Pick your metaphor. Pick your favorite song lyric from Hamilton. Pick your poison. The U.S. political and media world is nothing short of a mess as the GOP Coronation, excuse me, Convention, continues in Milwaukee.
I’m not watching the event, but have seen enough highlights (lowlights?) to know that bending the knee has leapt beyond typical humiliating political expediency into something that absurdist playwrights, much less contemporary fiction authors, couldn’t possibly imagine. Public ass kissing may not be an Olympic sport, but if it was, America could field one helluva team based on the competition in Milwaukee.
It’s really not fair to blame the media for coverage of the event. They seem to know no better than a child sticking their hand in a fire and there’s nothing normal or predictable about this election cycle. There used to be journalists who would call things as they saw them. There also used to be dinosaurs.
Watching the watchers cover what looks like the closest thing we’ve seen to a Nazi rally in this country for several generations and not calling it what it is pisses me off. The media’s problem is that this is a playbook that’s been plagiarized from the 1930’s in ways that large language models must envy. But the media capitulated then and so here we are. Again. It may not be new, but it’s damn dangerous and they are trying to shoehorn that into an old world model that failed then and will fail again. Things may not be normal but they are too damn predictable. Guess what? That’s the damn story.
Set aside the clichés about not presenting both sides when one side says it’s raining and the other doesn’t. We’re witnessing a complete capitulation to something that’s beyond my understanding. If the red hat brigade takes power, most of those currently sucking up will be in line for internment camps once they’ve reported on how many migrant families have been separated. At least they will be credentialed.
Granted the media isn’t getting much help from the Democrats. That helpless bunch wants to play fair. Again. Thinking the high road will get them there, while the other side is tunneling out the ground underneath them is simply shrinking from the real challenge while grasping at straw men. The only fight they can seem to muster is one against themselves. Hell, they don’t even have the guts to really have that fight, much less finish it. But go ahead. Play nice.
So. Today is my birthday. Given family history I never thought I’d make it this far. But I have. I have two birthday wishes. Here’s the first: I’d love to see some Democratic politician when confronted with some MAGAt gish galloping their well rehearsed rhetoric say directly “take your white supremacist, fascist, misogynistic bullshit and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.” Hell. Don’t even wait to do it to their face, just do it in front of a camera. Often. Call them on their bullshit hourly. Make them defend against the comment.
For the uninitiated, that’s called politics.
The second wish is that I’d love to see a headline somewhere that says, “The GOP has nominated a convicted felon to run for president.” The lede should read: “The party once proud to wrap itself in the mantle of law and order has now disrobed and re-draped itself as the party that welcomes and supports criminality.” Tell me, what’s not factual about that?
I won’t get either of those wishes. I’m pissed about that. And I’m pissed that it looks like I’m going to be around to watch what this country stood for during the six plus decades of my life rapidly decline and disintegrate during what’s left of it.
You can find more of my writings on a variety of topics on Medium at this link, including in the publications Ellemeno and Rome. I can also be found on social media under my name as above.
Life on the Wicked Stage: Act 3 