When He Goes
Lately, the subject of Trump’s longevity (both biological and electoral), keeps poking its eager snout into the conversation, and from what I can tell, people’s attitudes fall into two basic camps: those fervently hoping for the banana peel, and those who “wouldn’t wish ill on any man,” no matter how they might feel about him.
As far as I can see, the folks in group B feel the way they do not so much because of any particular religious injunction against wishing ill upon others (organized religion generally has no problem with identifying enemies and passing judgement), as with a more universal desire to avoid drawing the attention of the Grim Reaper. The general attitude seems to be, ‘Better to play it safe. How do I know that after granting my wish and putting the ka-bosh on Trump, this guy with the farming implement doesn’t do a U-Turn and come after me?’
Personally, I’ll risk it. Though probably as superstitious as the next person, I can’t wait until this abomination’s in our rearview, and there’s a bottle of bubbly designated and ready for when that blessed moment comes. As far as I’m concerned - and I say this with an open heart and a clear conscience - it can’t come soon enough.
Because I’ve done due diligence. I’ve searched my soul, and what I’ve found is that this administration’s actions, by which I mean Trump’s actions, can no longer be a matter of debate or discussion for me, much less for turning the other cheek, doing unto others, or living and letting live. Its policies are deliberately cruel. People are dying as a result. People who were loved as (hopefully) you and I are loved. Actual people. Real people.
Anti-poverty programs gutted, veteran benefits slashed, international health organizations de-funded. Infectious diseases on the rise. For-profit prisons holding thousands indefinitely. A pointless war resulting (so far) in hundreds if not thousands of civilians dead, a strengthened, brutal regime, and a global economic crisis. Daily extrajudicial killings in the Caribbean. Hundreds of violent criminals pardoned and soon, apparently, rewarded.
The list is endless.
This isn’t national security – we’re more vulnerable than ever.
This isn’t fiscal responsibility – they’re stealing our money as I write, raking in the billions. Trump’s birthday party will cost 60 million; just replacing the grass afterwards, $700,000.
No, this is abuse of power so pure it makes your eyes water, and anyone saying it can’t get worse is either in denial or a fool.
Do I wish the man responsible for all this gone? I do, without a moment’s hesitation, the Reaper be damned.
But this is a big subject, so I need to be as clear as possible.
I can’t wish pain – physical pain - on anyone , maybe because, unlike our President, I’m capable of empathy.
But I can wish them erased. Crushed electorally, a la Orban. Rendered as weak, as vulnerable, as those they preyed upon. I can wish them humiliated in the name of justice, forced to watch their works dismantled and to know that future generations will see them, and hate them, for what they were.
Is this wrong? I don’t think so, and I’m frustrated by those who do.
As I see it, to hate the cruel, the unjust, is not hateful – it’s a duty.
To have wished Stalin gone in 1950, or Mao in 1957 before the Great Leap Forward, would have been justified by any moral measure. If your wish had been granted, millions of innocent lives would have been spared.
That our soul is the sum of our deeds is a truth I hold to be self-evident. That we are what we’ve done on this earth, for good or ill, seems as irrefutable as gravity to me, and to the extent that immortality comes into the picture at all, it’s in the fact that those deeds echo forever. Nothing is lost. The smallest gesture, be it a smile or a slap, replicates itself, multiplies invisibly.
Call it ethical empiricism if it makes you happy, but I’d just say that I judge people as I would wish to be judged myself, that is, by what they do, by how they are with others, by their general decency – or lack thereof.
Donald Trump, Steven Miller, Pete Hegseth and the rest have already done more harm in this world than we can imagine, and the sooner they’re stopped - whether by divine intervention or the democratic process - the better.
Until then, the bubbly stays in the fridge.
I also have a small bottle of bubbly waiting for that moment. Perhaps it should be more: a street party would suffice, except the neighbours probably wouldn’t pass more than a raised eyebrow to such news, such is the general apathetic climate here.
Brilliant as usually, Mark.
Im only trying to imagine if my stress squeezed innards will get some rest when my wife and I land in Prague soon for yearly couple months stay. Přeji hezké léto.