"So interesting to see 'progressive' Democrat congresswomen, who originally came from countries whose governments are a complete and total catastrophe, the worst, most corrupt and inept anywhere in the world (if they even have a functioning government at all), now loudly and viciously telling the people of the United States, the greatest and most powerful nation on earth, how our government is to be run.
"Why don't they go back and help fix the totally broken and crime-infested places from which they came. Then come back and show us how it is done. "These places need your help badly, you can't leave fast enough. I'm sure that Nancy Pelosi would be very happy to quickly work out free travel arrangements!" Donald Trump's Sunday tweets.
In light of Mr. Trump’s recent tweets and counter-tweets and counter-counter-tweets attacking certain Members of Congress (as well as much of the Congress, the judiciary, and the media generally) and insisting that they take themselves and their communist attitudes back to their dysfunctional homelands (Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, and New York), it is clear that America is in a headlong rush down a cracking and hate-spiked highway leading to a sooner-than-expected dystopic and bifurcated nation of alienated political, social, and intellectual affections.
For the moment, as we pause to catch our collective breaths, we find ourselves on the slippery banks of a New Rubicon, with a history-worn die in the small hands of our ersatz leader who has, in the style of Julius Caesar, fashioned himself the 21st century Dictator Perpetuo of the now ironically-named United States. On the near side are communities inhabited by men and women whose affections lie with the Constitution, intellectual freedom, social justice, self-examination, critical thinking and ethically-informed fair play. On the far bank, cowering behind Trump, are men and women whose failure-certified America First affections are stained by conscienceless loathing of all “others” who are non-White, non-straight, non-sexually compliant, godless, liberally intellectual, and anyone who is more than one-drop-of-blood immigrant.
With absolute certainty that he will evade punishment for leading his rabble-filled army toward victory against all he hates, Trump is casting his die, and, with his Sunday tweets, has begun to march across the New Rubicon with racism in his blood, bigotry in his heart, and violence in his voice. Will Trump and his populists, like Caesar and his Populares, cross the river, prevail, and vanquish his real and imagined enemies? Or will his forces be stopped mid-stream by reason-wielding, Constitution-armored, and finally-fed-up voters who, unlike the Roman Senate’s Optimates, will turn back and defeat the Trumpian vanguard before it reaches the near bank?
But enough of history; it has never informed Trump, and to even suggest to him that the path he is on—or the river he believes he will cross with impunity in 2020—might lead to his failure to achieve a second (or even third) term is a heresy he cannot imagine. It is interesting to note, however, that there were many battlegrounds spread across the Roman Civil War (which lasted four years, or one presidential term), and, while Caesar and his Populares ultimately prevailed, he could be defeated, as Pompey proved at the battle of Dyrrhachium, in July, 48 BC. Some military historians have suggested that had Pompey been more aggressive in his pursuit of the fleeing Caesar, the tide of the war could have turned in favor of the Optimates. In the light of such a possibility—a light 2,100 years old—it is imperative to press the fight to its extreme, to not fail or falter in the face of the encroaching enemy, to leave no vote on the battlefield.
Returning to our present predicament—a nation well on its way to becoming a land of the free and brave on one side, facing a shadowy land of the xenophobic and cowardly on the other—it is not only incumbent on rational Americans to stand against racism, bigotry, hate and violence-stoked division, it is existentially the only avenue left if we are going to defeat white nationalism and regain some viable semblance of government of, by, and for the people. Washington Post columnist Richard Cohen put it in some of the starkest terms ever on Monday when he opened his column with,
With absolute certainty that he will evade punishment for leading his rabble-filled army toward victory against all he hates, Trump is casting his die, and, with his Sunday tweets, has begun to march across the New Rubicon with racism in his blood, bigotry in his heart, and violence in his voice. Will Trump and his populists, like Caesar and his Populares, cross the river, prevail, and vanquish his real and imagined enemies? Or will his forces be stopped mid-stream by reason-wielding, Constitution-armored, and finally-fed-up voters who, unlike the Roman Senate’s Optimates, will turn back and defeat the Trumpian vanguard before it reaches the near bank?
But enough of history; it has never informed Trump, and to even suggest to him that the path he is on—or the river he believes he will cross with impunity in 2020—might lead to his failure to achieve a second (or even third) term is a heresy he cannot imagine. It is interesting to note, however, that there were many battlegrounds spread across the Roman Civil War (which lasted four years, or one presidential term), and, while Caesar and his Populares ultimately prevailed, he could be defeated, as Pompey proved at the battle of Dyrrhachium, in July, 48 BC. Some military historians have suggested that had Pompey been more aggressive in his pursuit of the fleeing Caesar, the tide of the war could have turned in favor of the Optimates. In the light of such a possibility—a light 2,100 years old—it is imperative to press the fight to its extreme, to not fail or falter in the face of the encroaching enemy, to leave no vote on the battlefield.
Returning to our present predicament—a nation well on its way to becoming a land of the free and brave on one side, facing a shadowy land of the xenophobic and cowardly on the other—it is not only incumbent on rational Americans to stand against racism, bigotry, hate and violence-stoked division, it is existentially the only avenue left if we are going to defeat white nationalism and regain some viable semblance of government of, by, and for the people. Washington Post columnist Richard Cohen put it in some of the starkest terms ever on Monday when he opened his column with,
“There are red states, blue states and, it is now clear, yellow states. The yellow states are represented in Congress by Republicans too cowardly to condemn a president who resorts to unabashed racism not only to stir his base but also to express his genuine bigotry. President Trump does not drink. Stark sober, he is drunk on hate.”
If that does not provoke an existential shock to your system, then consider that only four years ago, Senator Lindsay Graham, Trump’s current lapdog, was alarmed enough to call Trump a “race-baiting, xenophobic, religious bigot.” Truth then, fake news now. My, how the worm turned.
The Daily Beast’s Goldie Taylor was a bit more nuanced, but no less on point, in her column on Monday:
The Daily Beast’s Goldie Taylor was a bit more nuanced, but no less on point, in her column on Monday:
“Bigotry is dangerous and, in the hands of our nation’s commander-in-chief, it can mean an inability to recognize individual humanity and a failure to act with moral authority in times of crisis. Every person talking about his clothes as he cheerfully bares his ass is part of the problem.”
Taylor closed with this:
“Trump is not a fine person. His words Sunday were not racially ‘charged,’ ‘fueled,’ or ‘tinged.’ They were unapologetically racist. And, if you support him, so are you.”
Many years ago, my father, a kind, honorable, compassionate man who served his country in uniform in war and peace, struck up a friendship with a man who owned a farm adjacent to my parent’s property in rural Northern Virginia. The man was also a World War II and Vietnam veteran—a fighter pilot as was my dad. But he was also one of the most bigoted, racist people I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet and horror to hear. Not even in this, my own private blog, would I repeat some of his characterizations about Black Americans or foreigners from “the southern or eastern lands,” as he would put it.
As my father’s health failed, this man would come to visit and the two veterans would talk about their combat experiences, about colleagues who had passed on. Sometimes their conversations turned to their respective properties or the weather. I was usually there to care for my father, and so I was party to—or at least within earshot of—those mostly bland and innocuous conversations. My antennae were up most of the time…but I let stuff slide that never should have been uttered in front of my dad. Too often I failed as a protector.
But one day, I heard this man refer to General Colin Powell in the vilest of terms, digging deep into his bag of hate to besmirch and dehumanize a leader who I’d had the honor to know and held in great esteem. I was sitting opposite him, and the racist shockwave that emanated from his mouth struck me so hard I thought for a moment I’d been physically beaten. When I recovered, I said to the man, “You need to leave this house.” My father, who suffered from severe hearing loss, looked at me, confused. He said, “Why did you say that? He is my friend.” I said, “Pop, he is a racist, he is a bigot, and he just said something that you should not accept. He’s been doing this since he met you, and I should have said something. Now, I don’t want him in your house anymore, not while I’m here.” The man was already rising out of his chair, his aging body firm with his conviction, his eyes aflame, and it was crystal clear I had become an enemy, but he turned away from my challenge.
But one day, I heard this man refer to General Colin Powell in the vilest of terms, digging deep into his bag of hate to besmirch and dehumanize a leader who I’d had the honor to know and held in great esteem. I was sitting opposite him, and the racist shockwave that emanated from his mouth struck me so hard I thought for a moment I’d been physically beaten. When I recovered, I said to the man, “You need to leave this house.” My father, who suffered from severe hearing loss, looked at me, confused. He said, “Why did you say that? He is my friend.” I said, “Pop, he is a racist, he is a bigot, and he just said something that you should not accept. He’s been doing this since he met you, and I should have said something. Now, I don’t want him in your house anymore, not while I’m here.” The man was already rising out of his chair, his aging body firm with his conviction, his eyes aflame, and it was crystal clear I had become an enemy, but he turned away from my challenge.
He left, and in his wake, my father’s anger with me was something I had to deal with father to son. It was a long conversation about what my father had come to accept as just his neighbor’s way of saying things versus my inability to accept any such thing as normal. I never knew what my father and his neighbor talked about when I was not there, but after that confrontation, the neighbor never visited while I was at Pop’s house.
There comes a point at which the protection of that which is most dear to you calls for the hardest decisions…the kind you stand for in spite of all the blows you will take for that unyielding stance. Sometimes those blows will come from the ones you love; sometimes the blows will come from the institutions you love, the people you want to admire but cannot, the leaders you pray will rise to greatness but who have no greatness in them to begin with, or, worse, whose potential to be great has been compromised in the name of incumbency and comfort.
So it is with me and Mr. Trump. I cannot let him stay in the living room I call America for a moment longer than January 20, 2021. I cannot listen to his vile speech spittled out in front of my children, and the children of my neighbors and fellow citizens. I cannot countenance his plans of exile and barbed-wire fortification. I cannot bear his misogyny and deprecations. I cannot stand silently by while he plans the wreck of all I hold dear. The New Rubicon lies between him and me, and I see him, in all his crassness, casting his die, exhorting his followers to throw in with him and his dreams of supremacy, dreams of terrible pain and suffering to the nation. His dreams; our nightmares.
There comes a point at which the protection of that which is most dear to you calls for the hardest decisions…the kind you stand for in spite of all the blows you will take for that unyielding stance. Sometimes those blows will come from the ones you love; sometimes the blows will come from the institutions you love, the people you want to admire but cannot, the leaders you pray will rise to greatness but who have no greatness in them to begin with, or, worse, whose potential to be great has been compromised in the name of incumbency and comfort.
So it is with me and Mr. Trump. I cannot let him stay in the living room I call America for a moment longer than January 20, 2021. I cannot listen to his vile speech spittled out in front of my children, and the children of my neighbors and fellow citizens. I cannot countenance his plans of exile and barbed-wire fortification. I cannot bear his misogyny and deprecations. I cannot stand silently by while he plans the wreck of all I hold dear. The New Rubicon lies between him and me, and I see him, in all his crassness, casting his die, exhorting his followers to throw in with him and his dreams of supremacy, dreams of terrible pain and suffering to the nation. His dreams; our nightmares.
He is choosing to cross; I am choosing to fight, with my vote and with my words. Small as they might be, my words will hold me fast in the current. And if I hold fast enough, and if others hold fast with me, we will not let this present terror cross the New Rubicon.
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