The Greatest Generation

I find it extremely puzzling that the same cousin who never misses an opportunity to mention her father's service in WWII voted for Trump, the darling of national socialists and white supremacists everywhere.

What the hell does she think her father was fighting against?

For the record, Smitty fought in WWII and he would have hated Trump. I don't know if he would have voted for Obama or Clinton; there's no denying his racism and sexism.  But, he definitely would not have voted for Trump.  He hated blowhards and poseurs.

I think Mom would have voted for Obama.  His intelligence and courtliness would have been right up her alley.  And, I think she would have voted for Clinton. She was a proto-feminist, even if she would not have applied the term to herself.  She was the only pro-choice Baptist I've ever met.

What If?

Thinking of Trump and the apocalypse again tonight and playing the "what if" game. What if Al Gore had been president on 9/11 instead of George Bush? The Iraq War might not have happened. The Middle East would probably still be a mess, like it has been my entire life time, but thousands of lives could have been saved. What if Jimmy Carter had defeated Ronald Reagan? His solar panels would still be on the roof of the White House. He would have invested in green technology technology infrastructure that might have delayed or even prevented the climate catastrophe. What if Bobby Kennedy had lived to defeat Nixon?  What a different world we would live in today, on so many levels.  For one thing, the suffix "-gate" as in Watergate would not be affixed to every scandal, including my current favorite, Pussygate, in honor of our President-elect.  

How long will it take before I have to play the "what if" game with Donald Trump?  How long before I have to look at his inevitable damage and think about how it might have been different under Hilary Clinton's management?

Elections matter. I've seen it too many times.

New Normal

In the seven days since election night, I have avoided almost all news coverage of President-elect Donald Trump, and I am normally a news junkie. I have avoided engaging on social media. This isn't a bad thing; I consume far too much media, particularly around politics. But, it does indicate the depth of my shock and despair. That man and everything he stands for are utterly odious to me; he makes me nauseous. I will never understand why anyone would consider voting for him and yet half the country did. I'm related to several of them, one of whom referred to people opposed to Trump as "fucking pussy-ass liberal hippies." Another called Hilary Clinton a cunt. Nice, cuz; do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

Social media is a strange place. I know much more about distant relatives than I used to and that is not necessarily a good thing.

I have to believe that the human race will survive Donald Trump, at least in the short term. We survived Reagan-Bush and Bush-Cheney. Those elections felt apocalyptic and alienating, but I survived. Hell, I lived through the last days of Richard Nixon, drunk and delusional with his finger on the nuclear button. Trump and his ilk don't want to end the world, they just want to own it outright and siphon it dry. He will definitely immanentize the eschaton, but I don't think he will bring on on the end days, at least not in his first term.  Who knows?

After each of those previous political reversals, I took my lumps, pulled up my socks and went back to work. I don't know if I can do it this time. I don't know if I have another protest movement left in me. I don't know how to change people's minds. I don't know how to reach them.

Whitman thought he knew.

• This is what you shall do: love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning god, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.

Sheesh Walt, that's a lot to ask, even of a pussy-ass liberal hippie like me, and I sincerely doubt that my cousins will ever crack open Leaves of Grass. I think I'll just sit quietly for wait for whatever happens next.  

The Rabbit Hole

Kiva found this letter to the editor I wrote in 2004.  The more things change, the more the stay the same.

Shock and Awe

Thus it is revealed: this is the country I live in.  These are my fellow citizens, my countrymen and women.  This is the world they choose for themselves and their descendants.

Donald Trump. They chose Donald Trump.

I am a stranger in a strange land.

Unclear = Unkind

I recently heard a radio host  say, "To be unclear is to be unkind."  In other words, tell people what you need, tell them how you feel. Lord, do I struggle with that.  A couple of years ago, I realized that lying equaled love in my family. We lied to spare others of our feelings, of our anger or disappointment. We thought that by not expressing our needs or feelings, we spared others of the burden. We were supposed to take care of that shit ourselves. There's a certain nobility to that, a certain empathy, but it's incredibly isolating. Nothing ever gets resolved, there's always an emotional barrier, and we carry our baggage with us to our graves.

Of course, all that pent up energy has to go somewhere. There was a lot of behind-the-back talk in our family.  Our family motto could have been, "don't tell your mother/father/sister/brother I said this, but..."  Repression, toxic denial; it ain't good for you.

Don't tell; I should have the tattooed somewhere.

Bossy

I was often called "bossy" when I was a kid.  A teacher once humiliated me at a school-wide award ceremony by giving me the "Lucy Award," i.e. Lucy Van Pelt, the bossy older sister in the Peanuts comics. I was never shy or demure and I paid for it. Bless this little gal. Bless the woman standing next to her.