Celebration

I’ve experienced misfortune and been down and out enough times to understand what despair feels like. Two occasions since November, 2016 stand out in that regard. The first occurred on Trump’s first official day as President, when he made remarks at CIA Headquarters that erased any doubt regarding what he was and wasn’t capable of, how at odds with basic presidential temperament and competence the Trump era was going to be. In front of a wall honoring heroes of the American intelligence community he would quickly scapegoat, the bully pulpit became just that; the world according to an unhinged narcissist became US policy, and the national interest was now subordinate to rabid whims conjured by an unstable mind.

Watching CNN’s stunned panel attempt to make sense of a President bragging how he was “like a smart person,” because an uncle was an MIT professor, and the military “gave us tremendous percentages of votes,” not to mention wondering why the US didn’t “keep the oil” in Iraq, I lost my appetite, which only happens within the throes of a virus or dire emotional stress. Anyone could see the next four years were going to be very ugly. No attempt to normalize this was going to be anything but a partisan exercise meant to gaslight the fears anyone with eyes, ears and a working memory of established best practices would be guided by.

The second occasion, far worse by comparison, was at 5:00AM Wednesday morning. I had gone to bed fairly confident in the “red mirage” scenario, cautiously optimistic the tide would turn blue as votes were counted. To me, it was all about Wisconsin and Michigan. If Biden couldn’t carry them both, there was no chance. I grabbed my phone and anxiously pulled up the data; he was desperately close in Wisconsin, but was not moving the needle in Michigan.

My heart sank and I felt like throwing up. I imagined a Trump Inaugural rant to thousands of the wretched core, promising revenge on his critics as chants of “lock them up” echoed across the Ellipse. I shuddered, or maybe had a seizure; it was too awful to fathom. What was my next move? Since my grandmother was born in Ireland, apparently there was a path to emigrate there. Or, maybe get Sue and the kids up north and search out resistance fellow travelers? It was hard to think clearly at that moment, but there was no doubt in my mind four more years of MAGA was not doable for me! …And then, before I could finish my first cup of coffee, the red haze began to clear at a tortuously slow pace.

This weekend we have everything to be thankful for. When all the ballots are counted, cognizant of the sad fact so many who produced the civic catastrophe we’ve suffered had no problem validating their role by asking for more, Joe Biden’s victory will end up perhaps as decisive a verdict as we realistically could have hoped for. Certainly the wave of joyous relief punctuates the seismic power unleashed when we, and the world, accept the verdict of an American Presidential election. Four years ago that energy was dark and menacing. Now it is nothing short of existential rejuvenation, the final scene of Star Wars: Return of the Jedi provides the best mental image.

With church bells ringing in Paris, the free world celebrates with us. Pushed to the brink of the previously impossible prospect of actually perceiving the US as more threat than protector, the relieved sighs of NATO members are near as aerating as ours. The office of the Presidency has always been primarily responsible for our foreign policy; now we can reengage in our rightful role as dedicated leader instead of the feckless transactional bully Trump personifies.

It’s hard to imagine a more important position within the Biden Administration than Secretary of State. It will require the bulkiest of heavyweights, up to and including a former President, if Obama is inclined. Biden should at least offer it, all he can do is say no. The items on the repair list are endless… rejoining the Paris Climate agreement, the WHO, NATO, reestablishing some degree of credibility as a honest broker in the Middle East, reconfiguring our now disgraceful positions toward authoritarians, helping to mitigate the damage of Brexit, leading the coordination of a global response to Covid, and on and on.

At home the numbers get worse by the hour. Driven by the incomprehensible three-a-day Trump/2020 election rallies, and the August Sturgis calamity, where 460,000 covidiots spent a week ensuring the virus would be unleashed throughout the country just in time for fall’s opening of many school districts and colleges, we are now registering record highs of cases on a daily basis. Tragically high death counts are sure to follow.

It’s a certainty, even with a benign Trump posture up until inauguration, nothing meaningful will be done to help reverse things. In fact, one can easily imagine Trump rolling out another “thank you” superspreader tour, a chance for him to continue his nihilist railing, with after-office relevancy and a final financial fleecing of his base the goal. Biden will inherit a full blown national health crisis and immediately be forced to coordinate a federal response that millions, obedient to the odious propaganda mill they rely on for a world view narrative, will digest as immediate confirmation the worst case is upon them. No doubt MAGA governors from DeSantis to Ducey will cloak themselves in grievance righteousness while working diligently to nullify federal guidance. Thankless doesn’t begin to describe the task that awaits Biden; one shouldn’t wish it on an enemy.

Yet and still, now is not the time to dwell on our uncertain future. We remain a going democratic concern with more than 140 million of us determined enough to confront extraordinary circumstances in our efforts to matter. Instead, it is a time for celebrating our now accredited repudiation of the immediate past, a first giant step toward collective atonement for the unnecessary damage we have done to our foundations, which, thankfully, still appear strong enough to deliver us from evil.

These last near four years have been a long slog, with more than a few hopeless moments. For many, myself included, it has awakened a patriotism we had no idea was so powerful and consuming. Never again will we take for granted the peaceful transfer of political power in this country, or the chaos and destructive uncertainty a President is capable of. Never again will we scoff at what we once digested as merely pro forma White House platitudes regarding national unity because we now understand what the alternative sounds like and produces. Moving forward most of us now take to heart the line Michael Douglas delivered in what then seemed a formulaic and trite film, An American President… “the Presidency is completely about character.”

More than 275 essays in, the DR will stay ever vigilant until and immediately through Inauguration Day. Make no mistake, this is a very dangerous time. The hyena is cornered and as rabid as ever, and he still has access to the codes. Trump has demonstrated time and again no depth is too low, and nobody will be surprised if he and his MAGA bottom feeders lash out to descend further. The mission statement was to chronicle the Trump era until it ended, come what may. Thankfully, there is now a widening beam of light at the end of the tunnel. When we fully emerge The Dystopia Report will need a new name and purpose. That’s the best problem I’ve experienced in a long time, the rewarding culmination of what John Lewis termed “Good Trouble.” I’ll take it. God bless the United States of America! BC