"The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.” Albert Einstein
October 22, 2014
By: Linda Case Gibbons
The crickets are just plain tired of it.
Every time the president should say something about a crisis, what does he say? Nothing. Then what does the media do? Haul out the cricket soundtrack!
And the crickets are fed up! Crickets chirping in the quiet, dark night has become the sound of nothin’ much happening. And it’s driving crickets to tears.
I had a hot tip from an insider at the White House, well, a German shepherd to be precise, that a rep for the crickets was going to see the president.
Jiminy Cricket! No, I mean it was really Jiminy Cricket!
The public hadn’t heard much from Mr. Cricket since his blockbuster movie "Pinocchio.” And since the word "Pinocchio” has a brand new meaning because of the Washington Post’s Pinocchio awards, the movie and this cricket are relevant again.
I knew the older, but savvy insect would have lots to say.
I was surprised to find him sitting on the lawn outside a back door in the White House looking rumpled and unhappy. It was the door, near the garbage, where the president chose to have the Dalai Lama make his exit from the White House.
I helped him to his feet.
"Thank you, my dear,” he said, doffing his blue top hat and executing a gentlemanly bow.
It turns out that Mr. Cricket is currently a lobbyist for the United Crickets Union of America. He was in Washington, D.C. this week to see the president.
"Every time a scandal rears its ugly head in this guy’s administration,” the cricket-in-chief said, brushing off his white, four-fingered gloves, "there it is, all over the news! Chirp, chirp, chirp! I tell you, young lady, it’s ruining our brand!”
I never knew crickets had a brand, but the Kardashians do, so why not crickets?
"The president didn’t seem pleased to see me,” Mr. Cricket said. "I guess with him cornering the market on the Pinocchio awards himself, seeing me brought up bad memories.”
Indeed. The movie and its theme, a little wooden puppet trying to earn the right to be a "real boy” but who, instead, was a bad, bad boy, lying to everyone certainly could be said to resonate in today’s D.C. environment.
"As soon as the president heard I was a lobbyist, he gave me a warm welcome. I was ushered right in to the Oval Office,” he said as he straightened his waistcoat and brushed leaves from his spats. "That was until the president learned our group was conservative! Then I was ushered right back out, here.” He pointed to the back door with his little cricket hand.
His voice cracked and I hastened to suggest we walk over to FLOTUS’ garden. I figured he could munch on some vegetables or something as he regained his composure. The White House guard dogs gave a nod as we passed. They remembered me from my last interview.
"I figure he doesn’t know we’re environmentalists,” the dapper looking cricket said. "But we’re the ones who clean things up, don’t you know.
"And the president always supports environmentalists and unions. I thought we’d be home free. Remember the kibosh he put on the Keystone Pipeline? Delaying, reviewing and reviewing it for three years? You know he did that for the environmentalists.”
I did indeed.
"Weeds, rotting stuff.” He waved his arm over the White House garden. "We do a lot for organic gardening like this garden here. Nice garden. She can grow a mean string bean,” he said, sampling one, "but she can’t remember candidates’ names and their backgrounds for beans! Did you hear her? Mixed up Udall, said he was a fifth generation Coloradan?”
She did indeed.
"And calling Braley ‘Bailey,” he guffawed and rolled over on his back. "Those two, they’re quite a pair.
"But, and this is funny, you’ll like this. After it came out that I didn’t give a hoot about global warming, knew it was phony, the president said he couldn’t talk to me! Said I should be up on charges for being an unbeliever, just like Robert Kennedy, Jr. said! Then he threw in something about Ferguson, accused us of being part of the War on Women and showed me to the door.”
I looked and felt puzzled. He explained.
"Only we males make the cricket chirping sound. Women can’t. The president thinks they should. He’s after the female cricket vote. As far as the Ferguson thing, I don’t know about that. He keeps talking about it, even at the U.N. I can’t explain it.
"But back to why I’m here in Washington. We were planning a lawsuit against the president,” Mr. Cricket disclosed, munching on a broccoli stem, "about our brand. Did I mention his behavior has hurt our ‘brand?’”
I said, yes indeedy, he had.
"But then we heard about that federal judge, Walton, tossing out the lawsuit against the IRS. True the Vote. Just tossed it out. Said something about the "IRS had taken sufficient remedial steps to address the alleged behavior!” If they couldn’t win in court, we figured we didn’t stand a chance.”
But you and crickets have been harmed, sir, I told him, and the more the president doesn’t talk, the more the media will play cricket chirps. Where will it all end if you don’t stand up for your rights? And you do have constitutional rights. You have the freedom to chirp!
He looked pensive.
"Yeah. True. And they’re broadcasting our private meetings. They think it’s just cricket sounds, but we’re talking here. Yeah, what about our Constitutional rights?”
Mr. Cricket’s trademark red umbrella was twirling at an alarming speed as he spoke. "This ‘Cricket Silence’ thing is killing our reputations! It’s become synonymous with this administration.
He shook his pointed cricket head sadly and did that thing with his wings, chirping. "And who the heck wants to be synonymous with this administration? Not even the Democrats!” He laughed and I did, too.
"And it’s not just about his silence.” He paced and looked thoughtful. "It’s about him wanting everyone else to be silent, for citizens not to ask the hard questions, not have a point of view!”
To cheer him up, I asked him if he’d seen the Blue Fairy lately. I knew he had a huge crush on her.
"Funny you should say that. Great gal.”
Was he blushing?
"She gives good advice, not like the new Ebola czar. And she’s easier to find!” He laughed. I laughed.
"She’s the one that made me Pinocchio’s conscience, don’t you know. She told both of us, ‘Always let your conscience be your guide.’ Yup, but I don’t see much of that in this town.”
He sat on a small rock and studied his little red shoes.
"Two sheriffs were shot and killed by an illegal immigrant in California. Nothing from the White House. Borders wide open.
"A young man, Brendan Tevlin, was shot in his car by a Muslim terrorist who admitted he did it for revenge for Muslims killed in the Middle East. White House? Nothing.
"Pastors in Houston are being hustled by their mayor to give up their sermons to see if there are homophobic references. And what do we hear from the White House? I hate to say it,” he said, "Crickets.”
We shook hands and Mr. Cricket made ready to leave for another meeting with his union members.
"I think I will go ahead with that lawsuit, young lady. Congress won’t take on the president, not even now when the president has made it easier to get into our country when you have Ebola than it is for our Marine, Sgt. Andrew Tahmooressi to get out of Mexico! Someone has to take on this president. I will! Thanks for the advice!”
And with that, he tipped his hat and walked off down the garden path. What a cricket! I wonder if he’d run for president?
Hold the line, America.