As many of us are all too aware, a young female member of the Revolutionary Communist Party named Sunsara Taylor faced off with Tucker Carlson the other night over the question of whether or not the president of the United States is a Nazi, a Fascist, and an advocate of nuclear war, a bad hairpiece, liar, and a misogynist, but principally a Nazi.

An actual Nazi.

Tucker, the epitome of sangfroid, suggested that if Trump's administration were really a Nazi one, she and her friends would be wearing striped pajamas behind barbed wire instead of saying whatever they want to on national TV.  But I don't believe she heard him.  She certainly didn't respond.  All her neurons were too busy firing downrange.

Two points.

First – her name?  I've never heard of it before.  Were Sunsara's parents Commies themselves and going for the Sanskrit word Sa盪ピﾄ〉a, which means the cycle of death and rebirth (but which also may mean "Revolution"), only to have some hospital clerk's typo leave her Christian name spelled the same as the Chinese hair straightening corporation?  It's amusing to think so.  But I wouldn't dare ask, because I'd probably get stomped into a mud puddle on the way home by masked and raging left-wing Berkeley blackshirts determined to enforce the same love and tolerance they showed Milo.

Because the lefties don't have much of a sense of humor left.  Not after November 8, anyway.

But my second point is an important question.  Why do this?

The Sunsaras of this world are one-act shows.  Angry one-act shows.  Boring one-act shows.  PETA fanatics fuming about fur, global warming zealots about ocean rise, or those fundamentally insane amateur health nuts who keep thundering on and on about the benefits of kale. 

Are they really good TV?

I don't know about anybody else, but the longer some program wags a finger in my face, the more I'm inclined to are to switch to American Pickers or The Weather Channel's latest tornado footage.

And boy, was Sunsara wagging her finger.  She's a committed atheist and a can kicking herself down the road with the likes of Bill Ayers, Howard Zinn, Cynthia McKinney, and Lynne Stewart.  Here she just wouldn't shut up about Trump being Hitler.

Tasteless.  Beyond the fact that George Orwell told us never to employ previously used metaphors, the Nazis distinguished themselves by herding screaming little boys and girls into gas chambers – and so labeling anybody this side of Pol Pot a National Socialist only trivializes that horror.  Worse, it trivializes the memory of those children – and their similarly murdered parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles.

Something we shouldn't ever allow.

Which means that no TV host should ever permit a guest to call someone a Nazi.

Please.

Richard F. Miniter is the author of The Things I Want Most, Random House, BDD. See it here.  He lives and writes in the colonial era hamlet of Stone Ridge, New York; blogs here; and can also be reached at miniterhome@gmail.com.