The Year After Breitbart

For a few weeks after Andrew Breitbart’s death, I allowed my personal sorrow to color my worldview. All around me, I heard brave voices saying that Andrew’s spirit would never die, that fresh hands would pick up the torch that had fallen with his passing, and that “Breitbart is here,” as long as we all stand up together for the truth. In my sadness, I did not believe any of it.  

It seemed to me that Andrew’s genius was unique and his personality irreplaceable. He had an understanding of information flow at once so intellectual and instinctive that he could meet the left-wing liars of our media around every twisted corner of deception; and he had a courage and energy so indefatigable, he could expose them anywhere they sought to hide.  

I feared that with him gone, the Democrats who run NBC News and the Democrats who run ABC News and the Democrats who run the New York Times and the Washington Post and all the other Democrats who pretend to be brokers of information rather than mongers of pro-Democrat distortion and propaganda would run riot. They would ignore or under-report even the most deadly scandals that might embarrass the administration; they would hysterically manufacture gaffes out of Republican actions as harmless as taking a sip of water; they would lionize Barack Obama notwithstanding his thuggish lawlessness, economic ignorance and practical incompetence–and as a direct result, despite out-of-control debt, disastrous unemployment, and tragic foreign policy stupidity, one of the worst presidents ever to occupy the Oval Office would be elected to a second term…

But maybe I’m being too sardonic. After all, prophecy is a cheap trick: it’s a tragic world and the doomsayers are always right in the long run. 

The fact is, a year later, my outlook is much more optimistic. Time has eased my personal bereavement.  Andrew’s legacy in the Big sites has been more substantial than I’d hoped. His memory continues to inspire.

And if, in his absence, all my worst fears about the media were realized–well, perhaps it goes to show what an inimitable powerhouse Andrew truly was. Brave words aside, let’s face it: lies and the Father of Lies are the masters of this world. When a voice like Andrew’s comes along to speak against them, when a heart like Andrew’s comes along to stand against them, when a force of personality like his rises up to oppose them, they are worth cherishing in their moment–and therefore worth mourning when the moment is passed.

I grieve over Andrew less these days but I miss him even more. I imagine that process will continue until we meet where the lies end.