I have said goodbye to Bernie Sanders before. There was the parting pageantry of the 2016 Democratic convention where Sanders conceded the nomination to Hillary Clinton, closing out a primary season so tight it had given even the most pessimistic of leftists a thrill of hope. As he called for unity against Donald Trump in his farewell, the news network's camera found a crying 22-year-old Bernie delegate in a Robin Hood hat, and the internet tore him apart. Laugh it up, I thought; there will be a next time.
When next time came, the hope died in the spring and Joe Biden trounced him. First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you lose.
After Sanders suspended his 2020 campaign, there was no next time to dream about. Sanders is nearly 80 now, and after his heart attack on the campaign trail in 2019, he has no plans to run again. Whoever comes next, it's not going to be Bernie.
Both of us knew that as we spoke on the phone last week, me holed up in insufferable midsummer Washington, D.C., and him enjoying the free New England air.
"When I'm in Washington, I don't go outside," Sanders told me, laughing, "and when I'm in Vermont, I don't go inside. So there you go."
He sounded genuinely upbeat. I wasn't. My first question made that clear: Is it all over?
"No!" he groaned, at typical volume, "I sound like my great-grandmother here. No. Don't have that attitude."
When leftists express despair about Sanders's loss, we are often condescendingly assured that we won the war of ideas, a consolation prize after losing the war for power. Sanders was supposed to have won the war of ideas before, back in 2016, and two years later, a slew of Sanders-backed candidates lost their midterm primaries. If gains made in the realm of ideas don't translate into democratic power, what difference do they make?