“Everybody knows that pestilences have a way of recurring in the world; yet somehow we find it hard to believe in ones that crash down on our heads from a blue sky.” Albert Camus, The Plague
Three or four days ago I made some speculative notes about what might happen if Trump declares with great fanfare (fireworks, blaring trumpets, a 21-gun salute to his awesomeness) that the United States is open for business, raring to go, from sea to shining sea, from the mountains to the desert, but the sensible and rational governors of New York and California and Washington and New Jersey balk. What if Trump pitches a hissy fit and withholds federal aid to those states? No normal President would even think of such a thing during a pandemic, but if anything is absolutely clear about Trump at this point, it’s that he’s miles from normal. He needs to act petty and vindictive the way normal people need oxygen, so it’s not unthinkable that he would hold federal aid hostage until governors bend to his will.
When did I write that the Coronavirus was going to eat Trump’s lunch? Days ago. It’s happening, the empty vessel that is Donald J. Trump is cracking under pressure. He’s acting more like a sociopath than ever, describing 100,000 American deaths as a mark of an excellent job done. The man is sick. On April 13, Trump claimed that his authority as president is total, and therefore he can override governors whenever he feels like it. Article 10 of the Constitution be damned. Where are all the arch conservatives, the strict constructualists, the anti-federal government, drown-it-in-the-bathtub, small goverment loyalists now? Where are you? Come into the light so the people can see your face. Do you agree that Trump has total authority? What if Barack Obama had claimed such power to his black self? Hannity would have shit his pants, Limbaugh would have swallowed his tongue. Where is the Freedom Caucus? The Tea Party? Where are the Southern states screaming about federal encroachment on hallowed states’ rights? Come out, you fucking cowards, come out and watch your Boy Trump lose his shit on live television.
We are being gaslighted by a con man in the midst of a deadly pandemic.
My wife and I have been watching the HBO mini-series The Plot Against America, a masterful adaptation of Philip Roth’s 2004 novel of the same name by David Simon and Ed Burns. I am a Philip Roth fan of longstanding, an admirer of his mastery of the prose form, and his crystalline sentences. I read The Plot Against America when it was published, but admit to having forgotten big chunks of it in the intervening years. My wife keeps saying, “You read the book, you should know what’s going on.” I tell her I don’t remember all that much about Rabbi Bengelsdorf or Sandy or Bess or Philip or Herman. The series is well written, acted by a fine cast, and feels historic but also contemporary. By that I mean the viewer feels the Levin family’s world constricting, becoming more fraught, darker, and by the fifth episode, dangerous. Many Newark Jews have packed up and escaped to Canada. In the Age of Trump, it’s not hard to imagine how fascism creeps into being.
I began re-reading The Plot Against America today.
If you’re always in fear of losing your job, you’re not free. If you’re afraid to speak up, challenge authority, you’re not free. If you’re afraid to stand up for your rights as a human being, you’re not free.
What hateful things we do in this life. Humans are imperfect, governments even more so.
It’s a beautiful evening here, the sky is clear, the air fresh. The overhead fan is on, my wife is cooking in the kitchen behind me. It occurred to me today that I should go to sleep each night as if it is my last night, and if I open my eyes the next morning, rejoice at my luck.
From Robbie Robertson: “Welcome to the new Dark Ages/it’s such a beautiful madness.”
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