You've seen the news by now, so you already know the story: today, a group of terrorists stormed the United States Capitol Building in a coordinated attack that left at least one individual dead. Urged on by incendiary words from the leader of their cult, their attack was designed to show their love for America and their respect for this nation's freedoms by interfering with the democratic process by which America selects a President. Members of the terrorist cell. Creator: SAUL LOEB | Credit: AFP via Getty Images I'd call these people Republicans, but that doesn't seem like an accurate term. Certainly, we can blame Republicans. Many members of the Republican Party coddled this cult leader for the past four years; they've allowed him to nurse at the breast of the GOP elephant in hopes that he would become one of their own. In exchange, they got campaign contributions and Supreme Court Justices, and all it cost them was the Presidency, control of the House, control of the Senate, and the soul of the Republican Party. Even today, a number of "Republicans" planned to object to the electoral votes of various states, but I have to put that term in quotes because a number of other Republicans told them not to. So the Republicans as a whole cannot be blamed. Maybe we can blame those who planned to object to the electoral vote, who hoped to rally the base and pass the collection plate one more time before the cult leader is forced to leave the pulpit. But even if that's true, these terrorists do not represent the whole of the Republican Party. I don't know what we should call them. Boko Hawley? The Cruz Klux Klan? I'll stick with terrorists, thank you, and leave it at that. But if we're looking to blame anyone for today's events, we don't have to look far. We blame those who committed the actions; we blame the terrorists themselves. We point out that the willful destruction of federal property is punishable by up to 10 years in prison. We remind the terrorists that as a result of their actions, at least one person who was alive this morning isn't alive tonight. And of course: we have to blame the cult leader. Would there have been terrorist activity in our nation's capitol if he had not incited it? I don't know, and neither do you. But this cult leader did tell the Proud Boys to 'stand back and stand by' in the middle of Presidential debate. He did feed false and misleading claims about election fraud to his most rabid base. He did hold a rally only this very morning, in which he promised to join the terrorists (before abandoning them and retreating to the White House), and he did finally give in to President-Elect Biden's demand to appear in person, when he once again claimed to have been cheated before telling everyone to go home. This one is on you, Mr. Trump. Credit where credit is due. (P.S. Just for the record, when it comes to inciting riots in the District of Columbia: "If in the course and as a result of a riot a person suffers serious bodily harm or there is property damage in excess of $5,000, every person who willfully incited or urged others to engage in the riot shall be punished by imprisonment for not more than 10 years or a fine of not more than the amount set forth in § 22-3571.01, or both." (Source here.))
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America is a deeply divided nation. I know this, because I wanted to write a blog entry about how deeply divided America is as a nation, so I Googled "America deeply divided," and found the following:
That's a relief, as you might imagine. I'm comforted to know I'm right, mostly because I very much want people who disagree with me to be wrong. And even if, by some weird twist of fate, I'm the one who happens to be wrong, I'm just going to go on believing that I'm right, because my version of the world is the kind of world I want. I can't really say for sure what kind of world the people who disagree with me might want--not like I'm going to ask them, or anything--but I know enough to know it's not my version, which means it has to be wrong. After all, the internet just proved I'm right, right? The people who disagree with me will probably want to fight me on this. Misguided as they are, they no doubt prefer their version of the world to mine. But I fear their version (mostly because it isn't my version; it's not like I've asked them what their version might be), so I have no choice but to do everything in my power to stand in opposition to them; keeping silent would be letting them win, and what kind of world will this be if they win? What's that you say? You want me to define my version of the world? Wow: I mean, that's a big ask. It's not that I'm unwilling, and it's certainly not that I don't have a clear idea as to what my version of the world might be. It's just that my version is so incredibly detailed and nuanced, and trying to explain it is both difficult and time-consuming, so let me just sum up by saying that my version of the world is not their version, and my version is good. The internet already proved I'm right, so I'm just going to have to ask you to trust me on this. You don't really have to understand either side, as long as we can agree that my side is the side you want to be on. Now that you're on my side (and thank you, by the way: it's how I know you're a good person), there are a few simple rules:
Sure, there are drawbacks to being on our side. You'll eventually have disdain for at least half of the population, and probably closer to three-quarters. You'll begin to grow angry and/or bitter with less and less provocation. Chances are, you'll develop a sort of lifelong, low-grade paranoia, until you will only be comfortable with a very small group of people who have absolutely proven they are on our side. Still: isn't that a whole lot better than being on their side? I think so, and the internet has proven I'm right. Right? First of all, congratulations. If you're reading this, you made it to 2021, and after the year we just left behind, that alone seems like an accomplishment. Well done. However, leaving one year behind means we find ourselves on New Year's Day, and if you're like many people, you've already prepared a list of New Year's Resolutions. We all know how this works: we take a good long look at our lives; reflect on where we've been and where we want to be; perhaps remember how old we are, and recognize that another year's passing means we have that much less time than we did at this point last year; and, when all that is done, we begin to catalog the various things we don't like about ourselves, and then resolve to fix them. I am not immune to this. Every year at this time I set my own mini-goals for the time ahead. This process gets easier as I age, because most of the goals I set in previous years might as well be goals this year, too, since I did nothing to accomplish any of them in the previous 12 months. And there are always new and perfectly legitimate things I hope to achieve. For instance, as a public school teacher in a district with a significant Hispanic population, I would very much like to learn Spanish. My high school only taught French (et non, je ne suis pas tres doue pour ca non plus, merci beaucoup), which has not come in quite as handy as one might expect here in rural Wisconsin. I am bothered that I can't speak with all of my students as well as I might (and, I confess, sometimes wondering if words being spoken are critiques of my instruction). But there is also an inherent danger in New Year's Resolutions. First, they force us to tally the negatives. New Year's Resolutions often come from a "glass-half-empty" mentality; we approach them with the mindset that something in our life is lacking. After all, it makes no sense to create a goal to fix something if there is no deficiency to be corrected in the first place. Mostly, though, they come in far too large a quantity. It's perfectly acceptable to say things like, "This year I'd like to begin learning Spanish," or "Let's make this a year I drop a pants size," and so on. But what we often tend to do is use today as the first day in which we plan to totally remake our entire existence. We're going to learn Spanish and drop a pants size and get a gym membership and meditate and be a better correspondent and watch less TV and, and, and . . . So this year, I'm offering the same encouragement to you that I have tried to learn myself, and that is simply: You ain't so bad. If New Year's Resolutions are your thing, then that's OK, but maybe pick one of them instead of a dozen or more. If you accomplish that one, you can always add a new one in April (just maybe not on April 1, when you'll just be fooling yourself). Give yourself a little grace. You made it this far. You have people in your life that love you, or at the very least like you a lot. And chances are, you're your own worst critic. If you insist on the big long list of resolutions, then I heartily recommend that for every one you make, you also list one thing about yourself you already consider a positive. That way, you can approach the exercise from both a "glass-half-empty" and a "glass-half-full" mentality. It can also be important to remember that every glass can be emptied, and every glass can be refilled; almost no situation in our lives is permanent if we don't wish it to be. So Happy New Year and here we go with 2021. Whether you make resolutions or don't, thanks for taking the time to hang out long enough to read this, and allow me to say that I like you, just as you are. I begin this blog at the close of 2020, a year that a lot of us will be more than happy to leave behind. If you're reading this, you're already well aware of why so many found the past year so difficult. This post is not designed to downplay or trivialize the losses borne by so many in America and around the world in the months just past. Nor is it offered as some sort of pie-in-the-sky pep talk to con you into thinking that 2021 is going to be a whole lot better; we can't know.
To "whistle past the graveyard"--according to Merriam-Webster--means to talk or act as if one is relaxed or unafraid when one is actually afraid or nervous. That's where I find myself at the close of 2020. I would like to say I am unafraid, but that would be a lie; I would like to say I'm pretty relaxed about the future, but I'm plenty nervous. The thing is, though: I'm tired of living like that. Of all the issues that came out of 2020, one of the largest for me personally--and maybe for you, too--was the issue of Psychic Weight. It just feels like every one of us has been carrying a LOT. Even though I am well aware my burdens have been lighter than many, I worry that a lot of areas in my life simply require more care than I am capable of giving them right now, and maybe you feel that way, too. So I'm starting a blog, even though I have no idea what it will be, except that it will be my attempt to get out from under that psychic weight, and to move forward with a firmer resolve to seek the positive, even in trying times. I'm starting it now because whether one measures from the Solstice or from the New Year, the last days of December always feel like a turning point, a time when hope returns to our lives at the same time that sunlight returns to our days. (With apologies to those who live on the other side of the globe; as a resident of the Northern Hemisphere, that's how it works up here.) And I'm sharing these thoughts online just in case something I'm feeling is something you're feeling, too; I don't know if anything I say here will help, but if it helps one person--even just a little--that's good enough for me. The thing is, as naïve as it sounds, hope just feels better than where I've been spending the past months. Sure, we can't know if 2021 will be an improvement, but we can't know it won't be, either, and the arrival of a Solstice and a New Year seems like the perfect time to pretend it just might. Maybe this is the year I'll lose those last 10 pounds, whether they be psychic or actual weight. Maybe this year I'll learn to speak Spanish beyond just the swear words. Maybe I'll write something of value. Maybe I'll get together with large groups of my friends and family and hug every last one of them. Twice. And as long as I'm dreaming, maybe this is the year the people who decide what to do with public education will actually listen to the people who teach it. Maybe politicians will care more about the people who helped elect them than they do about getting re-elected. Maybe this divided nation will find a way to heal. Maybe all of the various huddled masses will indeed breathe free. I know, I said this was not designed to a pie-in-the-sky pep talk, and it isn't. I'm still nervous, and I'm still fearful. But I'm going to see what life is like while whistling past the graveyard, and if you feel like you'd like to whistle with me, your company would be most welcome. |
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January 2022
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