June 6, 2021
I hate writing depressing missives, but right now, I think it’s all I’m capable of. To do otherwise would require a mask far heavier than I have the strength for. My heart is breaking. I’m constantly on the edge of tears. (You’re free to stop reading now, if you wish.)
Trump is embarking on a tour consisting of what he calls “presidential appearances” or some such thing, claiming that he’s still the president and will be reinstated by August. It would be laughable were it not for the rumors about his “army” of militia supporters planning another coup attempt. And, yes, some are actually calling it a “coup.” I don’t think at this point that it would be much of an exaggeration to say that we’re openly engaged in a civil war, even if most people aren’t paying attention yet.
If he hasn’t managed to force his way back into the White House by then, plans are already underway for Trump to run for president again in 2024. He’s also reportedly toying with the idea of running for a House seat next year, then becoming Speaker of the House and impeaching Biden and Harris—which would then put him back in the White House since House Speaker is next in line. All of these things are possible, and we’d be foolish to arrogantly dismiss them.
And this morning, news has sent me into mourning for my country. Senator Joe Manchin has announced via an op-ed that he will not be voting for the “For the People Act” nor will he vote to kill the filibuster (which allows any single senator to stop everything — literally). To borrow a line from “Star Wars,” he was our last hope. This leaves the Democrats short one vote of passing either item. What this means is Republicans will filibuster the hell out of the entire Democratic agenda (they’ve already pledged to do so after leaving a long track record of doing exactly that) and will sweep into power in next year’s elections (thanks to all the voter suppression and “election reform” bills they’re currently flooding their state legislatures with and no “For the People Act” to make it fair).
Whatever path Trump chooses, the Republicans — no, let’s call them what they really are, call them by the flag they carry and the slogans they shout — the Fascists — will take over our country, and we will likely never get it back. Where my imagination takes me after that — based on what I’ve seen of their policies and inclinations to date — is the dystopia from hell, and it feels like only a miracle or a superhero could save us now.
I’m a pessimist, you say? Nah. I don’t see only the dark side of things. But sticking your head in the sand leaves your ass exposed and keeps you from seeing what’s coming. I’ve lived long enough to know that if you ignore what is real, it will come up and slap the shit out of you. I’m not a pessimist. I’m a realist. And this stuff is real. This stuff will determine how it’s all going to end. For real.
At times like this, I’m grateful to be old and in poor health. I’m grateful to be unlikely to suffer the worst of the consequences to come. But my heart goes out to the ones I’ll be leaving behind. So when I die, do not mourn for me; be glad for me. Save your sorrow for the survivors.