Hope Died

I awakened this morning to a sense of loss, loss of a greater kind than simply the loss of an election. I do feel like something has died. Probably hope. And certainly progress of the last 75 years has been erased. I was clinging to the thinnest gossamer thread of naïveté, and thought that sheer decency would carry the day. How wrong I was.

Even before today, however, I had shifted my rage and incredulity to the American public—idiotic racist xenophobes—who, like another author said, have “aligned themselves with the core tenants of brutality." I periodically recite speeches in my mind (that will never be delivered) and each time, I exhaust the supply of adjectives to describe Trump’s repugnance, vile, and disgust. 

This is not the America I learned about in elementary school. My loss of innocence is expected, but I refuse to give up on decency. I am ashamed to share DNA with the other 50% of my new America.

In the airport today, I saw an ~18yr old kid, mouth and jaws slightly disproportionate, and his gait was extremely jerky, likely a genetic physical impairment,  and I suddenly felt ashamed for my self-pity. He was functioning with his curse, seemingly without complaint. Surely I can live with my new "life situation", which is absent any real malady.

But then this kid’s misfortune instantly reminded me of Trump’s beyond shameful mockery of the disabled reporter… and my rage engine began throttling at an even higher RPM than before. I would never advocate political violence, but I absolutely would cheer for a Trump exit by natural causes. And the sooner the better. The problem with that is that he will escape earthly accountability for his crimes against humanity. I don’t believe in hell, but in his case I’ll make an exception. I’ll buy him an express ticket.

And when that does happen, Hope will have a chance of reincarnation. I hope I live to see it.