By Butch Freedman
Not to mix metaphors here, but, honestly people, the sky really is falling. Yes, the wolf is at the door; no, the damn animal is already half-way in and baring its yellow teeth. Guess who that animal is. Hint: he’s our president. How that came to be is a matter for history to determine. But for those of us, sick to our stomachs and hearts, we need to make it stop, before all is lost — that’s the goal of the right-wingers, the people behind trump’s outrages. He’s truly not capable or smart enough to do all this damage on his own. His advisors push him with whispers and praise to do their bidding. Oh yeah, and they dump boat loads of filthy lucre into his family’s criminal enterprises. I could go on and list all of the grifts and damages he’s done to the country, and to us—the average citizens—but it would take more space than my publisher is probably willing to give me here. And what good would it do anyway. I guess that’s the point, though, to overwhelm us with daily outrage so that we feel powerless to stop it. And that’s where the true existential danger rears its ugly face. When the citizens give in, or become so frightened that all we can think to do is be quiet and wait for someone else to force a change or for the whole thing to collapse. The republicans seem to want that kind of world. I don’t. I’ve read and heard enough about what that looks like when the world stands by and says, Go (fill in your favorite dictator/bully/autocrat here) go. I give up. Next thing you know, the cattle cars pull up to your door.
Stop, Butch, stop, I hear you yell. It’s really not that bad. We have to still love our neighbors, don’t we? Even if they wear red hats and support giving millions of our dollars to the trump crime organization and to the people who attacked the capital and the police. The same people who think a billion-dollar ball-room will make us all safe from immigrants and DEI. Sorry, but these are not normal times and those people are not welcome in my house. And, of course, I know I’m not welcome in theirs. Should I stop? Take a deep breath and go on with my life? Maybe meditate or go to the gym. That’ll fix it. I get it, I do. There has to be more to life than continually being upset and outraged at the latest attempt to destroy democracy. But I can’t turn away. Neither should you.
Confession: I don’t like writing about political issues. I’ve been a writer for many years now, but rarely until these past few, did I write about politics. Writing for me, has been about fiction, about telling stories, about investigating family issues, about providing entertainment, and mostly about enjoying the process of getting words down on paper. Writing can be very healing that way, almost therapeutic. It’s a rare good thing. But, I find myself these days, as I sit down at my desk, drawn magnetically to write about the sad state of affairs in our country under the ugliness of little donny-boy. My writing feels at times motivated by hate. And I get that that’s an awful thing to admit, even more awful to experience. It guts me. And still I continue on. Why? Because like the boy who cried wolf, I really do think the sky is falling. (mixing those metaphors again.) But unlike that boy who cried wolf one too many times, I haven’t cried it enough. This writing is my small way to get the warning out. And I’ll keep on yelling till my voice is silenced, and they carry me out kicking and screaming.
