It is hard to remember how different the world was back in January.
ISIS was still plotting its emergence. Putin was hammering out the fine points of annexing Ukrainian territory. The only people concerned with the activities of Malaysia Airlines were people planning on visiting Malaysia. To most Americans, the Ebola virus was one of those figurative diseases that happened “somewhere else.” Israel and Hamas were at their “regular” level of hostilities.
The only unchanging through-line between now and then is, sorry to say, the press’ absolute certainty that Hillary Clinton will become the Democratic challenger for the presidency two years from now.
It isn’t easy to respond to that kind of hive-mind chatter without diving into the prediction game oneself. “If Clinton won’t be president,” the reply goes, “who will?” Everyone who feels confident enough to predict the outcome of that election (and before the midterms have started, at that) is posing as either Nostradamus or Nate Silver. (Just a reminder: the former has been dead for nearly 500 years, and the latter isn’t placing any bets right now.)
There are a number of past examples that warn against giving hostages to fortune in presidential races.
The first example comes from Hillary’s first bid for office. Remember when the Iowa Caucus was sure to be the party’s first heroine against John Edwards (he of expensive haircuts, large houses and career-destroying companions?) Sure, Obama had a few speeches under his belt and was a senator from neighboring Illinois, but surely he wouldn’t be too big of a problem, right?
And when Obama surpassed Clinton, who finished in an unexpected third place in that primary and traipsed off to New Hampshire, he (and, more importantly, everyone else) was absolutely sure that the “bump” from Iowa would propel him to victory there too.
Wrong again, as it turned out. Clinton successfully secured the first place finish there and went on to raise hell in one of the most mean-spirited campaigns in recent history. And then? She went on to become Obama’s secretary of state. (Who could have possibly predicted that?)
And we all remember how Ed Muskie, the 1972 Democratic presidential front-runner and presumed nominee, barreled through the primary to beat Nixon?
You get the point by now, but for the record: Muskie’s campaign ended in ignominy as he stood awkwardly in front of reporters in the back of a pickup truck, bawling his eyes out. He would shamble on into the later contests, but only with the help of Brazilian imported stimulants (according to Hunter S. Thompson) and his soon-to-be-discredited party boss friends.
Back to 2016: Hillary has a lot going for her, there’s no doubt about that. The hilarious January New York Times photo illustration with her face crudely graphed onto a planet (her “henchmen” are depicted as asteroids and moons,) is only kind of a joke. Right now, as presumed heir-apparent to the Obama machine’s online cash-vacuum, she certainly won’t be hurting for money. Her gravitational pull as “presumptive” will have superdelegates lifted off their feet and into her hands in no time. And yet …
The general gist is this: avoid calling anything too early lest your own words romp on back from the past to bite you.
And while I have strong doubts that Brazilian Ibogaine or embarrassing weeping fits will take a prominent part in the Clinton 2016 run: hey, you never know.