Lost in America, Redux

 

Paris, November 2016

Four years and a handful of weeks ago, I wrote a post titled "Lost in America." 

November 9, 2016. I had woken up with the covers still pulled over my head, hanging on to a last gasp of hope that the projected election results of the night before had been nothing more than a really bad dream. Little did I know, that morning, that the nightmare was real, and would far exceed even my own dire expectations. 

Though I had tossed my illusions earlier in the day, realized that Trump's path to victory was not quite as narrow as the pundits had said, I was devastated all the same. And baffled. I wrote about a white woman somewhere in Michigan explaining why she had voted for this man:

She babbled about American values, about getting our country back. Like her candidate, she was vague and adamant in her repetition. For a moment, she even looked confused, as if she realized the words she spoke had no meaning. The moment passed.

For about 1500 days since then, I have watched the vague and adamant babble, spread and reinforced by the vague and adamant babble of those with the imprimatur of public office, those who knew and know better but simply didn't and still don't care. Though I've become somewhat numb, I remain as devastated as I was that morning, the mortal wounds to my country confirmed. I was heartbroken, I wrote. "For me, for my children. For what I thought were American values. For what I thought was my country."

I despaired, but I convinced myself to have faith in our resilience. I even allowed myself some optimism, certain that the white woman in Michigan (who had inspired me to turn off the television) and all the others would eventually come to their senses. I was even generous about it: "I take no pleasure in knowing these angry people will, at some point, figure out they made a terrible mistake." I was less generous about those who were complicit in allowing the catastrophe to play out; I wondered if they had any souls worth searching. 

Fast forward to December 30, 2020. We have somehow managed, by the skin of our teeth, to stanch four years of profuse bleeding, but can we heal? Seventy-five million people are still drinking the Kool-Aid, and our far-from-representative democracy turns even a lead of seven and a half million into a slim margin. Four years later, over three hundred thousand unnecessary deaths later, countless unemployed and hungry later, with lord knows how many vile and treasonous grifters yet to be pardoned and with the future of our planet hanging in the balance, our country is no less racist, angry, and ignorant. By a slim minority, maybe, but we remain at the mercy of minority rule. 

Cautious optimism is all I got, and even that is a bit of a stretch. The grifter in chief will be gone, but the mess that brought him to us remains. 

This Claim About Election Fraud is Disputed

 This claim about election fraud is disputed. This is how Twitter takes a stand, in a pale robin's egg blue, underneath the bold faced lie, in prominent black font. Oh, sure, there's a little > to the right of it, just in case any Kool-Aid consuming guzzler of Trump tweets is also inclined to read more than 280 characters, lower case. Two barely connected circles on a Venn diagram, I'd guess. 

I've heard that a lie travels around the globe while the truth is putting on its shoes. Especially when the truth is an afterthought, in pale robin's egg blue. I'd suggest an all caps THIS IS BULLSHIT at the top, but that's about as likely as an elected GOP'er doing the right thing, including his or her job.  

The Supreme Court has spoken, without much elaboration to be sure, but at least it has done what, in times gone by, would have been a no-brainer, even though these days it had a lot of us on edge. But still, the next morning, with even the most zealous of the Supremes on board with the truth, there it was, a tiny footnote to a Trump tweet: This claim about election fraud is disputed. > The lie is on a whirlwind tour, and the truth is still barefoot. 

I flipped on CNN, and there was some GOP congressman, one of the seditious amicus signatories, responding to a question about proof. I'm paraphrasing, but he indicated he has no proof that anyone ever landed on the moon either, because he wasn't there. Good one. I'm willing to bet this doubting Thomas believes in virgin births and the resurrection and ascension of a carpenter's son, whose message of peace and love reasonably translates into a message of hate and division, but I suppose we're all entitled to our own leaps of faith. 

So, speaking of the media (and religion), Jesus Christ, stop it! Stop letting these elected "leaders" come on the air and suggest that the only way to convince their moronic constituents that Trump lost is by promoting baseless claims and conspiracy theories and chalking up each smackdown to an ever growing list of deep-staters. If they're too cowardly and corrupt to speak truth to their constituents, why give them any more oxygen? 

And speaking of oxygen, we can't breathe. While the grifters and their minions get designer treatments on the taxpayers' dime, people are dying. While the grifters and their minions get out of jail free, regular people are starving. While the outgoing leader of the free world is feverishly trying to figure out how to avoid accountability for all his crimes, the investigation of Hunter Biden's taxes is a headline? Hunter Biden, the new Benghazi.

Here's an idea. Focus on the newly minted Persons of the Year. The Guardians of the Year. The President Elect and Madame Vice President Elect, Dr. Fauci, the frontline health care workers. The folks who do their jobs, speak truth, and ignore the noise because they're actually too busy. It's not as sexy as reality TV, but reality will be a refreshing change of pace, at least for most of us.