Going Rouge Read Free Page A

1992, in a rage over her gentle teasing about his thinning hair, he exploded, “At least I don’t plaster on the makeup like a trollop, you cunt,” a one-two punch hurled in front of three journalists and two aides but unreported until recently, by Cliff Schecter in The Real McCain . On the campaign trail in June he joked about “beating my wife” and took umbrage when others failed to grasp the simple good fun in the remark. In early August he said he’d encouraged Cindy to enter the Miss Buffalo Chip beauty pageant at the high-revving, flesh-swinging biker rally in Sturgis, South Dakota. It might have been a fine quip except that up on the stage with her daughter Meghan, staring out toward the throng where a sign urged, “Show Ur Tits 4 McCain,” Cindy had the thin, fixed smile of endurance, not joy. Just before the Palin pick, Mrs. McCain was so brittle that a supporter’s energetic handshake put her in a cast. With the press and vast swaths of the country swooning over the Obama family, John needed a new queen.
    Like King Ahasuerus in the Book of Esther, who asserted his mastery by decreeing male headship and then held a kind of beauty pageant to replace Vashti as queen, McCain found his new “partner and soulmate” in Miss Wasilla 1984. Even Cindy, who suddenly let her hair down in bed-head style, perhaps at last relieved of the burdens of wifely duties, calls it “a perfect match.” If only by association, John McCain may now fancy himself in the image of his deepest desire, top gun.
    There may be a trap for him in the Book of Esther, which Sarah Palin, a biblical literalist, has used as a guide since becoming governor of Alaska, but more on that in a moment. For in her immediate ascendancy, Palin has fortified the Christian leadership that saw its first major organizing successes in the 1970s using sex as a weapon behind the banner of Miss Oklahoma 1958 (Anita Bryant) and her antigay crusade. With her husband, Todd, “quite a package,” Palin has fired up the Christian rank and file, who, also since the 1970s, have been on the losing end of the economy but have drawn a diverting strength from simultaneously attacking the heralds of sexual liberation (feminists and gays) and appropriating their message: holding out mind-blowing sex as God’s special gift to his truest heterosexual married believers; spawning a multimillion-dollar industry in Christian sex guides, aids, toys, soft-core porn (gussied up as novels or advice); and promoting a particular image of married womanhood as sex machine, urged, as Dagmar Herzog notes in an interesting new book, Sex in Crisis , to “keep their legs shaved and vaginas douched at all times. Just in case.”
    For the party’s cynical power elite, who simply want to make gobs of money and have fun doing it, and never tire of a little culture war that helps them achieve both, Palin is the sex symbol they’ve been waiting for, better looking and more real than the ghastly gasbags Ann Coulter and Laura Ingraham. Rush Limbaugh, who began a push for Palin as V.P. in February, can hardly contain himself: “Sarah Palin: babies, guns, Jesus, hot damn!” he crowed. “We’re the ones that have the babe on the ticket!” Never before has a political woman been pictured so often in a T-shirt, armed—Rambette. Never before in a major political figure has the image of Mother been merged so readily with fantasies from porno. “You Go, GILF,” proclaim buttons on Republican chests, that is, Governor (or Grandmother) I’d Like to Fuck, a turn on the hungry married mom, or MILF, who has tapped the sex muscles and credit cards of porn lovers for years. While older working-class men talk of “Little Sarah” and her children, other men, including some on the left, have been rapturous in expressing their librarian fetish. “I was trying to be as frumpy as I could by wearing my hair on top of my head and these schoolmarm glasses,” Palin told Vogue , as if insensible to that