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I got a call from a friend in Washington who knows more about political polling than anyone in America. He was almost breathless with excitement.
"It's gonna be a landslide," he said.
"In which direction?" I joked.
"Hillary's going to win in places we haven't won in years - Georgia, Nevada, Arizona. She'll take the entire West, the whole East Coast. Trump is sinking like a stone."
"So do we get the Senate back?"
"You bet."
"Sixty votes?"
"No, but a nice majority."
"And the House?"
I got a call from a friend in Washington who knows more about political polling than anyone in America. He was almost breathless with excitement.
"It's gonna be a landslide," he said.
"In which direction?" I joked.
"Hillary's going to win in places we haven't won in years - Georgia, Nevada, Arizona. She'll take the entire West, the whole East Coast. Trump is sinking like a stone."
"So do we get the Senate back?"
"You bet."
"Sixty votes?"
"No, but a nice majority."
"And the House?"
"We won't win it back, but Democrats will get 14 of the 30 they need. So still a Republican majority, but far weakened."
"And what about the states?"
He paused. "The states?"

"Will we take back the states?"
"No. The GOP will remain in control in most states."
"So the only part of government that will change hands is the U.S. Senate, and not even by enough to overcome a filibuster?"
"Yes," he said, as if I had taken the air out of his balloon.
"And what about all the people who'll be voting for Trump?"
"What about them?" he asked, cautiously.
"After Trump loses, they'll still be out there, right?"
"Of course."
"And they'll be madder than hell, poisoned with Trump's venom. They'll be a ready-made constituency for the next demagogue."
"Bob?" he asked.
"What?"
"Remind me never to phone you again."
"Sorry," I said.
Dear Common Dreams reader, It’s been nearly 30 years since I co-founded Common Dreams with my late wife, Lina Newhouser. We had the radical notion that journalism should serve the public good, not corporate profits. It was clear to us from the outset what it would take to build such a project. No paid advertisements. No corporate sponsors. No millionaire publisher telling us what to think or do. Many people said we wouldn't last a year, but we proved those doubters wrong. Together with a tremendous team of journalists and dedicated staff, we built an independent media outlet free from the constraints of profits and corporate control. Our mission has always been simple: To inform. To inspire. To ignite change for the common good. Building Common Dreams was not easy. Our survival was never guaranteed. When you take on the most powerful forces—Wall Street greed, fossil fuel industry destruction, Big Tech lobbyists, and uber-rich oligarchs who have spent billions upon billions rigging the economy and democracy in their favor—the only bulwark you have is supporters who believe in your work. But here’s the urgent message from me today. It's never been this bad out there. And it's never been this hard to keep us going. At the very moment Common Dreams is most needed, the threats we face are intensifying. We need your support now more than ever. We don't accept corporate advertising and never will. We don't have a paywall because we don't think people should be blocked from critical news based on their ability to pay. Everything we do is funded by the donations of readers like you. When everyone does the little they can afford, we are strong. But if that support retreats or dries up, so do we. Will you donate now to make sure Common Dreams not only survives but thrives? —Craig Brown, Co-founder |
I got a call from a friend in Washington who knows more about political polling than anyone in America. He was almost breathless with excitement.
"It's gonna be a landslide," he said.
"In which direction?" I joked.
"Hillary's going to win in places we haven't won in years - Georgia, Nevada, Arizona. She'll take the entire West, the whole East Coast. Trump is sinking like a stone."
"So do we get the Senate back?"
"You bet."
"Sixty votes?"
"No, but a nice majority."
"And the House?"
"We won't win it back, but Democrats will get 14 of the 30 they need. So still a Republican majority, but far weakened."
"And what about the states?"
He paused. "The states?"

"Will we take back the states?"
"No. The GOP will remain in control in most states."
"So the only part of government that will change hands is the U.S. Senate, and not even by enough to overcome a filibuster?"
"Yes," he said, as if I had taken the air out of his balloon.
"And what about all the people who'll be voting for Trump?"
"What about them?" he asked, cautiously.
"After Trump loses, they'll still be out there, right?"
"Of course."
"And they'll be madder than hell, poisoned with Trump's venom. They'll be a ready-made constituency for the next demagogue."
"Bob?" he asked.
"What?"
"Remind me never to phone you again."
"Sorry," I said.
I got a call from a friend in Washington who knows more about political polling than anyone in America. He was almost breathless with excitement.
"It's gonna be a landslide," he said.
"In which direction?" I joked.
"Hillary's going to win in places we haven't won in years - Georgia, Nevada, Arizona. She'll take the entire West, the whole East Coast. Trump is sinking like a stone."
"So do we get the Senate back?"
"You bet."
"Sixty votes?"
"No, but a nice majority."
"And the House?"
"We won't win it back, but Democrats will get 14 of the 30 they need. So still a Republican majority, but far weakened."
"And what about the states?"
He paused. "The states?"

"Will we take back the states?"
"No. The GOP will remain in control in most states."
"So the only part of government that will change hands is the U.S. Senate, and not even by enough to overcome a filibuster?"
"Yes," he said, as if I had taken the air out of his balloon.
"And what about all the people who'll be voting for Trump?"
"What about them?" he asked, cautiously.
"After Trump loses, they'll still be out there, right?"
"Of course."
"And they'll be madder than hell, poisoned with Trump's venom. They'll be a ready-made constituency for the next demagogue."
"Bob?" he asked.
"What?"
"Remind me never to phone you again."
"Sorry," I said.