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. 

The Good, the Bad and the Grubby

It's Spring at last here in the northern portions of God's favorite country, and in this time of rebirth what is called the Mueller Report has been born and must be borne, if only in its redacted form.

I have not read it.  I read legal opinions, pleadings, reports even, being a lawyer, almost every day, and to read all of this particular report would be far too much like work.  Some day I might, but I make no promises.  I've read a bit of it, though, and of course have read and heard about it persistently since it was thrust upon us.   We cannot escape the pontificating of the politicians and pundits, nor can we avoid the bleating of their enthralled and increasingly misinformed audiences.

The reaction of the tiresome inhabitant of the White House, his cronies and followers is unsurprising.  What else would it be?  Coarse jubilation, misstatement, misunderstanding and misrepresentation.  It's likely that none of them understand just what collusion is or that collusion is not a legal term or act.  It's likely also that collusion, the intentional, combined effort and intent to deceive for an illicit (not necessarily illegal) purpose took place and takes place daily in politics.  That does not mean the law has been broken, though.  It merely means that corruption exists and even thrives.

As for obstruction, judging from the language of the federal statutory law (I haven't read the case law), it would seem to me clear that attempted obstruction is against the law as much as actual obstruction, so I'm inclined to say the law was broken.  I'm not all that surprised, though, that an indictment of a sitting president wasn't sought by the Special Counsel.  Someone in his place might well avoid that decision and leave it to the DOJ or the Congress.  The Attorney General has proved to be something of a toady.  God only knows what the Congress will do.

What can be called "good" or "bad" in such a situation?  The result of the report is not "good" I think, but it was never intended to be "good" or "bad."  It's a report of the results of an investigation into the conduct of certain people.  The investigation was to determine the extent to which Russia sought to influence the last presidential election and whether any U.S. citizens participated in that effort.  That Russia did seek to influence it is clear, as is the fact that its efforts in this regard were extensive.  Just how much it influenced the election isn't clear, but it's likely it had some impact.  It was concluded there was not enough evidence to establish the existence of a criminal conspiracy, although it was concluded that the president's campaign was happy to use whatever those efforts were to its advantage.

The president's fragile ego is such that he cannot accept that the efforts of the Russians took place, let alone that it worked in favor of his election.  But as far as we know his election is the first to follow a serious, well-planned effort by a foreign power--traditionally an enemy--to assure the election of a particular candidate, in this case himself.  It's quite a distinction.

Legal considerations aside, no person that was the subject of the investigation comes out looking good, and to me at least many of them come out looking bad.  Most of all, though, they come out looking grubby.  A dictionary will tell us that "grubby" is defined as "dirty, grimy; worthy of contempt; base."

None of this seems to matter, though, to some of us; maybe most of us.  Perhaps we have come to expect our leaders to be grubby, and tolerate their grubbiness provided they say what we want them to say, do what we want them to do.  Perhaps we've grown so tired of the hypocrisy that characterizes politics that we find the openly grubby refreshing.  Perhaps we've become grubby ourselves, or have accepted grubby ideals, grubby dreams.

April is the cruelest month, according to T.S. Eliot.  There are grubs aplenty.  Grubs of one kind in low places, grubs of another kind in high places.

The Ceremony of Innocence

It seems I have Yeats on my mind, these days.   This is well and good, as he was a great poet in the Modernist manner, and it is the Modernists I find most interesting.  Yeats ranks up there with Wallace Stevens and T.S. Eliot, for me; among the greatest of them.  I was never fond of Carl Sandburg and others who it seems tried to construct a peculiarly American poetry, and never thought much of anything of e.e. cummings, whistling far and wee. 

Most everyone knows of The Second Coming, or knows at least a word or two of that poem, either by virtue of being compelled to read it in school, or running across snatches of it in print or on the screen, or perhaps even by reading it out of interest and while at leisure to do so.  In the last case, it may be even that the poem is understood, or if not understood then known to be powerful and evocative (perhaps that's being understood in the case of a poem).

"The ceremony of innocence is drowned."  That's one of many striking phrases in the poem, but it's the one that keeps coming back to me right now.  Why "ceremony"?  No doubt many learned professors have expounded on this, but I haven't read them and in all honesty don't care to read them, though I'm sure to be enlightened if I did.  Or perhaps not.  It's hard to accept expertise of any kind these days.  Experts are always in front of us, on display by the media and used as kinds of fillers between commercials.  Familiarity does indeed breed contempt, and so a dismissive contempt seems to pervade among us, regardless of the qualifications of those who are strapped on horseback like El Cid to ride the satellite waves for our enlightenment.

Left then to my own devices I wonder why "ceremony" was used by the poet.  It would appear to refer to something formal, something religious or in the nature of a ritual.    Is that what innocence was to the poet; did he think that's what innocence had become?  Innocence is generally a lack of sophistication, earnest, unfiltered observation of the world and reaction to what the innocent encounter.  And why "drowned"?  By the blood-dimmed tide, presumably.

The poem was written in 1919, so there was certainly quite a bit of blood being shed shortly before.  Probably enough to make a tide.  It's been claimed often enough and by many that the Great War, which we Yankees call World War One, was an end to innocence, and there would seem to be support for that claim.  Certainly it brought to an end any "innocent" view of war as glorious and fulfilling, though one is compelled to wonder how any innocence would have survived the American Civil War or the Boer War if not others.  Even the juvenile and romantic view of war held by such as Teddy Roosevelt was dimmed by the blood-dimmed tide.  And of course much that was new and unusual, and less than "innocent" as commonly defined, seemed to follow the war inexorably in politics and in the arts.  It's hard to believe that ascribing such things to the war is merely a case of  the post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy.

But a ceremony is something that's existed for a good amount of time.  A ceremony is seldom created anew, and when it is it's not considered a ceremony for some years.  So it would seem that the ceremony of innocence for Yeats would have been something that was existent and known long before the Great War--known in fact as a ceremony.  Innocence as a ceremony is not spontaneous or uncontrived.

Had we, even then, made of innocence a ceremony?  If so it is even more of a ceremony now, if indeed it still exists.  Who can we consider innocent in this age?  Young children, perhaps, but they're encountering an end to innocence more quickly now than in the past.  Communication is relentless and innocence can only be maintained by the cultivation of ignorance.  Innocent isn't necessarily good, but at least for now it remains something we prize.  Perhaps that's why it's become a ceremony for us.

Perhaps too much of a ceremony--too much that is of something not merely significant but to be extended if not perpetuated.  Parents now are said to be notably protective of their children (when they're not abusing or ignoring them, that is; parents like everyone these days are extremists of one kind or another) and described as "helicopter" parents, shielding them and controlling them and maintaining their innocence, or trying to do so, which in itself is dangerous.

The danger of innocence is that it may generate gullibility.  The innocent are subject to being fooled because they're unaware of what those who are no longer innocent desire and the lengths they'll go to satisfy their desires, or if they are aware believe this to be a concern of others.  In a very odd way, I think we remain innocent even now, and that we want to be innocent, unthinking, perhaps more than ever.  Unfortunately, though, there are those who take advantage of the innocent and the simple, and today they are omnipresent. 

As they were in Yeats time, as I think of it.  Did he think it unfortunate that the ceremony of innocence was drowned, or did he welcome it?  How could he welcome it when the best lacked all conviction and the worst were full of passionate intensity?  Did he think that was due to the drowning of the ceremony?

There are too many full of passionate intensity here in the Kingdom of Fear, and proud of it.  No ceremony will save us from them.  They seem eager for ceremony; they thrive on it.  Perhaps it's time to grow up at last.