“The only thing foggier than war itself can be the path to its frightening, if too often exciting, outbreak.” David W. Blight, Frederick Douglass: Prophet of Freedom
Upside down, balanced on the head of a pin, sickness on one side, economic and social calamity on the other. Middle ground shrinking, the battle lines clear, all poised to fall or flee when the next shock comes. Flush with impatience, unable to strike out in spectacular fashion and solve the problem with force, the leaders of the crumbling Empire are too blind to see that victory this time requires agility and discipline, patience fed by the river of common purpose.
But years of drought dried the river up. Now you find and carry your own water, every man (woman, too) for himself. Dog-eat-dog and the law of the jungle, survival of the fittest, no mercy, fee-based compassion. Coddle the wealthy few and punish the numerous poor. 60 years or so ago, a large chunk of American workers were card-carrying union members, with the collective power to compel owners to share the spoils or pay a cost. Today Uber is the emblem of the age; individual workers fly the Uber banner, but the ship and its upkeep is a burden carried by the worker who amounts to little more than a digital sharecropper. For the modern capitalist, harnessing the power of want and fear is Nirvana; precarious workers are compliant workers.
The lies from high places keep coming. The false prophets and carnival barkers slay the truth. The Fraud King is off his nut, his candle burning down to a pool of wax; he’s totally lost, babbling about school choice as more black men die and the Covid-19 wave he and his many enablers ignore gathers force and prepares for another run at the jetty. Christian warrior Mikey Pence is on the loose, bearing false witness, misleading the flock into a false sense of security. “We smote the terrible virus and it is no more. Rejoice. Let us gather under one roof, and may our trumpets blare and banners fly.”
Frederick Douglass said in 1862: “He is the best friend of this country, who, at this tremendous crisis, dares tell his countrymen the truth, however disagreeable that truth may be.”
The silence of cowards is deafening.
Covid-19 has altered time, disrupted our uneasy equilibrium, and exposed our weaknesses, just as immoral Capitalism has poisoned our national well, and now the water is contaminated with the carcinogens of greed and cruelty.
All feels precarious, a strange calm before what is sure to be a vengeful storm. “It’s dying out,” says the Fraud King of the virus as evidence to the contrary gathers like leaves in the gutter. “I made Juneteenth famous,” the Fraud King says, “nobody even knew it existed before.” Bring on the Nazi-style rally in Tulsa, let it be a petrie dish for Trump’s insatiable need for adulation. He’ll say stupid shit, unhinged shit about Biden and the Democrats, John Bolton, his niece, the Supreme Court, Covid-19, anyone else he’s upset with, a river of bile. Trump is ruler of an island being reclaimed by the sea. He loses ground with each passing day. If Trump was smart, and he’s not, he would keep his mouth shut about the Supreme Court. The Court’s holding a potential wildcard against Trump. If the justices rule as they should, for the idea that no one is above the law, including Donald J. Trump, and force him to turn over his tax returns, the gig is up. I’ve said all along that with Trump you have to watch the current to see where the money comes from, and where and to whom it goes. Of all the shit that scares Trump, having his tax returns exposed is near the top of his list.
Losing rounds for the Fraud King, he’s taken some body blows, shown some weakness, and he knows more is to come. Reality is merciless.
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