Jackasses in Elephant Skins

In the high and drafty rafters of the U.S. Senate, four curious creatures emerged this week—creatures who call themselves Republicans–though you’d need a microscope and a strong sense of humor to find any actual evidence of it. They are Lisa Murkowski (Alaska, or perhaps somewhere left of San Francisco), John Curtis (Utah, but spiritually Vermont), Thom Tillis (North Carolina, though he votes like he summers in Portland, Ore.), and Jerry Moran (Kansas, where he’s managed to disappoint wheat, wind, and voters alike).

These four penned a letter so soggy with partisan syrup that it stuck to the very fingers of the poor staffer who typed it. Addressed to Senate Majority Leader John Thune–a man himself no stranger to political hopscotch–the letter warned against a “full-scale” repeal of energy tax credits passed by the Democrats in 2022.

Credits, mind you, serve as subsidies for industries still trying to figure out if they make energy or Instagram posts.

“Prudence!” they cried, like four old maids clutching their dividends at the thought of upsetting Wall Street. “Certainty for investors!” they shrieked, as though those investors lived in backwoods Alabama and voted red.

But the truth is plain: these folks aren’t fighting for those who sent them—they’re fighting for the lobbyists who sent checks. While America’s energy workers are trying to fuel the country, and regular voters are trying to afford gas and keep the lights on, these four darlings are fretting about “domestic manufacturing” and “fiscal sustainability.”

It’s odd how “sustainability” always seems to sustain the donor class, never the voter.

The letter meanders through flowery language about “streamlining” and “certainty,” but what it doesn’t say is louder than a brass band–these so-called Republicans oppose President Trump’s America First agenda. They’re not just stumbling over the MAGA message—they’re aiming a boot at it. Quietly, of course, with enough Senate jargon to dull the edges.

Now, if these four decide to stand firm—and that’s a mighty big “if,” given their record of wobbling like fence posts in a windstorm—they could derail the Republican effort to roll back green grift embedded in the so-called Inflation Reduction Act. That act, mind you, inflated nearly everything but common sense.

And while real Republicans in the House are hanging by a thread trying to deliver on promises made to the people, these four senators are out there playing footsie with the very schemes voters sent them to repeal. Voters who want cheaper gas, fewer handouts to billion-dollar wind farms, and a return to a government that looks more like Main Street and less like Davos.

But here’s the rub–these four aren’t outliers. They’re the favorite kind of Republican of the Beltway—the ones that smile at voters and nod at donors before stabbing America in the back with a clean pen.

So the next time you hear their names, don’t be fooled by the “R” next to them. That “R” doesn’t stand for Republican anymore. It stands for “Rebranded,” “Rehabilitated,” and most of all, “Ready to sell out.”