A Q&A with the new caucus follows:
Are you sure you mean Anglo-Saxon political traditions? Like, Angles and Saxons, the people of medieval England? Were you just trying to do a dog whistle and it got a little out of hand?
“Nay,” said the America First Caucus. “To the mead-hall!”
And with great clattering of sword and shield and mail-shirts
And plunder and heavy gold-wrought arm bands from their lord,
They went to the mead-hall, the shield-hall, the stronghold of Donald
And unfolded their minds, thus.
“Absolutely we meant Anglo-Saxon political traditions!” cried they
Shield clanging on shield and helm on helm.
“What could be more American than this?”
Did the Anglo-Saxons even know about America?
Do not all our laws begin with an unpronounceable ‘HR,’ as befits an Anglo-Saxon?
Where is Wiglaf?! This is what we meant.
I ask nothing better than to sit in the throne-hall of my lord, ring-giver, great in arms
While a demon comes rampaging into the hall and wreaks woe,
And much do we thanes thole — this is precisely what I mean!”
What’s all this about architecture?
“Wattle-and-daub was well enough for Wiglaf,” cried the caucus,
“And well shall it be for me, in the hall of my lord and torque-bearer!
Stone is in the manner of the Romans, and I shun it for construction.
By European architecture, I meant a sturdy timber hall,
Lined with shields, and rich with plunder.
That is all the architecture I seek, and is definitely what I meant.”
Okay. This seems like it was pretty clearly just supposed to be a dog whistle and now you’re tripling down.
“When I spoke,” cried Marjorie Taylor Greene, hammering shield with sword,
“I weighed each word! Let us have maethlfrith!
We shall be ruled by bailiffs and reeves,
And we shall give way before the law of Æthelberht!
Three shillings boot if a man strike another with a fist upon the nose!
This is the Anglo-Saxon tradition and culture you had in mind? It’s not just that you thought you were being subtle with your nativism and instead wound up committing yourself to a specific history and culture you didn’t mean to?
Paul A. Gosar lifted his long arm, making merry with his mead
And unlocked his word-hoard, the treasure of his mind:
“What culture could we crave beyond the Dream of the Rood?
The Bede is Venerable enough for me. What man speaks against him?
We must revive the ancient American art of sitting by the sea lamenting the passing of our lord.
What could be more American than alliterative poetry about tearing the arm off Grendel,
Writ in a tongue none has spoke for a thousand year?
My thews are weary. We must take down this obelisk of stone and heave up a barrow
To give glory to our great Founders who have passed.
Ea-la! My kinsmen! Ea-la! A spear-bearing host!
Of the Constitution writ upon much vellum, we seek to know nothing.
We gaze with dour eyes upon the land of freedom and opportunity
Where voting happened even a limited amount
And representative government rules wheat-lands and peach-lands.
We long instead to exult in battle with our hammered blades,
Those classic American things that are very American.
America first, obviously! This all follows!”
And they clashed shield on shield, and a great shout went up.
Mail-shirt and sword resounded with a clang, and the caucus roared,
And the roar echoed where the sea-birds
Picked the carcass of the Republican Party.