NOT THIS AMERICA
(My pre-Election for the Daily News/North Shore Boston)
I don’t know about Denmark but something is rotten in America. It’s not the one I’ve known and loved, not because it was perfect then, but because it was one of possibility.
I knew too well the awful “-isms” that I grew up in—contra those of “wrong” color; that made Native Americans the butts of oater films where they spoke a bummed English (“me-um go-em” somewhere) and always vanquished for being the bad guys.
An America where in politics those who spoke wrongly and immorally were quickly caught in the crossfire of corrections and the electorate sent them packing—except down South where backwoods southern sheriffs held sway for injustice and juries followed their misbegotten testimonies.
But moral fiber always had a chance. We tangled with school segregation, civil rights, wrong wars, showed a lying-sonofabitch-president the door, and had begun to see the value of immigration and the humanity of those given to other than otherwise “normal” gender.
Then the roof fell in and we were suddenly partying like it was 1920 again when the KKK marched down streets of our nation’s capital. This time it was all the good ol’ boys, who when alone in a civilized environment are meek as mice, found each other via the dastardly internet and could make shambles of the capitol itself.
A president who was truly comfortable in his own skin instead of driven by his insecurities, would have sent in the militia to do what should have been done, but mayhem was the order of the day and the Supremes would back his donnybrook-ing.
No, not my America. But I’m not about to quit. Those who became the MAGA folks were once those who posted billboards in benighted parts of the country proclaiming, “IMPEACH EARL WARREN” and the sort, others telling black folks they would be caught dead if found in towns past sundown.
Aye, a lovely day it was, and one we thought could never last, given the great liberal era was gathering forces and marching toward utopia.
Silly us. Our neighbors decided that a bloviating, all arse-and-appetite con man with no love for the Constitution was the better option whilst we underwent change. They fell in line the way the old elixir-hawkers got people to buy quack medicine. Human nature, we found, doesn’t change. Politics is like clothes fashions, they change as people tire of one thing and another and either go retro or think that a new poppycock idea is the next flavor of the day. Like changing cars, clothes or love interests. What a country—or, What? A country?
No, we’ve slipped and fallen, and so much harm has been done we’ll be fixing it forever, like the eternal repairs to old Notre Dame cathedral. The harm done in the first Trump term was reparable; we just looked foolish for having bought in. Now he’s made such a mess that it’s like garbage in the streets with a strike underway. Another four years of him or anyone like him would be “Sayonara, U.S. and democracy!”
Other countries can have what they want but this one is special for being the Great Experiment that showed such promise through thick and thin and had such flashes of brightness along the way that it proved worth saving and keeping.
The most effective tool of the Trump era has been the use of distraction while he screws up. News reports bite every time. Every misstep and misstatement is followed by a ridiculous utterance, reporters chase it down, flesh it out, and rush it to the screen.
Trump is like a classroom brat or the kid going full-rebel at home. Deal with them, not their door slamming and name-calling. When it’s clear their distractions aren’t working it’s curtains for the little buggers. Ignore Trump’s bull-crap and vote his minions out. Like the capitol-stormers, he’s losing his mojo as he becomes isolated and finds himself amid people unafraid of him.
One day not so long ago, we voted the rascals in. In November, vote ‘em out. Afterward, it’ll be like cleaning up those bombed-out foreign cities. But it’ll feel a lot better than the moral wreckage we know now.
And the smell will be gone, like Denmark’s.
(John Burciaga doesn’t vote early and often in the same election but he’s never seen a ballot he didn’t like)
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