Not With a Bang, But a Whimper

It's difficult to characterize the strange departure of that strange man, on January 20, 2021, from that position he's more or less occupied for the past four strange, chaotic, and shoddy-seeming years in the political/social life of our Republic.  It seemed rather shoddy itself, in the sense that it appeared poorly made--rather like what I suppose must be called his "farewell speech."  "Pathetic" or "sad" come to mind, given the small size of the crowd at hand and the expectations of some.  "Modest" might be a kinder description, but the man and his administration, and his followers, can only be described as immodest.  As he rambled and the curious selection of songs played--songs which apparently were standard at his political rallies--the spectacle created was far less than spectacular.  It was a muted, uninspiring send-off.  That much can be said.  

It seems clear that the riot at the Capitol in an effort to prevent ratification of the vote of the Electoral College was responsible for the subdued nature of the departure.  Was there a miscalculation, or a misunderstanding, of its impact or effects, or were those who provoked it content with its outcome?  Regardless, it changed everything in the political scene, for a time at least.

The title of this post is, of course, from T.S. Elliot's poem The Hollow Men.  Given the bombast, the Sturm und Drang of his tenure, it was reasonable enough to anticipate it would end with a bang.  If what is written about the beliefs of some of his fans is true, they certainly expected a bang, and perhaps even literally a bang or succession of bangs accompanying the seizure of power by him and his adherents, preventing the inauguration of a new president and providing for...what, exactly?  A regime of some sort.  It's astonishing what people can believe; what they can be convinced to believe, in this 21st century.  Having been lied to for so long by so many regarding the late election, though, their belief and resulting disbelief at its disappointment may be expected.  

So we witnessed, instead, a whimper.  Not the whimper Elliot wrote of, of course.  It seems appropriate that at the end of a poem filled with allusions to various and sundry great classical and literary works, already written, meandering to conclusion of weary resignation to a world in which moral and philosophical inspiration are absent, the world would end in a whimper.  

But the hollow men of Elliot's poem have only the fact that they're stuffed with straw in common with those denizens of the world created by Trumpery, or Trumpism.  Hollow they certainly are in being thoughtless, made of straw, like the scarecrow of Oz, without a brain. In that sense the impression given by the ceremony of a departure of scarecrows, of a diminishment of their significance when all was said and done and efforts at sabotage of an election failed, was satisfying and appropriate.

But these hollow men don't lack inspiration.  They're inspired but not by moral or philosophical concepts.  Instead they're inspired by fears of all kinds involving people unlike them, who they believe seek to end their way of life, their world, with a bang. They hoped for a bang of their own the day of the inauguration.  They didn't get it.  Their hopes ended with a whimper.

But if people are so easily led and fooled, the world may yet end in a bang. 

For What It's Worth, Redux

I think most if not all of us remember this song, i.e. For What It's Worth, by Buffalo Springfield.  Perhaps most, but certainly not all of us remember the year it came out as well--1967.  Also the year Sergeant Pepper came out.  The year of the summer of love.

The lyrics to this song seem applicable now, 53 years later.  There is a man with a gun "over there" and he's telling us we "got to beware."  But the man with a gun is a protestor now, telling those of us who're not protesting to beware.  It's a reversal of roles.  The protests of the 1960s were violent, sometimes.  But generally those protesting didn't do so while armed.  

The "far right" protester of today seems to want to protest with a firearm handy.   Or to have one handy while witnessing protests by others they think inappropriate.  We're told they do so to protect property and, presumably, the owners of property, which protection is unsolicited.  I'm a gun owner, but I confess I can't fathom why people think it appropriate to carry them around, particularly in a manner and at a time and place where they're certain to be noticed doing so.  Why are they marching with guns?  It seems not merely to show support for the Second Amendment by parading about clutching the arms they have the right to bear.  After all, it isn't merely the Second Amendment that prompts them to protest.  It's a number of other things, apparently.  Anything from an alleged conspiracy to commit election fraud or engage in child trafficking.  Why the guns, though?

Many have what seems to be a totemic regard for firearms here in our Glorious Union, and perhaps they feel that they should therefore be brandished, like the image of a saint in a parade on a holy day.  Or perhaps they're symbols of power, like the Arch of the Covenant carried into battle.  Perhaps they wish to intimidate those who watch them posture; perhaps they fear they won't be respected or even harmed, and so bring guns for protection against threats real or imagined.  Or perhaps they're a symbol of pride of sorts.  Pride in owning, or at least having, a gun?  That's not much of an achievement here.  Pride, then, in having something they may think is peculiarly American?  It may be so.

It seems clear that the right to have a gun isn't something that's generally considered to be a human right, or at least not such a right as to be memorialized in a nation's constitution, one of its founding documents.  So perhaps the gun is truly the symbol of the United States.  What, then, is the National Gun, though?  We have national birds, flags, animals, flowers; why not a national gun.  Something manufactured by Colt, Winchester or Remington, I assume.

"Paranoia strikes deep" is in the lyrics of the song.  Paranoia can readily be attributed to those who believe in massive election fraud regardless of evidence, the "deep state" and global, organized pedophilia. It's interesting to consider what paranoia was being referred to in the song, in 1967.  The paranoia of the protesters most probably wasn't.  Buffalo Springfield was made up of souls like Neil Young, whose sympathies would have been with the protesters of the 1960s.  Paranoia of the anti-protestors back then?  What did they have to be paranoid about, though?  Students and blacks taking over the government?  Anarchy?  Communism?

"Step out of line, the man (men?) come and take you away."  Who's stepping out of line, now?  "The line" is usually a standard or condition imposed by "the man", which is to say the government, those in control.  But where those who pose the threat claim to be protecting the "rightful" government, what line do we step out of?  

The protestors of the 1960s didn't purport to represent the government or "the man."  Arguably, they didn't even claim to represent "the people."  The armed protestors of today claim to represent the people, the nation, the true government.  The pretense is astounding, when you think of it. 

Is that pretense also peculiarly American?  The Founders took pains to justify their revolution, claiming that unjust laws warranted it.  The Founders weren't the poor, the downtrodden; they weren't slaves.  They were land owners, slave owners, lawyers, merchants, rich farmers.  It was a revolution of the well-off.  Is what we're seeing now a reaction by the well-off, the white and privileged, concerned that they may lose their place, through another kind of government action?

 

R. I. P. American Exceptionalism

Although it may still be possible to claim that the United States is, or may in the future be, the "shining city on a hill" the late Ronald Reagan would refer to now and then, that claim is less easy to make given recent events.

It's even more difficult, now, to make the claim that our Great Republic is remarkable and serves as an ideal for all other nations  because it's based on the rule of law, regularly holds free elections, is a bastion of democracy, based as it is on liberty, equality before the law, and unshakeable in its reliance on representative government.  It will be especially difficult to maintain, as we have in the past, America's moral authority when it comes to governance.

In truth, what we saw on Capitol Hill is what we've seen in other countries we've thought were flawed in various respects.  Speaking frankly, we saw what's taken place in nations we've believed were inferior to ours, nations less fortunate than ours is, less favored, less solid, less moral, less truthful, less just--the list goes on depending on the extent of our self-satisfaction and self-righteousness.  We saw what we find contemptible in others.  

So, it appears our bragging rights have been revoked.  Strangely, they've been revoked by people who have relished exercising those rights.  To all appearances, American Exceptionalism has been ended by those most inclined to insist it exists, and loudly.  It will be difficult to maintain that we're better than the rest of the world.

That ending may have serious consequences.  Some would say that the U.S. has never had good cause to purport to be morally superior than other nations, and that recent events have merely made its depravity evident.  Some claim that America's statements regarding its superior moral status have always been cynical and hypocritical.  But America has been respected and is considered a leader.  Friends and foes of the country will be inclined, now, to wonder whether it's entitled to respect and leadership.  If the nation is as subject to thugs assailing the government as any banana republic, why should it be considered better than such countries?  What right have we to speak of evil empires, or an axis of evil, or criticize elections elsewhere?  How can we pose as the friend and protector democracies? 

While simple explanations are satisfying and no doubt will be sought, it can't be the case that one flawed person and his willing lackeys are responsible for our diminishment.  They clearly have responsibility for what's taken place and may still take place.  It can be said, fairly, that they incited insurrection, and did so for selfish motives.  One wonders if they were motivated solely by the desire to remain in power, to make as much money as possible off the nation, or if they were also motivated by the fear of retaliation once they're out of power.  George Orwell predicted that the world would come to be dominated by millionaires (it would have to be "billionaires" now) and thugs.  For a time at least, our Glorious Union has been so dominated.  It can be hoped it won't be any longer, but that may be a fond hope.  

Is 2020 Really Over?

Most of us think of 2020 was a horrible year, and rightly so.  But for me," horrible" isn't a specific enough description of what's taken place.  "Sordid" may mean dirty or filthy, but also ignoble, vile, base, tawdry, squalid.  That seems, to me, to be a more accurate characterization of the conduct of people displayed this year, and conduct concerns me more even than events, man being the measure of all things, and our conduct being an indication of what events will be to the extent they're within our control.

Sordid, indeed.  How else describe the cornucopia of misconduct we witnessed last year?  The defense, indeed celebration, of corruption during the impeachment proceedings; the remarkable parade of frivolous claims made by persons calling themselves lawyers, all to serve an effort to undermine the recent election and keep in place a far less than able and extraordinarily ignorant man, concerned only with himself, his family and cronies; the craven posturing of spineless sycophants infesting the Congress of our Great Nation?   Ignoble, sleazy, vile, foul, tawdry; all those characteristics and more combined in a single, all-encompassing word.

It's our politics that most concern me.  The judiciary, though now loaded with conservatives thanks to a man and a seemingly unthinking band of brown-nosed minions with little regard for the law, shows signs of being true to the law by almost universally rejecting the incomprehensibly unfounded claims made against the validity of the election.  This indicates the courts still have some understanding and respect for the rules of evidence.  That is a good thing.  

But it seems that outside of courtrooms, many of the people of our Glorious (and for the time being in any case) Republic don't know what evidence is, even outside of the law, or if they do aren't inclined to require it or are content to ignore it.  

And so I wonder whether John Adams was correct in writing what appears at the beginning of this post, or if he was correct when writing it whether what he wrote has any truth now.  What he says about fear, that it is a sordid and brutal passion and renders those possessed by it stupid and miserable, is undoubtedly true. But what he says about the likelihood of Americans accepting any government based on it seems very optimistic.  Fear has been evoked in our politics for a long time, but never so much as now, and might even be said to be welcome not only to many of our leaders but many others who thrive on it.

Should we celebrate the end of 2020, that sordid year?  The new year has barely begun and we have members of the House and Senate gibbering that the election was invalid and quite prepared to devote the time of government in an effort to perpetuate a fraud while condemning what, if they have even the most simple intelligence, they must know was not one.  I think I've quoted Disraeli's comment that there is no honor in politics in the past, but in his time there were still one or two and possibly even more honorable men.  There are no men of honor now, at least in what we rather fatuously call "high places."

Unfortunately, it seems chances are good that the sleazy and ugly nature of our politics which was so much on display in the last year will continue, and that we'll continue to be stupid and miserable, John Adams notwithstanding.