Like my friend Harold Pollack, I have no desire to throw my own kindling into the dumpster fire that is consuming Dinesh D’Souza’s career and personal life, or warm myself with his self-destruction. The Good Lord seems to act most swiftly and surely to smite the self-righteous and superior, whether it’s D’Souza or his tormenters.
But I do hope D’Souza’s humiliation has the positive effect of dampening the distribution and shredding the slender credibility of his “documentary” (2016: Obama’s America) feeding the worst of Kenyan-anti-colonialist conspiracy theories—many of them earlier invented by D’Souza in other venues—about the president. I’ve had relatives send me links to the trailer touting D’Souza as “objective,” which may well be the least appropriate adjective to attach to any of this man’s work. It’s fine by me if D’Souza somehow survives the current conflagration, but may his most famous piece of agitprop be thoroughly devoured by the flames. It would be especially nice, though most unlikely, if he’d repudiate it himself as an act of penance.
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