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So now Chris Matthews isn’t the only one experiencing a little thrill when he thinks about Barack (omit middle name) Obama. The recent revelation
that from the early 1990s until the day before yesterday—or, to be more
accurate, until Obama made his decision to run for president—a
biographical pamphlet circulated by his literary agents described him as
having been “born in Kenya” has been setting the world of Twitter
atwitter.
What should we think about that? An agency spokesman who claims to
have been responsible for the “born in Kenya” wheeze has publicly said
that it was a mistake, a typographical error, a slip of the pen that
just went “unchecked” for, um, sixteen-seventeen years. I can understand
that. She meant to write “Hawaii” and wrote “Kenya” instead. Could
happen to anyone. They look and sound enough alike, don’t they, that no
one noticed. You meant to write “there” and you wrote “their” instead.
You meant to write “cup” and you wrote “floccinaucinihilipilification”
instead. No one—no one at the literary agency, not the author
himself—could be expected to notice. You understand that, right?
Well, maybe that is an unprofitable line of inquiry. However it
happened, the take-away here is not that Obama was really born in
Kenya. As my friend Roger Simon points out in “The Mystery of the Kenyan Birth,” the noteworthy thing is that it is one more puff in the cloud of unknowing that surrounds the president.
It’s been pretty foggy in those precincts for some time. During the 2008 campaign, many of us asked the question: “Who is Barack Obama?” It wasn’t a question that Obama’s official PR firms—The New York Times,
CNN, MSNBC, etc.–were interested in, no sirree, but it was a question
that some of us pajamas-wearing-bitter-enders asked ourselves when we
weren’t snake handling or nuzzling our firearms.
It’s a question that has recurred as more and more pieces of the
Obama jigsaw puzzle have worked their way loose and exposed little gaps
or fissures in the story. The most recent one concerned Ms. Composite,
the girlfriend who didn’t exactly exist. But there have been other
revelations, or, rather, revelations of non-revelation. Turns out the
book filed under “Autobiography” ought to have been filed under “Teen
Fantasy,” “Mystery,” or some other rubric in the fiction section.
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