The Isolation Diaries No. 11

“Capitalism would, in the end, Marx said, turn on the so-called free market, along with the values and traditions it claims to defend. It would in its final stages pillage the systems and structures that made capitalism possible. It would resort, as it causes widespread suffering, to harsher forms of repression to maintain social control. It would attempt, in a frantic last stand, to extract profit by looting and pillaging state institutions, contradicting its stated nature.” Chris Hedges, America: The Farewell Tour

By one report I saw the death toll in America from Covid-19 has reached 5,848. It’s higher now I’m sure. 

The Santa Barbara Independent reports 152 cases in Santa Barbara County. 

Imagine if the United States was engaged in a war without the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the top levels of Pentagon management. With no central coordination or logistics or intelligence, the Army, Air Force, Marines, and Navy are sent into the fray to do what they can independently of one another. At the front Army units call for air support, but the Air Force and Navy can’t decide which branch should respond. While they bicker, casualties mount. The Commander-in-Chief shrugs and says the war isn’t his problem, the services need to figure it out. He’ll back them up, but it’s their problem. As the war rages, the Army and Marines fight over limited supplies of ammunition and bombs and the Navy and Air Force spar over fuel and spare aircraft parts. The chaos is so profound that a Navy pilot mistakenly bombs an Army unit, killing 100 soldiers and wounding many more. A Marine battalion rushes to the front only to be told when they arrive that the battle line they are to reinforce is 110 miles to the east. The Air Force finds itself desperately short of rations, while the Army has five tons more than it needs. The Air Force petitions the Commander-in-Chief for aid, citing major casualties if the aid isn’t forthcoming. “I don’t like the way you’re asking me for help,” says the Commander-in-Chief. “First, you should be grateful for my leadership, and second, you should arrange to buy your own rations. What do I look like, Whole Foods?” Every afternoon the Commander-in-Chief holds a televised press briefing and claims the war is being won, casualties are minimal, and the whole thing should be over very soon. “Exciting things are happening,” says the Commander-in-Chief. “There’s never been a war like this. Nobody’s done the job we’ve done.”

Day-by-day erasure of truth, of fact, of verbatim, recorded statements. The grotesque, terrifying heart of George Orwell’s 1984 is alive and thriving in Donald Trump’s twisted rendering of his administration’s historic, perfect, never-been-done-before reponse to this pandemic. The governors are to blame for not preparing early, for not purchasing ventilators and masks and gowns and gloves in advance; nobody knew it would get this bad (most recognized experts saw the potential for catastrophe); hospital workers are stealing gloves and masks and selling them at huge profit; the federal government is only a backup; we acted early; Covid-19 testing is readily available to anyone who needs a test.  

Trump’s stupidity is as unbearable as his incompetence and mendacity. 

Jared Kushner, Trump’s son-in-law, is the poster boy for rich, pampered, lazy, incompetent assholes. He’d benefit from an old-fashioned playground ass-kicking. I’d be honored to administer that beat down. 

States do not have large stockpiles of strategic materials. This is why the federal government maintains the Strategic National Stockpile. National, meaning for the nation; national, because the federal government has size, economies of scale and logistical capacity that individual states do not. 

We are now bearing the weight of years of austerity, inequality, budget cuts, and cruelty. The chickens are flocking home to roost. So much for operating our government like a corporation, so much for the deliberate destruction of a social safety net that was never very robust to begin with, so much for the arrogance of the wealthy and the apathy of the masses.  

The sun is shining and birds are twittering, it’s Spring, time of rebirth and renewal. Traffic on Milpas Street is light. On a “normal” Saturday morning the flea market in the high school parking lot would be going at this hour. But the parking lot is deserted now. We stay inside, try to maintain hope, stay healthy, physically and mentally, though the latter is a challenge. I’ve lost count of how many consecutive days I have trained. Physical training is an important part of my life, but now my steel mace, kettlebells, jump rope, bands, TRX, pull-up bar, gymnastic rings, truck tire, and all the bodyweight exercises and martial arts movements I know are keeping me somewhat sane. I train, then meditate for a few minutes. I read -- The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolano, The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov, The Diary of a Country Priest by Georges Bernanos. I listen to music, podcasts, watch Curb Your Enthusiasm and Ru Paul’s Drag Race with my wife. I write this humble blog, tossing my thoughts into the void. For the first time yesterday we wore masks (we found some brand new N95 masks we ordered during the Thomas Fire in the closet) when we went to CVS and Ralphs. 

No end in sight of Covid-19, self-isolation, Donald J. Trump and his band of profiteering ghouls, America’s delusions, fears, and madness, death and sadness, quiet acts of kindness and heroism and fierce creativity. I’m fearful. I’m angry.