The Wannabe: Don Corleone Trump

 “The Birch Society called for defending the police against charges of brutality, opposed putting fluoride in the water supply with the fervor of today’s anti-vaxxers, and fought efforts at gun control, which they depicted as the preliminary step for confiscation and a Communist takeover of the United States.”  James Mann, New York Review, June 23, 2022

Trump and his crime club will spend the next days and weeks engaged in a multi-media campaign to destroy young Cassidy Hutchinson, the former White House advisor who dropped strong tea to the January 6 Committee and the American public on June 28. We learned a lot that was new regarding Trump’s behavior on January 6, namely that he was warned that many in the crowd were carrying weapons of some sort: spears, flagpoles, mace, body armor, and firearms, including Glocks and AR-15’s. We learned that the disgraced ex-president had a hissy fit in his armor-plated SUV, demanded to be driven to the Capitol complex, and got physical with the Secret Service agents riding with him when they refused to comply. We also heard of Trump throwing his lunch against a wall in the White House when the Dishonorable Doughboy, aka former Attorney General William Barr, refused to tell Trump what he wanted to hear. The Fat Man has a temper. 

MAGA-world will be oblivious to the revelations about their Hero & God, but anyone with a functioning mind saw Trump come across like a punk, a bloated, defeated, whiny little shit upset because he can’t have his way. It’s more clear than ever that Trump wanted an armed mob to storm the Capitol and disrupt the proceedings. He wanted chaos. He got his wish: people died, hundreds were injured, and one of the best things about America, the last trophy in our case -- the peaceful, orderly transfer of presidential power, a rare thing -- was tarnished. Trump the sociopath primed and then unleashed an armed and angry mob on the seat of legislative authority, with the entire Congress in session and the Vice President presiding. MAGA-world won’t care. Their man could sodomize a ewe on the South Lawn of the White House and MAGA-world would still praise him as moral and god-fearing, the prime contemporary example of American manhood. 

What smears and innuendo will Trump and Rudy G and the propagandists on Fox News hurl at Cassidy Hutchinson? What kind of dirt can they unearth or manufacture to ruin this young woman’s life? One doesn’t cross the big boss without consequence. But before we become too misty-eyed about Ms. Hutchinson’s fate, let’s recall that she was all-in for Trump, firmly on Team MAGA, a true believer. You can’t get as close to Trump’s inner circle and co-conspirators as Hutchinson did without first passing a loyalty quiz. Meadows must have vouched for his very young, only 23 in 2020, idealistic assistant. But credit must be given where it is due: Hutchinson has a better moral compass than 90 percent of the cowardly white men she worked with, several of whom have snubbed the Committee. 

Which brings us to the curious case of Mark Meadows, who, until the special hearing on June 28, had gone deep underground. Meadows began cooperating, then reversed course and sued the Committee, blew off a congressional subpoena, and was let off the hook when the DOJ declined to indict him. Why did the DOJ make that decision? Was it perhaps judging that Meadows was vulnerable on meatier charges down the road? Has some agreement been made with Meadows? We might find out soon enough because after Hutchinson’s testimony, Trump will turn on Meadows like a rabid wolverine. If Meadows eventually reads the sign on the wall and flips on Trump I will not be surprised. Meadows strikes me as someone extremely interested in saving his own ass. 

The Republicans now have to decide if they will continue to grovel and cower before a man who turned an armed mob on their place of work, continue to support a man who is demonstrably unfit for any political office, and continue to parrot that man’s malign fairy tales about election fraud. 

Fated to Keep Going

 “It’s a warning: tread carefully, you who are drunk with power or even a little tipsy; you too could end up plucked and squawking and driven from the city.” Eduardo Galeano

I hated to do it but I couldn’t leave the shopping cart full of stuff next to the dumpster behind the market. For one thing, the cart wasn’t one of ours, it belonged to Smart & Final. Most of the contents had spilled on the ground: two pairs of sneakers in plastic bags, part of a Swiffer duster, a Big Gulp plastic cup, two wooden broom handles, an empty pack of cigarettes, a mattress cover, a gray sweatshirt, a pink bedsheet, a soiled bath towel, a couple of magazines, a flimsy floral-patterned scarf, a section of hose from a vacuum, a metal nail file. Somebody’s stuff. Somebody’s earthly possessions. I opened the lid to the dumpster and started tossing it all in, then I wheeled the cart out to the street. It made me feel sad. 

Our shopping carts find their way all over town, miles from the store, until they are rounded up by a man paid to return them to us. The carts often come back from their travels encrusted with mud and grime, with bent frames and broken wheels, littered with weeds and branches. Wheeled beasts of burden, luggage carriers of the poor and downtrodden. If they have any life left, we douse them with disinfectant, rinse them off, and let them dry in the sun. Sometimes my co-worker Jose gives them a new set of wheels. 

M runs the receiving dock. He unloads trucks and checks deliveries in. M is short but thick, big-boned, with a long ponytail and a deep, raspy smoker’s voice. He lives in the San Fernando Valley and his daily commute is in the neighborhood of 160 miles. I don’t know why he doesn’t look for a job in a store closer to home. The cost of gasoline has M sleeping in a black van in the parking lot a couple of nights a week. The shit people have to do to keep going is unreal. In some cases the problem is too many hours, too many days in a row, and in others it’s not enough hours, a losing proposition either way, but that’s the American wasteland; wages are low, rents are stratospheric, especially here on the glitzy American Riviera, and serfs swap the hours of our lives for money. I walked 13.3 miles last night during my shift. It wasn’t too difficult, the store wasn’t busy; I made my rounds with my broom and dustpan, took out the trash, emptied the cardboard baler, mopped the johns, and rounded up the carts. Simple job. The secret is just to keep moving, circulating. 

My neighborhood is noisy. If it’s not wailing sirens from fire trucks, ambulances or cop cars, it’s the unsettling whine of leaf blowers, hedge trimmers, chainsaws, or nail guns. MTD buses lumber past on Milpas. One of the things I remember about the first Covid lockdown was how quiet it was; that was eerie, but kind of beautiful in a way, when the dominant sound was the wind in the trees or birdsong. 

And we are fated to keep going, through the stupidity of our rulers, their cruelty and indifference to life, the hypocrisy and cowardice that follows in their malevolent wake; the sun rises and we get up and do it all over again. No wonder people go insane. No wonder so many are too worn down and tuckered out to think for themselves, to push back against the bastards who run the machinery that churns out misery and suffering; it doesn’t have to be. Human beings still haven’t figured out how to share the bounty in any manner that approaches equity. 

Get Behind The Mule

 “My generation takes what it can get/Are you surprised that the kids are all upset?/They’re looking at Nothing and Nothing turns away and yawns.” Greg Brown, “Whatever It Was”

I’ve got this suspicion that when the January 6 committee wraps up its labor and delivers a comprehensive and damning report to the DOJ, nothing will happen. No indictment of Trump. Possibly indictments for some easier targets like Peter Navarro and Steve Bannon, but not the kingpin himself or his many enablers and co-conspirators, like Mark Meadows. Not indicting Trump will come down in the end to fear. Fear that an indictment might spark civil unrest and violence from Trump’s heavily-armed tribe. Fear of losing what should be an open and shut case on multiple charges. Fear of Steve Bannon’s podcast. Fear that voters will turn against Democrats. Whatever. The excuse will sound reasoned but naked fear will still be the reason for inaction.  Nothing is in shorter supply in Washington D.C. than courage. Justice, rule of law, and enforcement is reserved for targets that are poor or working-class -- black or brown or female -- not the mandarins and the owners and powerful political bosses. Elites in every society are adept at ducking accountability and punishment; the worst offenders often walk away, unscathed, like the many Nazi’s that escaped to South America. The worst butchers, the truly despotic, slip the net and vanish. When the elites write the rules, they always weave in loopholes and exceptions. It’s just the way power works, and it’s as corrosive as salt water on metal. 

Why can’t I let this go? Because of what I predicted when Trump was elected, and what I saw with my own eyes on January 6. Because if Trump isn’t held accountable the jig is up on American democracy. I know both parties are corrupted by lobbyists and corporate money and untraceable money, by the madness of perpetual foreign wars, because I’ve been writing about this shit for nearly 20 years. Racism. Militarism. Class Warfare. The creeping cruelty of American life. Dark shit, from George W. Bush to Donald J. Trump. My understanding of American politics, how it works, how it fails to work, its inherent corruption, is better than most. If I could bury my head in the proverbial sand, I would, but I can’t; I’ve got children to consider. I predicted in 2016 that Trump would do grave damage to the country; his manifest incompetence and authoritarian bent were as obvious to me as the wrinkles on my face. If I have an obsession it’s with the fact that a complete fraud like Donald Trump can convince millions of Americans that he’s their champion. My God, after all that happened with Covid and the election, can’t you see that Trump is for Trump and nothing else? How many Covid deaths can be attributed to the Trump administration’s criminal mishandling of the federal response? 10,000? 50,000? 100,000? All Americans, fellow citizens, fellow human beings. 

OK, so I’ll tell you what you already perceive: the order is shifting and the corridors of power are being rearranged, and it’s time for people of decency and goodwill to get off the couch and up behind the mule, because there is much work to be done, many seeds to plant. Turn off Fox News and tune in to your own inherent sense of right and wrong. Trump lied about the 2020 election -- before, during and after -- because he knew he was going to lose, and nothing terrified him more than being exposed for the loser he has been all his misbegotten and miserable life. Trump is a coward at heart, a draft evader, a tax cheat, an elite punk who has never been properly put in his place. He’s an attention-seeking moron who never understood even the most basic functions of government. He disgraced the United States on the world stage, sucked up to Vladimir Putin, ran interference for Mohammed bin Salman after the Saudi prince set his killers on Jamal Khashoggi. How can you put your faith in a man like Trump? Is it just because you despise the same people he does? 

There can be no justice without courage. 

 

The Wrong People Are In Charge

 “And there's a shadow on the faces/Of the men who send the guns/To the wars that are fought in places/Where their business interest runs”

Jackson Browne, “Lives in the Balance”

I finally got to run on the artificial turf in Peabody Stadium. For two years or more I watched the new stadium rise and contented myself with running on the front lawn of the high school, which due to the use of reclaimed water is green all year. Even when the stadium officially opened with a big groundbreaking ceremony attended by Santa Barbara High alumni and local political personalities, it was never open to the general public like the old stadium was. Pandemic restrictions kept the public at bay -- though I saw young guys hop the fence to use the new outdoor basketball courts all the time; something I didn’t feel right about doing while I was working for the school district. Because of the recent graduation ceremony, I found the gate wide open and walked down the hill and checked out the track and the turf field, the bronze plaques dedicated to people who coughed up matching funds. A lot of local history on this ground. I found both surfaces ideal for the kind of running I do, mostly intervals and agility work. Since I’m no longer employed by the district, I may join the youngsters in hopping the fence in the future.  

I wrote a review of The Cross and the Lynching Tree by the late theologian James H. Cone for California Review of Books. It’s linked here in case anyone is interested: https://calirb.com/the-cross-and-the-lynching-tree-by-james-h-cone/

It’s astonishing, and sobering, to think about the number of people who occupy positions of authority or leadership who have no business in such positions. Whether it’s the United States Senate, the Texas State Legislature, police departments in cities large and small, Secretaries of State, Attorneys General, or superintendents of school districts. The Peter Principle isn’t imaginary. In many organizations, public or private sector, rising has less to do with the ability to get things done, and far more to do with the ability to get along with people higher on the food chain. Say the right words, obtain the recognized credentials, and don’t make enemies. I worked with a fair number of stiffs during my career in public education, and a few zealots who honestly believed our work was changing the world, a claim of hubris that I couldn’t entirely buy -- particularly after experiencing the local schools through my own children. The day I met the last superintendent I worked under I knew she was in over her head. That was my instant gut feeling -- and time proved me right. Oh, she had all her boxes checked, but you cannot learn leadership from a textbook or a degree program or a week-long conference with other people who think like you do. 

I’m thinking of changing the subtitle of this blog from Notes of an Unarmed American to Notes of a Working-Class Intellectual. After 18 years it feels like it’s time for a change. I was reading some older posts the other day and it occurs to me that inequality and injustice are mainly what have preoccupied me for nearly two decades. My sense is that wealth inequality is one reason for the divisions in this society. Too few have too much, and too many either have too little or a very tenuous grip on just enough. I’ve written over and over again that American-style capitalism is cruel. This is why it must be regulated. My political platform isn’t complicated. It starts with universal healthcare and public education. Maternity and child care and care for the elderly. Housing. And an end to devoting half the federal budget to “defense.” It’s not defense, it’s offense, it’s empire, power projection and endless war and snuggling up with murderous regimes like Saudi Arabia and Israel for the primary benefit of multinational energy extractors. I’m for gay marriage and a woman’s right to exercise total control over her own body. I’m against all forms of slavery. I’m for sensible gun laws. I’m for immediate recognition that climate change is happening faster than the majority of Americans understand. I’m not a communist. I suppose I’m best described as a social democrat. 

I marked two passages in Bad Mexicans by Kelly Lytle Hernandez that struck me as relevant to our own day. Granted, Praxedis Guerrero wrote that “Tyranny is the crime of collectivities that do not think for themselves, and it should be attacked as a social illness by means of revolution” in 1910, but millions of Americans have given up thinking for themselves and appear willing to turn the country over to Donald Trump, a failed single term and twice-impeached president, a serial business failure, tax cheat, and one of the true grifters in modern world history, along with what seem like hundreds of nutters who think a fascist America will be better. Perhaps Americans will soon have a better understanding of how close Trump came to igniting a political coup. People died on January 6. We cannot forget that. 

The other quote is this one from Ricardo Flores Magon, the man at the center of Bad Mexicans, and also penned in 1910: “Political liberty requires as an adjunct another liberty to be effective, and that is economic liberty.” If one is in debt, does one have economic liberty? In my mind economic liberty means freedom from want: food, clothing, medical care, education, and shelter. A baseline enough to sustain life. I imagine that when most Americans think of economic liberty -- if they think of such a question at all -- they equate it with choices: models, colors, sizes, varieties, specification, hipness or status. But how many choices in airlines do we have in the US now? Rental cars? Cell phone carriers? Internet service providers? Grocery stores? Medical insurance? How many different companies provide services in these different sectors? Is our freedom more an illusion of choice when in fact most of our consumption benefits a few dozen corporations? I always recall this line from a Greg Brown song: Sooner or later there’ll be one corporation selling one little box, it will give you what you want and take everything you got. 1910 and 2022 are not the same, obviously, and Mexico isn’t the United States. What is similar are the concentrations of wealth, power and influence, in Mexico in the person of the dictator Porfirio Diaz, and in the United States represented by oligarchs like Gates, Bezos, the Koch family, Musk -- the entire billionaire class and all the infrastructure, financial and legislative, that allows them to get over at the expense of individuals, families, and communities. The common folk. Power is the common thread, who has it, who doesn’t.