It’s not everyday you wake in a different world. Today is one of those days. With the news breaking last night that Trump has again been indicted everything and anything about the body politic of the United States has changed. It will never be the same again. It’s different. But not new. Everything actually changed when Trump was elected and stuck the blade in. Hasn’t been the same since. That was the wounding. This is the triage. Bandages are being taken off to prepare for surgery. The wound gapes. The scar that will be forever present has been revealed. Time to consider the ugly option of amputation.
The only way to cure an egotist from bragging is by surgery–amputation at the neck.
-Evan Esar.
This is the first federal indictment of a former president. This is the first time that enough people in what passes as a political party might nominate an indicted conman to assume that office again. Make no mistake. This surgery isn’t going to take place in a safe, sterile environment. This wound has been festering long enough that containing the infection is not assured. Anything and everything could happen. All at once. Or it could take longer than most of us have patience for. There are also other possible wounds to reveal. Roll the body politic over and who knows what other damage we’ll discover because it’s possible the most serious charges against this poor excuse of a conman haven’t even been leveled yet.
In the wake of all of this, what used to be the GOP is already disarrayed beyond cliché. Several lusting for the big chair will now have to choose between advising amputation or giving blood to placate the conman’s bereaved and brainwashed base.
Politics is a funny thing. So is ambition. Slap them together between two slices of bread and you can’t hold your tongue while eating with your mouth full. The laws of political gravity no longer apply. If they did, those opposing Trump for the GOP nomination would be knocking each other down to deliver premature death notices. Granted they’d have to push past Chris Christie, but still. (Update after I wrote that I see Asa Hutchinson is recomending a quick amputation.)
Folks are going to also replay that old tune about this being a sad day for our country. Sure. We wish we didn’t have to go through this. We’ve been sadly sitting in the waiting room for awhile now, know the lyrics all too well, and wish someone would shuffle the playlist. We didn’t have to go through the last seven or so years. We’ve lost so many traditions, possibilities, respect-both self and from others, that it is almost impossible to measure the damage even though we know the diagnosis.
And that’s the thing. We all know what we’re faced with. We’ve limped around with this wound long enough. A reckoning is required. I don’t think we’ll ever be whole again. That’s the unkindest cut of all.
The state of society is one in which the members have suffered amputation from the trunk, and strut about so many walking monsters,—a good finger, a neck, a stomach, an elbow, but never a man.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
Life on the Wicked Stage: Act 3 