To the beloved Governor Mark Sanford:
You have given us all quite a fright in the last few days. First you become mired in a bitter battle with the South Carolina State Legislature over the allocation of federal stimulus funds. Then you disappear without notifying friends, family or staff about your whereabouts. Finally, you emerge from a last-minute trip you made to Argentina.
Either you’ve been watching too many soap operas, or some very serious stuff has been going on. Whatever the case, over the last week and a half, you have thoroughly blown my mind.
It didn’t bother me that you left without calling. It didn’t bother me that you left without clearly handing over your powers to an interim authority. What bothered me is that you left over Father’s Day without saying anything to your children.
Was that paisley tie that you knew your kids had gotten for you enough to send you over the edge? I know that you really wanted the Pooh Bear tie instead.
To further add to my irritation, your staff proved to be of no help. Amid the constant inquiries and speculation, your staff offered nothing but false information and strategically planned doublespeak. Ultimately, they didn’t even know enough to know that they knew nothing.
So I searched for you, Governor; I searched high and low. Over mountains, through the valleys, to the amber waves of grain. Your staff said to look in the Appalachian Trail; your wife said that you needed some time away from the kids to write. I thought your arbitrary absence was just a self-repressed need to explore the inner depths of your heart and soul in solitude, away from those meddling kids.
Thus, I chalked the whole thing up to a post mid-life crisis. Your Jimmy Hoffa act was really just a Henry David Thoreau thing. You hadn’t been chopped up and run through a meat grinder by conniving mob dons, you were writing your “Walden.” You were just going out, into the wild, and giving the whole Chris McCandless method the college try.
Granted, Chris McCandless may not be the best parallel. He died after all.
But your staff led everyone astray. You weren’t really hiking the Appalachian Trail, unless that trail happens to extend down to Argentina. And you weren’t really writing anything either. Although, one could say that you were dipping your pen in some ink.
The real story, as it turns out, was that you had gone to Buenos Aires to meet with a woman with whom you were having an extramarital affair. Although I do not condone such actions, I must admit that you’ve conducted your own affair much more skillfully than other politicians. You chose someone who lived outside the country, and you stayed away from Minneapolis bathroom stalls.
Unfortunately, the praise ends there.
Your sudden departure has done irrevocable damage to your party and your future career. Without adequately defining a surrogate that could assume a power transfer in your absence, critical day-to-day business of the state was left in a state of confusion. Law enforcement agencies as well as the national guard of your state were left without a clear authority to report to.
The result kick-started a real-life game of “Where’s Waldo,” but instead of searching for a twenty-something pedophile living in his parent’s basement with an affinity for coke bottle glasses and red and white striped sweaters, we were searching for the governor of a U.S. state.
And so you have returned with the real story of sex, lies and – God help us – no videotape. You have returned to a public that is upset and confused about the elaborate charade you felt was necessary to veil your deception. You have returned from an extended disappearance in Argentina to admit your mistake, which, I guess, makes you a modern day Desaparecido.
For anyone who actually understood that joke, bravo.
Throughout this whole ordeal you’ve put me through, governor, I have just one thing to ask. Why did you lie? Why did you feel that it was necessary to tell everyone that you had left because of conflicts with the Legislature? Why did you tell everyone that you had just gone for a drive on the Argentinean coast?
All right, I’ll concede the last question as half truth. You did do some driving after all.
But what compels people in positions of authority such as yourself to lie to the public you represent? There shouldn’t be any fear of damaging our sensibilities; your indiscretions are nothing new to the realm of politics. You shouldn’t fear the waves of embarrassment that ensue; your position practically mandates it.
What you should have done, Governor Sanford, is admit to your mistake and move on. These last few weeks have tested my patience and my sanity. I fretted over how you had disappeared completely, left me in limbo while I tried to remain optimistic, hoping that everything was in its right place.
But now, with all these aspects coming to light, I fear that our relationship has reached an impossible impasse.
So I’m sorry Governor Sanford, but I’m breaking up with you.
Kyle Citta is a junior English, history, pre-med, pre-law major. Reach him at kylecitta@dailynebraskan.com
