It Can Happen Here

Ah, a category I didn’t think I would ever want on the blog. And yet circumstances warrant it. One issue is that I have to get up to speed quickly. Becoming a political writer isn’t something I’m immediately qualified for. I had left that to people, I thought, who were more plugged into it than I would ever want to be. And yet here we are.

I began to pen a small pamphlet in mid-October discussing the trouble of the Trump candidacy, but that was when I, along with most of the media, thought he was going to lose. And to be frank (why the hell wouldn’t I be), this vacuous, pandering, shallow, uniformed, weak hairdo of a man was never supposed to win. It was never going to happen, we assumed, because of his inexperience, because of his immaturity, because of his carelessness, because of his temperament. And yet here we are. What was once going to be a casual essay on the moral decay of a society that was pushed to the brink, is now a tale of a society in peril because we have been edged over that very precipice. It’s time to re-assess things, and it’s time for more concerted effort, much more concerted than my original effort.

Democracy, free press, security, economies, education, environment, civil rights, foreign policy and the immediate future of the republic are threatened at the moment, and that is no joke. I feel extremely poorly suited to the task, which is to stand up against the forces moving the nation at the moment. I am a hack, a slacker, a joker. I never gave politics my attention and talent because it was serious. And I respected it because of its complexity. I watched as a cheesy billionaire who never made it to acceptance in Manhattan in the face of his Queens money and his Louis XIV gauche gaudiness became a serious candidate for an office that demands a deep understanding of some of the most complex problems, and requires complex solutions. I watched as these problems were reduced to the barest of solutions, and solutions that were disturbingly vile at the same time. I watched in utter astonishment as a populism arose around this despicable “movement,” as it was called by prince fuckwad junior. It was so glaringly obvious that this was an insidious con perpetrated on the more vulnerable in our country, who were so obviously being manipulated in the most egregious fashion. I’ve watched as the liberals have been denounced for their elitism, while the conservative party licks their chops at the notion of finally putting their fucking red, patriotic gun-toting country on the cutting block. I’ve watched as racism awoke from a dormancy we never knew was so eager to awake, hungry for blood. I watched a propaganda machine operate domestically and from the former Soviet Union, instilling the American consciousness with sexist and xenophobic messaging. I’m watching the media at present, speak of this vile monster about to fuck us royally in the ass, speak of the transition of power as some ceremonial regularity.

I am not a political writer. But I’m dealing with the learning curve. I’m going to build my cohort, and so should you. If I know you from anywhere along this road of life, I plan to reach out to you, mostly because I am scared and I am angry and I am motivated and I am not going to spectate. I see the need for education, for whatever it takes to change hearts and minds. I see the need to listen to people who feel left behind. I see the need to organize and act. I don’t know how, exactly. I’m dealing with that learning curve, too. For now, watch this space. Thanks and stay in touch.