Moreover, there is always the problem of having to identify your place on the political spectrum. I suppose that I am a reactionary. A wistful, laissez-faire reactionary.
On the other hand, there are those who like to think of themselves as being "progressive" and "open-minded" and "tolerant" when it comes to political matters. (And, for them, everything is a political matter.) There is something of a religious fervor about this self-designation. It does seem to make them feel better about themselves. Self-esteem (our modern mantra) is a wondrous thing, isn't it?
It has been edifying to see some (not all, but some) of these self-designated "progressive" and "open-minded" and "tolerant" political beings openly celebrating the recent death of a well-known politician. Yes. Of course. Why not? Throw a party. After all, from time immemorial the demise of an opponent (real or imagined) has always provided a perfect occasion to reaffirm the eternal verity of one's own deeply-held beliefs.
Now. As to the state of the souls of the celebrants . . .
Richard Eurich, "Eddistone Light" (1974)
Only a placid sea, and
A pier where no boat comes,
But people stand at the end
And spit into the water,
Dimpling it, and watch a dog
That chins and churns back to land.
I had come here to see
Humbug embark, deported,
Protected from the crowd.
But he has not come today.
And anyway there is no boat
To take him. And no one cares.
So Humbug still walks our land
On stilts, is still looked up to.
W. R. Rodgers, Awake! and Other Poems (1941).
Paul Nash, "The Studio, New House, Rye" (1932)