Angela Merkel could have been Christine Quinn in New York City. Angela Merkel savored some soviet style life as an East German child
and then reformed into the German Iron Lady only with a messier hair style than her predecessor, the deceased British Iron Lady, Thatcher.
Christine Quinn had a democratic upbringing only to be converted to Bloombergism by her boss, M. Bloomberg. I never encountered Angela, because I never stopped on German soil, but living in New York City and working and shopping in one of its fancy neighborhoods, I did cross paths with Christine.
It was the day of the Democratic primary. She and a few of her closest acolytes were campaigning in between Fairways and Citarella: with a foot in front of a more modest grocery store and a foot in front of a high-end one. As a middle age woman entering the latter I was expected to support Christine. Approaching the entrance door to Citarella and her posse, I received warmth and smiles. I looked down embarrassed and shook my head and wagged my finger in a definitive, but muted no. I was embarrassed to say no to a woman. I was embarrassed she was a woman. I was embarrassed by the assumption that if I cared about my food I should be a rich asshole.
When I came out of the store some half an hour later, there were no smiles to welcome me, but weariness. I believe, in my nearisghtedness, that they finally got it. As Susan Sarandon said it so well, one cannot just vote her vagina.
So, if that is true, then Merkel received 42% of the vote because of some other reason. Could it be that the Merkel received genderless fear votes? Maybe. But those votes indicate that the Germans don’t want her go amuck with their fear. They limited her iron fist and by refusing to give her a majority they asked her to either mellow down or listen to the conscience of the left, the social-democrats.
