North America

Was that joke on us?

In last year’s Republican primaries, there were two somewhat charming, sometimes ferocious Northerners, both running in ways that were neither conventionally “establishment” (like Bush, Rubio, and Kasich) nor conventionally “anti-establishment” (like Cruz, Carson, Fiorina, or Perry).

Both of these candidates were fat—though one had once been skinny, while the other had once been humungous. One was your common politician type, willing to make a deal with the devil in order to rise to power. The other was the devil; who, as usual, did not adequately reward the deal.

Okay, I think you see where I’m going with this. One was named Donald Trump and the other Chris Christie. Trump ended up getting 24.3 percent of the votes in the Iowa Caucus, and 45 percent of the primary votes nationally; Christie just 1.8 and 0.2 percent.

Christie ended up becoming Trump’s attack dog, famously helping to take down Marco Rubio in a primary debate just before dropping out of the race to endorse Trump. Christie was not picked as Trump’s VP in return for this, as many had expected him to be, nor was he even offered a high-ranking cabinet position. Trump, as we know, opted to stack his cabinet with businessmen, far-right types, Reince Priebus, and family instead.

Now, why did Christie do poorly in the primary? There are several possible reasons, but one theory, at least, has to be that he was taken down by the media. He was the (big) butt of many, many fat jokes, and even more Bridge-gate jokes. This seems like history now, but in 2013 and 2014— just when Christie’s future had otherwise looked so promising because of his weight loss, re-election, and love of Bruce—it was constant.

Don’t get me wrong: I am not so squeamish as to be against fat jokes of political figures. And I am not so naive to doubt Christie having been highly corrupt in Bridgegate. As his strong support of Trump has since displayed, Christie’s ambition has few limits.

The question is whether the media’s negative coverage of Christie was proportionate to his crime. I don’t have any data to say whether it was or was not, but, from my own recollection, I would guess that it was highly disproportionate. This is not surprising, really, since any event involving New York City — which Bridgegate did, of course — is likely to be covered more than it deserves to be. Moreover, the media tends to be at least somewhat left-leaning, and inhabited by skinny people, and so is perhaps not so disposed to be sympathetic to fat Conservatives like Christie.

Finally, the Republicans themselves did not rush to Christie’s defence in the wake of Bridgegate, at least not to the extent they typically do to their own (and, indeed, as they have since come to Trump’s, whose crimes—at least against morality, if not also against the law—are far worse). This may have been because both the Conservative establishment and Tea Party saw Christie as a possible threat in 2016. They were afraid of the wrong Northeasterner. But then, why should they have been worried about Trump, who at the time was still just a crazy celebrity making Youtube videos about how his people were trying to locate Barack Obama’s birth certificate?

Many people would say I am underrating Christie’s crime (and, maybe, overrating his political charisma). They may be right, of course. Obviously we don’t know what Christie’s odds against Trump would have been had there never been a Bridgegate, or if comedians did not find fat jokes amusing.

Is there a lesson here? I don’t know that either. (But I am sorry for asking so many rhetorical questions). If there is, it may go something like this: if you work in the media, and see a fat corrupt man get taken down, think twice about piling on. That fat corrupt man might be the only one capable of obstructing the bridge the devil must cross on his road into Washington D.C.