Tilting at Windmills

When President Obama named Hillary Clinton as his nominee for secretary of state last December, Clinton responded: “Mr. President-elect, I am proud to join you on what will be a difficult and exciting adventure in this new century.” On such an adventure they did embark, which this narrator shall now relate with perfect verisimilitude:

No sooner did Don Obama and his loyal squire Clinton enter the land of La Presidencia, than they found themselves on a very great hill overlooking a long street below. Don Obama, astride his old horse, looked down at this scene for some time before addressing himself to his squire, who sat peaceably atop her donkey.

“What is this street, Sancha Clinton? It seems to me that there are a great many people here, and while many of them are well-outfitted, many also clutch their purses in tears. What ill fortune could have brought them such sadness?”

Sancha Clinton responded:

“This is the place they call ‘Wall Street,’ where men come to make their fortunes, but also to lose them. Those in their prime have been leveled by the subprime, as well as by other unexplained forces, and, as they say, every coin has both heads and tails, and gold melts to water in the fingers of those who too hotly grasp it.”

Don Obama considered this, turning his gaze this way and that along the street, then raised his voice in a sudden challenge to the taxis crawling below:

“Enchanters of the economy! You who are so great in number, what purpose do you have in causing anguish to these people? With what audacity do you deprive good men of their livelihood, strip once bustling towns of commerce to planks and ghosts, and all the while hide your faces behind your masks of metal? Reveal yourselves! I shall at once run straight through any such villain as dares confront me, correcting these deep injustices and winning glory for my good lady Michelle of Chicago.”

With that, he dug his heels in and charged his steed at full gallop toward the yellow flanks of a passing cab. Watching her master behaving thus, Clinton cried after him:

“Señor! You must stop at once! Those are not spirits but taxis! And while any spirit would unquestionably tremble at the sight of one so ferocious, these beasts are so many, and made of metal so thick, that one cannot help but doubt the effectiveness of your lance. Such action will do little to quell the fears of those who call you ‘quixotic.’ Besides, all arms we have are needed in Afghanistan.”

Don Obama paid no heed to this speech, colliding with great force against the door of the vehicle, which suffered no injury at all compared to him who had intended to give it. Sancha Clinton hurried down the slope to set her master aright and listened as he spoke.

“You are right, Sancha, these enchanters are indeed tricky devils. But we must not give up hope, for there are other means to combat them.”

“And what would those be, your grace?”

“Sancha, if I have learned any lesson from my years on the trail, it is this. Grave threats require swift action and dauntless courage, as my recent actions have demonstrated. But the path to victory often lies in persuasion of another kind, and any knight worth his armor must fight with his mind as much as with his hand. These enchanters will not be driven out until we have good schools to educate children in the virtues of valor and grace; good doctors to keep bodies fit for work, whether this be threshing the fields or engaging in knight errantry; and good technology to keep our shores green, so that verses may be written extolling them for generations to come.”

Once again, Sancha was astonished at the great sense shown by her master, whose words inspired even those in distant lands who had not witnessed his deeds. Directing their animals southward, the two turned toward their beloved Casa Blanca, prepared to embark on whatever new adventures awaited them.


Jessica A. Sequeira ’11, a Crimson associate editorial editor, is a social studies concentrator in Winthrop House.