Reckonings
The greening has begun, tiny blades of grass along the edges of the fields, like the first notes of a sonata, and the islands are indigo, and if I could paint, I would try to capture that line of white light on the horizon. I am walking to clear my head and ease my heart. I need to shake off the horror, grief, nausea, and fury. It feels somehow both epic and personal. I feel violated.
I reflect about my life as I traverse this familiar landscape, recalling other geographies in my history and what questions I may have pondered as I wandered through them. The road through the hills is steep and circuitous, and I pace myself, and pause to sit on a rock on the ridge, and see myself as an old chipped cup, a broken clock, an uncorrected manuscript— yeah, still functional, maybe running late or ahead of myself, but tapping out words. So much wants to be said, but I don’t know how to say it.
I'm feeling overwhelmed by the events of yesterday...and really all the four nightmare years that have preceded it, not to mention the ongoing pandemic...just overwhelmed: angry, disgusted, heartbroken. Such good news about Georgia, and it should have been a day of triumph and healing. We expected and deserved some sense of relief and closure with the official acknowledgment of Biden’s election. Instead, there is this new chapter in the nightmare.
But it isn’t even new. It is the inevitable culmination of what was already set in motion. We have been traumatized for four years: betrayed, lied to, trifled with, exploited, insulted...yes, violated. It has been a kind of abuse, and much has been stolen from us as a result, including a sense of security about our democratic institutions and principles, and a certain ability to trust. And God, the anxiety. The constant sense of having to fight for what is right and decent.
But I did nonetheless feel that this was our Capitol, our White House, our Constitution, our beloved and flawed nation, imperfect and tainted and weighted with shame, but still striving towards a vision of something better. Yesterday, these thugs and their enablers gleefully took a giant shit on all of that. They took brazen advantage of their whiteness, often ushered in, wreaking havoc, taking selfies, ignorant and delusional. But it was more than just a frat boy party gone awry–they were armed, and had malevolent intent. Not only did they disrupt the peaceful and legitimate transfer of power, but the first three in the line of presidential succession were directly in harm’s way. It was the climax to long-pending dynamics, a celebration of white supremacy, incited and cheered on by powerful people, starting with the so-called president. The damage will be lasting. And the perpetrators are still among us.
I am weeping, but I want to see justice. Anger has become the most salient of my emotions. If heartbreak yields compassion, what does anger leave, other than discontent and desire for revenge? It doesn’t bode well, but that’s my reality right now. I want to see a full investigation, and I want retaliation. I want to see consequences. Arrests. Punishment. Lessons. Change.
I wrote this yesterday in the midst of all the chaos. No new insights, but I post it to remember what I was feeling in real time:
Too bad it isn’t a reality TV show. Too bad it’s our nation, our ideals, our hopes being desecrated on what could have been a day of triumph and healing. Don’t call it a protest—it is mob violence, plain and simple, deliberately inflamed by the narcissistic fascist that lodged himself in the Executive Office and has brought us four years of misery and corruption, enabled by those whose greed and hunger for power far overshadowed ethics or principles or decency. Shame on them forever, and may there be a public reckoning after we get through this. No, it is not a protest: it is mindless terrorism by criminals in an ignorant cult who shout about American greatness but have no understanding of what America is or what greatness means. (And imagine the response if it was Black Lives Matter storming the Capitol instead of these MAGA idiots?) Meanwhile, a pandemic is raging and people are dying, and hearts are breaking.
Where do we go from here? The story is still being written.