"...A spectacular example of false courage is the decision by most of the Republican caucus in the House of Representatives to vote down the first economic bailout bill proposed by the Treasury Department in October 2008. On first inspection, this opposition to a mammoth taxpayer-funded bailout seems oddly gutsy, suggesting that the balky congressmen were sticking to their guns and adhering to their principles come hell or high water. But on closer inspection, given the level of hatred directed toward Wall Street at the time of the proposed bailout, their decision to vote no required no courage whatsoever. They were merely channeling the attitudes of their constituencies. They were nothing more than ventriloquists.

False courage comes in many styles, all of them odious. Real courage stands out because it is rare, precious, and beautiful. Here are a few examples:

Defending Israel when your name is Abdul.

Defending Bush's tax cuts when you are a Goth, a professor at Bard, or the lead singer in a Clash tribute band.

Attacking the coal industry when you live in West Virginia.

Defending the coal industry when you live in West Hollywood.

Sporting a Bush-Cheney decal on the bumper of your car when you live in Baghdad.

Dissing Vladimir Putin in the Russian press.

Being a conservative columnist for the New York Times.

Wearing a Che Guevara shirt in certain parts of Miami.

Questioning the negotiating tactics of the Irish Republican Army while quaffing a pint or two in a Belfast pub.

Wearing a Confederate flag headband on Saturday night in a Detroit nightclub.

Wearing a "Red Sox Suck" T-shirt at Fenway Park.

Attending a NASCAR event in drag.

Shorting Wal-Mart anytime, anywhere.

The most wonderful story about false courage I have ever heard centers around the great Spanish painter Joan Miró. At the height of the surrealist movement in the 1920s, the leading lights were ordered to go out into the streets and make outlandish, inflammatory comments that might land them in the hoosegow. One surrealist went out and said "Bonjour, madame" to a priest. A second insulted a policeman, which got him arrested. A third went into a public park and exclaimed, "Down with France! Down with the government!" until he too landed in jail. At which point Miró, who never really had his heart in this thing, but who was determined to be one of the surrealistic boys, marched into the Jardins du Luxembourg and ceaselessly repeated the phrase, "Down with the Mediterranean!" This disgusted and infuriated his fellow surrealists, who chastised him for uttering an execration so general and vague it ultimately meant nothing whatsoever. Sound familiar?"

.....From Joe Queenan's essay on False Courage.