Here's a variation of a headline we thought we'd never see again: "House GOP stalls vote on Voting Rights Act."

What is it about the renewal of the enforcement side of the Voting Rights Act that seems to inspire so much foot-dragging on the part of Southern conservatives?

Sure, it was Southern Democrats who originally argued in 1965 that use of poll taxes, grandfather clauses and literacy tests aimed squarely at blacks didn't necessarily deny anyone the right to vote.

Once known affectionately in segregated circles as "Dixiecrats," these Southern lawmakers resented the enforcement of unwarranted federal mandates like the 13th and 15th Amendments.

Aided and abetted by progressive Republicans and other Yankee carpetbaggers, Democratic President Lyndon B. Johnson championed the Voting Rights Act and maneuvered a divided Congress into ratifying it.

The right to vote had been inscribed in the U.S. Constitution since 1870 but not enforced in the South for a century because of social taboos against racial equality. Finally, a law assured the federal government as guarantor of first and last resort.

President Johnson's push for civil rights eventually cost the Democrats the support of the Bible Belt, swinging the electoral advantage to the Republicans and making Richard Nixon's "Southern Strategy" a cornerstone of the GOP's long-term blueprint for victory.

The House members currently defying their party leadership by refusing to renew the Voting Rights Act may not share party affiliation with the self-consciously racist Dixiecrats, but they're stuck in the same antebellum worldview.

The House Republicans currently rebelling against President Bush and Speaker Dennis Hastert over the practicality of renewing the Voting Rights Act believe there's plenty of electoral advantage in embracing the politics of exclusion.

After all, they're not exactly barring the entrance of schools to blacks the way their spiritual ancestors the Dixiecrats once did.

After decades of hanging like an albatross around the neck of Southern political culture, everyone "knows" systematic attempts to disenfranchise the black vote stopped a long time ago.

House members actually capable of putting a sentence together while dragging their knuckles across the floor argue that the enforcement component of the Voting Rights Act has outlived its purpose now that racism is dead and equality reigns from sea to shining sea.

These days, the object of their pitiless gaze has shifted from blacks to "non-English speaking immigrants" who have the temerity to say "I'm an American. I want to vote, too."

The icy fear among Dixiecrat-style Republicans like Rep. Steve King, R-Iowa and House members from other regions who have joined the cause, is that local and state governments will be forced to print bilingual ballots, provide interpreters at the polls and ensure access to the democratic process if the Voting Rights Act is renewed.

An excerpt from a letter Mr. King circulated in the House says it all: "The multilingual ballot mandate encourages the linguistic division of our nation and contradicts the 'Melting Pot' ideal that has made us the most successful multi-ethnic nation on earth."

Eighty of Mr. King's colleagues signed the letter, oblivious to the hypocrisy of bragging about living in a multi-ethnic nation while revolting against linguistic diversity.

So, Republican House members from every region in the country are defying their president, their House leader and the hard lessons of history because they're afraid we'll have to print bilingual ballots one day?

Like their Senate colleague Rick Santorum, the House members believe they've found an issue that will resonate with their constituents. Bilingualism is scarier than bisexuality in the new political calculus.

Santorum turned up at Geno's Steaks in South Philly earlier this week to support Joey Vento, the beleaguered 66-year-old shop owner who was recently ordered by the Philadelphia Commission on Human Relations to take down signs that read "This Is America When Ordering, 'Speak English.' "

Santorum's rancid brand of cheesesteak populism isn't fooling anyone. Nearly 20 points down in the polls, the ultra-conservative senator is flailing wildly, grabbing onto whatever nonsense will keep him afloat for a few days before his ratings slip again.

To paraphrase a great line from a Woody Allen movie: "If President Lincoln came back and saw the politicians who cite him as an inspiration, he'd never stop throwing up."