April 23, 2010, 5:00AM
David Sirota
In 1992, I was in 10th grade. Hence, I didn't care about much more than the girls I could never get, the Philadelphia 76ers' playoff chances and the shortcomings of my own unimpressive basketball career (in that order) – and I certainly didn't care about politics. So when my teacher assigned me to represent a Southerner I'd never heard of in a mock presidential debate, I was, um, not psyched.
My attitude changed, though, when I started researching – wait, what was his name again? Oh, right – Bill Clinton. To my surprise, what I found was inspiring. The lip-biting saxophonist seemed like a forthright guy with some heartfelt "feel your pain" outrage at the unfairness of the moment's Gordon Gekko zeitgeist. An early campaign speech I discovered particularly captivated me – the one in which Clinton said, "I expect the jetsetters and featherbedders of corporate America to know that if you sell your companies and your workers and your country down the river, you'll be called on the carpet."
Call me crazy or gullible – at 16, I was probably both – but I bought it. If not for Clinton's campaign (and that irrepressibly optimistic Fleetwood Mac jingle), I might have followed star-crossed hoop dreams already doomed by my god-awful jump shot. Instead, I chose a political path, genuinely believing in that place called hope.
This naive faith, of course, is why I would later come to detest Bill Clinton.
Upon assuming office, he championed the very corporatist policies he railed on – lobbyist-written free-trade pacts and financial deregulation, to name a few. To me, a fervent supporter turned spurned groupie, Clinton eventually looked like an opportunist who knew he was selling out – and yet sold out anyway.
More:
http://www.oregonlive.com/opinion/index.ssf/2010/04/bill_clintons_contrition_contr.html