made mess. In contrast, I prefer the world epitomised in the shambolic images from London, Paris, Seoul and San Francisco.

But back to Chez Hillary, which appears to have been built on foundations of entitlement. She’s done her time, stood by her man and deserves to be given a chance to refashion 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in her own image. And it’s the superdelegates who must and will give it to her. Unless, of course, they listen to the voters, who have already decided otherwise. Now wouldn’t that be a happy ending?