GenX and Boomer politicians — which is just about everyone in Congress — remember the old Soviets well.
The peddlers of fake history (looking at you, David Barton and Dinesh D’Souza), like, you know, just about any dictatorial head of state thug.
The ones who disenfranchised, imprisoned, and quickly began to murder political opponents for being political opponents (looking at you, GOP. You’re halfway through the first and simultaneously the second so far).
The ones quick to rattle the nuclear saber (Hello, Donald).
The ones quick to crack down on their minority groups and all who demand their human rights. With deadly force (have you been watching the news these last few years?).
The ones who boldly speak as Orwell had his villains speak in 1984. Who tell us, literally, that war is peace and poverty is wealth (Donald, Paul Ryan, Mitch McConnell, Limbaugh, Hannity, Alex Jones, Drudge, and too many more, again literally, to count).
You can point to politicians in general from those generations and see flashes of our leadership becoming what they hated and feared up until the Soviet collapse.
Hate and fear come in part from feeling threatened.
Feeling threatened comes in part from believing that threat could be fulfilled.
From fearing death.
Ever hear the old saying “fight fire with fire”?
It means “build a firebreak by burning a bare patch the bigger fire cannot cross”.
But, see, a lot of folks especially in GenX heard “wow the Soviet fire is strong. Get some of that strong fire and let’s use it ourselves”.
So you end up with a lot of GOP leaders running around acting like dictators.
Because the Soviets certainly espoused communism, but it was only for the little people.
Soviet leaders were oligarchic dictators first.
And the US right certainly cannot adopt communism, nor do they want it. (A few on the US left do adopt this crap along with the communism, but they are a bare straggle compared with the mighty river of neonazoid extremism Trump has nurtured on the right).
Since the GOP cannot become communist any more than the Democratic Party could, what is left?
Be oligarchic despots! Follow the example chose (the ideology they’ve chosen, uncontrolled capitalism, can be for the little people. The oligarchs, the dictators, feed off the people and ignore the state ideology — such crude things do not suit born aristocrats. They assume they deserve the support of the state to the tune of TRILLIONS of dollars in free stuff for billionaires. Socialism by another name, but only for the extremely rich. A safety net they begrudge the peasantry who they consider basically subhuman — as Mitt Romney put it, they won’t take responsibility for their own lives, apparently to be achieved by sending Mittboy a bunch of free money. He and all the rest think they’re entitled to feed on our blood and sweat as if we were beef steers ready for slaughter.
It’s no mistake that Donald has said again and again over the years that poorer (non-billionaire non-heirs of heirs like him) people are genetically inferior to the very rich. Hmm.
Who is the best example to look to, if you have become what you hate by adopting the most deadly and vicious tactics of your former greatest foe?
Why, the despot who rules the successor state of your old foe! Who better to teach you how to become what you once hated?
So here we are at the marriage. Please welcome Mr. Vladimir Putin and Mr. Donald Putin.
They will show us pigs to our trough, which is the same worn wood and thin slop whether it has “communist” or “capitalist” scrawled on the side by some talentless, unseen hack in the guts of the One True Party. The Aristocrats (link to VERY NSFW Gilbert Gottfried edition, which may or may not describe the Trump family’s private life but it’s probably pretty close in my opinion.
So, thank you for attending my political thingie, however you’d describe this. And feel free to chime in.
I mean, seriously. How ignorant and/or priggish do you have to be?
Also, sweet potato pie is almost as regional as jambalaya. Maybe this isn’t about “froo-froo” food, but about Erick’s prejudices and his desire to pronounce anything that isn’t familiar and comforting to him “wrong.”
What a cringing prick.
Perhaps you’re aware of the various “false flag” theories that mass shootings as in Sandy Hook and Parkland never happened. Of course you are, you’re on the internet enough to have found this little authorpage and blog.
These conspiracy theorists compare pictures from different mass shootings and disasters, looking for similarities in people. When they find someone who sorta looks like someone else, they consult the magic chemtrail crystal ball and, lo and behold, it PROVES IT’S THE SAME PERSON IN A THINLY VEILED DISGUISE.
Their false flag crisis actor theory depends upon the fact that, like snowflakes, no two humans look at all like each other. Ever.
Which brings us to Elvis performer and lookalike Donny Edwards, pictured above in full regalia.
BUT WE KNOW TWO PEOPLE CANNOT LOOK ALIKE.
So he must be Real Elvis, preserved in unaging immortality perhaps by turning the mind control drug exuded by venomous vampires called fluoride against itself. Ha! TAKE THAT, SECRET GLOBALIST ARMY TUNNELING UNDER THE OCEAN FROM CHINA AND EUROPE TO TAKE OVER THE UNITED STATES IN THE NAME OF THE REPTILE ALIEN CONTROLLED UNITED NATIONS!
For what sinister purpose is Real Elvis — because, remember, no two humans look alike — hanging around?
I’ll leave you to think about it. Maybe you should secure your house in a thick wrapping of tinfoil and duct tape while you consider.
I Seriously Wouldn’t Put It Past FCC Head Ajit Pai To Be Participating In Anti-Net-Neutrality Astroturfing.
In the best of Trump voters, there’s deep and intense dissatisfaction. A feeling that anything must be better than the politics of our memory, whether that memory is the few years of the 18 year old first time voter or the several decades of the elder Trump voter.
In many, I think, there’s an approach to politics that is identical to the approach to sport. You choose a team, and you root for them no matter what. Which is a foolish and dangerous approach to politics no matter who you’re voting for, and a core failure of civic education at school, in our communities, and in our homes.
But I’m not talking about the best of Trump voters here. I’m not talking about the rah-rah-go-team voters, or the reluctant ideologues who don’t like Trump but hate anyone outside the GOP more, or the impulse-shopper voters who went with whoever’s last sound bite they liked more, or the strategic ‘he’ll pick SCOTUS justices I’ll like’ voters or the on-the-fence voters who aren’t quite sure, somehow, who best represents their ideas and ethics.
I’m talking about the hard Trump core. The people who love the guy for all he represents. Not the Russian bots and foreign provocateurs, but the ones who sound like Russian bots despite being born and raised in the most corn-and-apple-pie-fed settings across the country.
Theirs is the triumph of the won’t.
They call themselves “alphas” and their perceived enemies (most of the citizenry of the United States of America) “betas” and “cucks”…
…and “feminized” (because being a woman is bad, or means you’re inferior, or means you’re genetically programmed to serve men because quite a few of the Trumpite hard core love them some 19th century pseudoscientific genetic determinism and its cousins eugenics and eugenic-style theories, and possibly phrenology and physiognomy and phlogiston and phlat earth ‘theory’ and who knows what else) and, well, whatever flaccid insults help them feel turgid and ready to lash out violently — because manliness, to them, is not showing humanity, but is found in behaving like a rage-blind distempered ape.
They imagine that by naming themselves dominant and aggressive, that makes them paragons of rock-jawed will.
They have little clue what it really reveals: it doesn’t reveal will. It reveals won’t. A humanity-paralyzing fear of tomorrow, of today, and of anything that doesn’t cater to their fussy, prissy, whiny control-freak demands of reality. A boy-tantrum “I WON’T” to the inevitability of time passing. They’re pissed off that reality itself won’t cut the crusts off their PB&J like mommy used to, but insists on being reality.
The “f–k your feelings” crowd runs on the feeling that they are offended that the universe will not treat them like the little princes and princesses they know they are.
That failure of adapting to the facts of life is their motive force, just as gasoline is the motive force of your car: there are a variety of other ingredients and factors, some important and others not, but without gasoline and failure Trumpism Car DOES. NOT. MOVE.
Of course, that’s not what they see in the mirror.
Trumpites, just like “God Emperor Trump” mostly cast themselves as alpha-male towers of will (or equivalent, or admirers of same, when women) — an army to proudly march back into the middle of the 20th century. Or maybe the 19th or 18th, depending on the Trumpite.
As if a past can ever be re-lived. As if the past was ever half as idyllic and perfect as many of them seem to believe — and an awful lot of them can remember the middle of the 20th century.
It is, after all, the land of their childhoods, the land of their childish dreams and childish ambitions. It is an age of shelter for many, even those whose childhoods were difficult or even abusive — what comes after, dealing with the adult consequences of childhood deprivation and/or abuse, often seems even harder than childhood, especially to the adult living it in the now.
And the remembrance of childhood is veiled in the ignorance of the child, and that is hazed by the passage of decades as well as the bitter demise of childhood dreams at the hands of reality — and both white male Boomers and GenX, key Trump demographics, had big dreams that died hard. Dreams of privilege expanding endlessly, dreams of unlimited world-altering success, dreams of the industry and union driven white middle class boom of the 1950s trending up, up, forever up, three chickens in every pot and three cars in every McMansion garage on a solid acre in the suburbs with a tall white privacy fence and a dog and a cat and 2.5 children educated at the highest standard in the world.
Only, the Boomers grew up to be Yuppies and ‘vulture capitalists’ and GenX grew up to build the dot-com boom and bust and found the ‘gig economy,’ and the ‘leaders’ of both have spent, collectively, the last 40 years gutting that goose that was laying the golden eggs, haven’t they?
There were a lot of rich guts in the American goose. Gutting it has taken a long time. But the work is almost done, now. What do you do with a fowl once you have it gutted?
You cut it into pieces and fry it, that’s what. It’s delicious.
Then you throw the bones away. Might take another 40 years to get there. And the process is part of the problem. The Boomer and Gen X gutters know they’ll almost certainly be dead and gone by the time they’ve gnawed this goose down to the greasy bones.
And here they are, writing and tweeting and bitching and Trump-voting away, flailing about wildly for someone else to blame. We (white male GenX, of which I am one) aren’t about to blame ourselves collectively. We’re all about ego and the importance of the individual, by which we mean ourselves, singular, not any other white male of our generations and certainly not any other individuals beyond that demographic. I, me, me, I. And if something is wrong you must be to blame and that’s why we have Trump yelling at his fans to ‘knock the shit out of’ people who dare voice dissent and why we have ideological zealots stabbing people for not agreeing with their politics (yes, enforcing the ‘correctness’ of their politics by killing those who disagree. Or, in milder form, by calling them rude names on Twitter.) and attacking people for having brown skin or the ‘wrong’ religious/spiritual/ideological/scientific/educated beliefs and knowledge.
Let’s go back, for a moment, to that perceived childhood idyll they’re so hot to “take our country back” to.
For me, childhood was the 1970s. In my memory, there’s sort of a glow around those years. That glow is the better side of my childhood. A glow of carefree play. What did I know or feel of the ugliness of the war in Vietnam or the national humiliation of Richard Nixon or the horror of Kent State?
Little or nothing, of course. I was a boy, a poor boy to be sure, but one who was wandering field and forest of rural Wisconsin with a faithful dog at my side. I was concerned with wading in creeks, gathering hickory nuts, snacking on wild apples and plums and berries, climbing trees, playing games with my friends, reading books, and so on. I wasn’t watching or comprehending much of the news.
The 1970s were no golden age, to be sure. But they look a bit gold to me when I remember them. Because I was a child, and the cares of adulthood were not yet upon me. The 1950s are no different. Or the 1930s, or 1990s. Wherever your childhood is.
Trumpism is no yearning for utopia, and it is no brave embrace of the hard work of making a better tomorrow. It is a fleeing in the hopeless direction of lost childhood. It is a cowering. For tomorrow is always uncertain, and doubly so for those who wish, uselessly, to live in the past.
The thuggish threats and violence and posturing with gun and fist are not strength. They are the bared teeth of the rat backed into a corner — only the Trumpite corner is built of fear-rhetoric and scaremongering taken to heart by the fearful. It’s not real. But more than imaginary, it is a huge corner packed full of a whole chaos of rats constantly telling each other how hellish and awful life and the United States and the world are. And no matter how much the rats tear into each other, no matter what other of their fellows they manage to bite, what they rage against is impossible to bite, because it is tomorrow itself, and the blood they taste is their own.
They’re raging against the only true constant in the universe: change itself. A constant that nothing can turn aside, delay, or even touch.
And, perhaps fittingly for the generations of Boomers and GenXers that are the meat of the ranks of Trumpism, their idea of a better world is an action B-movie. No actual leaders, just stars whose charisma is a scriptwritten Hollywood facade of strength, whose power is all spectacle and cheesy one-liners and costumery (Mike Pence and Scott Walker on Harleys, anyone?) whose will is the will of the moral and ethical and emotional weakling: the temper tantrum, the uncontrolled rage, the urge to mass murder with big guns and exciting stunts and technicolor explosions, and of course lots and lots of angry, violent intimidation.
Bully tools, but played out in real life instead of the theater.
Yearn for an angry, bloody version of childhood all you like, Trumpites. That way lies chaos and loss and disappointment. Adulthood can be quite a bit more boring, with its reason, and compromise, and sometimes painful ethical choices, and hard work, and compassion. But one way leads into a better future for our children, and one leads into Lord of the Flies for children of all ages, even the balding ones with deep crows’ feet.
…the way this story is going we might end up being the villain.
Whatever you can do to prevent that from coming to pass, whether it is a tiny bit or a larger bit, it is time to do it. And keep doing it until we are well past this yawning abyss of history our nation is currently trying to throw itself into courtesy of Cheeto Don and the elephant he rode in on.
Follow the Leaders: one piece in a series by artist Isaac Cordal.
You may have seen the piece of art above already. It has been bouncing around the internet for some years now, often billed as “politicians debating sea level rise” or “…climate change.” Well, it kind of isn’t, and it kind of is, and following the link in the caption might shed some light on it.
It is a FANTASTIC representation, inadvertent or otherwise, specifically of the current US GOP/Trumpite approach to climate change and rising sea levels.
And that approach…
…yeah. That’s going to be SUPER EFFECTIVE.
But our Fearless Glorious Leader and his Band of
Thugs Merry Men (they’d surely call it sexist to acknowledge the women who choose to support him rather than lump them together under a masculine collective) aren’t restricting themselves to climate change. If you’ve been following current political events, he/they is/are not just ignoring climate change science, but rolling back environmental protections that have cleaned up industry-polluted land, water, and air over the last 40 years, acting to revive coal use and hobble the increasing use of solar and wind power generation, which I might add, is rising because it is now cost effective due to technological advances perpetrated by that terrible villain, science.
In other words, the 21st century is SCARY and THINGS ARE CHANGING and LET’S HIDE IN THE 20TH CENTURY. Unless you’re a public school student, in which case they’re shooting for the 19th century. No, really. The target there is getting rid of all those troublesome public schools and leaving education to corporations and churches, which I’m sure will work out great in an alternate timeline where suddenly technology stops working.
The only problem is that hiding in the past is a gigantic mistake, and it will always be. Yes, there’s such a thing as tradition. But traditions only make sense as long as they help people. If things change and they become harmful, or you realize they’ve been harmful all along and we don’t have a need to accept that harm — I’M LOOKING AT YOU COAL WITH YOUR BLACK LUNG AND OPEN PITS AND TOXIC RUNOFF AND OH WHAT A SHOCK BURNING THOUSANDS OF ANCIENT FORESTS IN CONCENTRATED FORM EVERY DAY MIGHT RELEASE GASES THAT CHANGE THE CLIMATE A TAD GEE WHIZ WHO WOULDA THUNK IT — then you say “yay, positive change!” and start using wind turbines to charge your iThingiee. And we all breathe a little easier, and people who live near the ocean like me start thinking that maybe, just maybe, our descendants won’t have to flee farther inland in the 22nd century.
I don’t pass along videos often, especially not hour-long satirical jabs at our most unfortunate current Presidential candidate, the USA’s answer to the UK’s nativist/racist UKIP party, Donald Trump.
But I do have a bit of political conscience, I genuinely believe that Trump presents a danger to the future of the US above and far beyond what any of the other candidates may pose, and I also believe that satire, like all storytelling, has a great potential to lift up the positive and dispel the negative.
And so in the spirit of dispelling a grave negative, I invite you to sit down and spend a little time watching Trump being lampooned in the spirit of The Great Dictator (although it cannot match the eloquence of that classic).