Blind Allegiance to Sarah Palin Read Online Free

rebuilt, and started over. This far north, we know that it won’t be
if
we face a next challenge, but
when
.
    With these extremes, neighbor depends on neighbor when life hangs in the balance. Once we give our loyalty and word of honor, we do so with conviction and faith.
    In Alaskan politics, it is no less true.

    As Sarah Palin rose to prominence as a visible and sometimes controversial mayor from 1996 until 2002, she spoke from the heart about what we had in common as Alaskans, including a desire for freedom, a return to ethical governance, and the protection of our most prized and state-owned resources, especially oil. A tough-talking woman with a reputation for backing her words with action appealed to abroad cross section of our population. Head down, children in tow, and confrontational when necessary, she represented our unique spirit.
    She was photogenic, she was charming, and she spoke to our concerns. Sarah Palin seemed worthy of our faith and trust. She arrived on the political scene at the right time, at the right place; she was accessible, willing to boldly state her case, say “hello,” or simply smile and shake a neighbor’s hand.
    As for her experience, starting out as mayor of a tiny town like Wasilla from 1996 to 2002 wouldn’t inspire executive credibility in most of the civilized world. Yet with only six thousand residents, Wasilla was growing rapidly; it is now Alaska’s fourth-largest city with a population of eleven thousand. With a citizenry that prides itself on being independent thinkers—over 57 percent of registered Alaskan voters are not affiliated with either major political party—the burden of inexperience is not a major priority for most voters. That she engineered the construction of an indoor sports complex in tiny Wasilla was, by our standards, a big deal. (As we discovered years later, it also displayed her ability to downplay critics who complained she raised costs dramatically by failing to secure the land prior to construction, left the city $22 million in debt, and raised taxes to help with financing.)
    Natural resources and the state’s legacy of political corruption are by far the two most critical issues on voters’ minds. Not surprisingly, oil industry money was the primary engine in producing the massive ethical lapses in what eventually became known as the Corrupt Bastards Club: a group of eleven lawmakers who received large campaign contributions from executives of the state’s oilfield service companies in return for political favors; the ensuing investigation resulted in five fraud-related indictments. Emphasizing her record for combating and attacking those whom she called evildoers, Sarah practiced the art of sticking to talking points that resonated with voters: business as usual, bad; oil companies, bad; all establishment politicians and bureaucrats, very, very bad. In a close but unsuccessful bid for lieutenant governor in 2002, she put herself in a bright statewide spotlight.
    Friend and foe began predicting that this “no more business as usual” candidate was a force to be reckoned with. Stories of the housewife-ex-mayorwho was toting kids door to door in a red wagon to solicit votes brought to mind that all-important pioneer spirit and mother-bear tenaciousness. Later that image would transition with her famous campaign question, “What is the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull?”
    By this time, I was married, with a toddler and an infant, and I had spent several years in Anchorage working in the airline industry, first as a baggage handler and then in middle management. These responsibilities did not, however, lessen my financial struggles or grueling hours. With economic and personal struggles unabated, I became aware of the nasty state of Alaska’s political elite, people who sold out to special interests in what was a reverse Robin Hood. Our bountiful state wealth was being handed over to