Author: BC

“There’s always another war coming. All we get to decide is whether to fight in it.”

Murtagh Fitzgibbons

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; we are enjoying the golden age of dramatic television. Never before, since the first grainy images were put forth in black and white, have the creative jewels of storytelling been laced together in such a marvelous tableau every bit as powerful and relevant as history’s great authors convey. Incredible series, beginning with The Sopranos and evolving through masterpieces such as Mad Men, Breaking Bad, and more recently The Crown, have given us anti-heroes we can embrace despite all of our previous inclinations. Their stories resonate with force and tie together the patches of our culture and society in a search for some redemption for sins life renders inevitable.

Add to this list of great works Outlander, a sweeping tale spun directly from the pages of a series of novels Diana Gabaldon began penning in the late 1980s. But rather than Don Draper, think Game of Throne’s John Snow when imagining the series’ heart and soul, James Fraser. We need no time to warm to this dashing Scot, no episodes spent tolerating his foibles as terms for endearment. He is true from the start. By season 5, which premieres on STARZ this weekend, his love affair with the story’s central figure, Claire, and the adventures their circumstances have forced upon them, has honed him into a legendary figure, a hero for the ages.

Without spoiling plot arcs of the story, Outlander is a time travel fantasy set following World War II in Scotland. A British woman, series heroine Claire Randall, happens on some “stones” with mystical Gaelic qualities that send her back in time two centuries, where she encounters James Fraser. Their love affair, and the march of history it inhabits, defines the storylines and endows the characters. The magnificent authenticity of the dialect and settings elevates Outlander to lofty heights.

Yet and still, it’s the development of Jamie as a hero fit to match our highest expectations that truly distinguishes the production. Not since Lonesome Dove has a character been so successfully translated from page to screen. Informed of history’s secrets, and humbled by unspeakable trauma, James Fraser matures into a towering leader without peer. Never asking what he won’t give, or expecting what he can’t do, he is a veteran of war’s worst and becomes a constant example of man’s best. To follow his lead becomes a righteous endeavor.

We hope in this nation our leaders can approach a discernible degree of such majesty. They seldom do. The shocking phenomenon of so many now pledging fealty to one utterly barren of worthiness highlights a terrible illness in our body politic. That said, it’s too late to worry about where it started or why it spread because something’s coming of it; time is not our ally. History’s sweep is upon us, building bit by inane bit, one ridiculous tweet at a time. Nothing but the worst has been realized in this Presidency, and far worse still seems a good futures wager.

Several days ago, after nationally televised overt corruption by the GOP Senate contingent, the DR beseeched Barack Obama and/or any who have distinguished themselves before in service to their nation come forward and be heard. Far too few yet seem interested. Meanwhile, Trump minions transition without opposition from comical toadies to instruments of coming repression that, once underway, will only pick up steam and render grotesque MAGA rhetoric reality.

Examples are agonizingly easy to find. Right now ICE readies operations to begin round ups of DACA kids and families, even as thousands remain detained in southern border hellholes. Trump henchman cum Secretary of State Mike Pompeo gaslights Trump’s destruction of NATO to European leaders, even as its membership makes clear US leadership is not desirable in its current incarnation and readies for the break four more years will make a certainty. Roger Stone, a self-described scum bucket, now enjoys a campaign by Fox/AM and the GOP to be redefined as a martyr of deep state persecution.

Voltaire called it correctly when he observed those who can convince one to believe absurdity can also impel him to commit atrocity. The wretched core is chomping at that bit, itching for lines of decency to be obliterated. After all, it made clear long ago sinking to totalitarianism’s deepest depths was not something to lose sleep over.

We remain as good as our electoral system. For all of Trump’s many outrages, the standard rituals of Decision 2020’ remain in place and proceed apace, even as Moscow Mitch sends any and all election security legislation to oblivion.Nobody wants to buy trouble, and if elections can successfully stop the bleeding of a thousand MAGA cuts, all the better. Of course, that proposition appears more wishful thinking than viable hope with each passing Trumpist abasement. The hell of it only pollyannas can deny is anybody who listens can recognize sedition when they hear it. Anybody with eyes can discern corrupt injustice when they see it. And anybody with any sense of intuition for the flow current events creates can feel something very bad building to a crest. Between now and November this chapter is going to close one way or another. We must be ready for either.

Trumpism is a community destroyer, feeding on the alienation fear, resentment and grievance provide with a surplus. That millions of our countrymen and women are squarely on the wrong side of a breach capable of ruining all we hold dear is a tragedy, maybe a sorrow for all time. But the interval for reasoning has expired, at least for now they are lost to us as peers. MAGA is a burgeoning evil that will consume our national greatness, extinguish centuries of lessons and the cumulative empathy their teaching imparted. It will kill the mission statement our country’s existence has until 2017 embodied and leave us reviled by the world, a pariah instead of a beacon, a crisis instead of a solution…. a soulless wretch among countries of this Earth.

As the season 5 premiere of Outlander winds down, James Fraser, cognizant of a coming war, moves to galvanize the future support of his neighbors. Summoning the example of Highland Scottish clan chieftains, he relates how when battle was to come, they would use a fiery cross to alert their followers to prepare for conflict. He then calls on his people to swear allegiance to their kinship and promises he will stand with them whatever the future holds, always giving sway to the bond they share. Much of our current angst lies with our uncertainty as to who stands where and how much faith we can have in those still unfamiliar with the threat of authoritarian encroachment. Perhaps between now and November we need to become certain who we can count on, who cannot pursue routines under MAGA. Who can we call with confidence a brother or sister in arms?! Who, to quote James Fraser, will “stand by my hand?!” BC

“Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.”
Simon and Garfunkel

For most, learning to read was like learning to speak or tell time, it simply happened and that was that. Personally, I don’t recollect struggling with “Dick and Jane” or “Spot.” I do, however, remember the first paperback given to me by my mom -The Book Of US Presidents! How many times I read and reread it, I can’t begin to calculate, but I loved every page. It consisted of short biographies of each President, from Washington to the current White House occupant at the time of its publication, JFK. Standard, less impactful Presidents received two pages within the larger-font, single-spaced format, the more pivotal Chief Executives perhaps twice that. I savored every one. Polk to Grant, Wilson to Ike, I loved them all.

In many ways the Presidency possesses a regal air about it. We are, after all, a nation descended from monarchy. We don’t view the highest office in our land as the purview of faceless technocrats or policy wonks. Each of us appreciates, or condemns I suppose, the POTUS in our own way. Who we remember has as much to do with presidential comportment than policy agenda. When Ronald Reagan’s name comes up, few imagine the thousand-page tax reduction plan he was responsible for, its legacy still addling our national balance sheet. Instead, we remember the guy joking with surgeons after he was shot, or demanding Gorbachev “tear down this wall.”

I make no apologies for my fondness of Barack Obama. He inherited what nobody in their right mind would want to shoulder. Despite united opposition from a GOP with only his political destruction a priority, Obama slogged through the economic nadir his predecessor bequeathed and by the end of his second term full employment had been restored. While his foreign policy legacy was mixed, many quagmires he confronted, like Syria, Afghanistan and Iraq were crap sandwiches no amount of seasoning could make edible. Moreover, Obama repaired our global network of alliances, frayed by the impulsive hubris of post-9/11 overreach.

Yet and still, what made Obama special, and fully worth extra pages were he to be part of an updated US Presidents reader, was his style and grace, his incredible cool under fire. More than perhaps any predecessor, he strove for much more than talking points and redundant proclamations. He thought on his feet, and took questions as they came, addressing each with original thoughts and insights, a determination to answer what was asked rather than evade. Both refreshing candor and intellectual rigor, more than welcome after W, who had some of the former and absolutely none of the latter.

Although Obama represented America’s triumph as its first black President, only ditto heads and more unabashed racists made anything of it; the rest of us saw but a Chief Executive we could praise or criticize without a thought to complexion. To me, he was a giant, well up to the historic task he embraced, who performed his job with the hope and good faith he campaigned on to obtain it. That he was rewarded a second term at the expense of a millionaire with every advantage the emergent Fox/AM juggernaut could impart confirmed his ascension was no fluke, and at least momentarily solidified America’s best nature and ability to prosper from lessons its past mistakes offered.

After Mitt Romney was dispatched handily by Obama in 2012 most assumed that was the end of line as far as his ambitions for public office were concerned. After all, not since Richard Nixon had a vanquished Presidential candidate started from scratch to run again for a seat he hadn’t already occupied. Moreover, Fox/AM, aided by cheap seat Monday morning QBing from loudmouth Donald Trump, was intent to blame another Obama term on Romney’s feckless moderation and the weakness they equated his civility with. Safe to say, few saw Romney as much more than a footnote in history, Obama’s Wendell Willkie.

Anyone who doubts the gap between the GOP activist base and general population need only study Utah’s 2018 Senate election to replace the retiring Orrin Hatch. At the state convention Mitt Romney, the Republican national standard bearer only six years earlier, could not beat Trumpie state senator Mike Kelly. Kelly, who would fit nicely into A Handmaid’s Tale and believes limits on possession of bazookas a constitutional outrage, edged Romney in the convention’s delegate count. Lucky for Romney, he was competitive enough to force a run off at the polls, where he demolished Kelly with 71% of the vote.

Although a nice comeback from his walk in the desert, Romney’s narrative as a freshman Senator was not particularly compelling. Indeed, one could have been forgiven for wondering why, apart from the personal restlessness forced retirement imposes, he even bothered. Nobody within Trump’s GOP had the least bit of use for a moderate Mormon most personally blamed for four additional years of “hope and change.” Fewer still were prepared to abide any dissent regarding the Godzilla trampling anything resembling, forget 21st century progress, but any reform after Eisenhower as well. Indeed, it was very hard to see what difference Romney could make even if he had a mind to. Last week changed everything and cemented a legacy history will notice.

It is understandable to relegate the adulation of Romney’s singular act of conscience to little more than commentary on how far we have fallen in three short years. In the short-term it resulted in nothing. Not 24 hours later Trump was declaring victory in the White House, spewing his typical megalomaniacal gibberish to glassy-eyed sycophants, a number of whom now constitute the House GOP leadership.

Of course, Romney has been signaled out for ridicule, but not much more than any other of the President’s enemies du jour. What makes the Mittster’s “guilty” worth grasping on to is why he decided to stand alone, what he recognizes is at stake, and how the costs of becoming an outlier outweigh any benefit conformity conveys. How easy it would be to join the crowd was what gnawed at Romney. Perhaps it really was simply his faith, or maybe, as one who got close enough to the big seat he could taste it, abiding Trump’s overt narcissism and stupidity in the face of the air-tight case House Managers put forth became a bridge to far. Whatever. Finally an adult has entered the room. More must follow.

But what have they done with Barack Obama, who appears to be enjoying retirement every bit as much as his old rival seemed to loathe it? Some months before Obama’s second term expired I engaged in a lively “discussion” with an FB friend who, sadly, has since passed on. He was a black progressive from St. Louis and had little use for Obama, who he felt sold out to corporate and military interests. Somehow the topic of what the President would do in retirement arose. Daryl predicted with confidence Obama would act no differently than W or Clinton and move toward the money. I heartily disagreed and was certain my hero would focus primarily on teaching, charity and community pursuits with no interest in corporate invitations. A wager was made. I still owe Daryl a French dinner.

During several weak moments since Decision 16’ – the turgid backwash created by the American electorate’s temerity in 2008 and 2012 – I have pondered whether it would have been for the best had Romney prevailed. Perhaps eight years of “moderation” at the head of the GOP would have marginalized its extremists and strangled MAGA in its cradle. Then I come to my senses and understand that Fox/AM and its wretched viewer and listener base was exactly why Romney never stood a chance; the party was already lost to him, even as he secured its nomination. That die was cast when John McCain conceded, his running mate already preening for the nihilists.

Broad coalitions win elections, not feuding campaigns that produce sour grapes. I suppose it’s a lot to expect Presidential candidates to check their ambitions for the sake of national survival. Just as it’s a tall order to call on a retired President, who spent many a thankless day taking relentless fire from both sides of the aisle, to quit enjoying post-high office life and again put a big fat target on his back.

That said, as Bernie Sanders seeks to contest a razor thin loss in Iowa, that may or may not owe to a bad app and nefarious GOP efforts to gum up the works, and the Buttigieg campaign starts to go full Machiavelli, the specter of four more years of MAGA has never seemed more possible. The off-season is over. The natural leader of this resistance needs to get back in this game; losing is not an option. Mr. President, the war effort needs you. It’s time for some heroes. After all, if Mitt Romney can do it, so should you. It’s the adult thing to do. BC

There’s the story of the guy who thought he was happily married until he began to pick up on a dishonest vibe from his wife. Despite trying to shake his suspicions, he only becomes more certain something is going on. When he confides his concerns to his best friend, his buddy laughs and promises there is no way his wife would stray. Reassured, the guy decides it’s just his imagination and vows to let it go, ashamed of himself for doubting his beloved.

However, as time goes by, try as he might, the husband just can’t shake the feeling there is deceit afoot. His wife seems evermore distant and preoccupied, nothing he can put his finger on, but disturbing nonetheless. He again confides in his friend, who again fully rejects the notion, this time admonishing him and warning obsessions like this ruin marriages. Nobody wants to be married to a jealous maniac. Get a grip on yourself, he orders.

Regardless, despite full self-loathing, the guy can’t ignore his doubts. Finally he decides to put the concerns to rest by following his wife to confirm she is true. He tells her he’s going on a business trip overnight and merely drives around the block and waits down the street. Less than an hour later she pulls out and heads into the city. Sure enough she pulls up to a hotel and gives her car to a valet who seems to know her well. The husband quickly tails her inside and his knees buckle as she embraces his best friend in the lobby. He then watches them disappear into the elevator and hustles to see what floor it stops on.

As he exits the elevator a few minutes later at the floor of their tryst, he almost immediately hears his wife’s unmistakeable lustful exclamations. He stands outside the door pondering what to do, wondering if standard hotel doors will withstand his attempts to imitate Dirty Harry. But then he sees a housekeeper down the hall and convinces her he left his key in the room. When he enters, there they are, caught in the act, nothing to the imagination.

“How could you do this to me? What about the vows we exchanged? And you… we’ve been friends since high school, you looked at me twice and lied to my face. Here you both are, screwing like rabbits! What do you have to say for yourselves?! “ The wife, stark naked, looks her husband right in the eye and declares “….I want a divorce. I won’t stay married to a man who doesn’t trust me. I can’t believe you followed me around. We’re done!” Stunned, the guy looks at his former best friend, who shrugs and matter-of-factly reminds him “I warned you she wouldn’t stand for it. Nobody but yourself to blame.”

Lisa Murkowski of Alaska is who those looking desperately for a GOP Senate “moderate” not fully under Trump’s thumb pin their hopes on. They may want to look elsewhere. Coming into this week, Murkowski had voted with the President 75% of the time. Given how extreme this White House’s agenda has been, particularly its slate of judges for the federal bench, three out of four really doesn’t cut it in the profiles of courage department. Put another way, Joe Manchin (D-West Virginia), presumably Murkowski’s opposite number as an outlier swimming upstream against his party’s agenda, voted against Democratic wishes 54% of the time. A real DINO vs. a phony baloney RINO.

Modern America has only been a two-party system. Sure, some independent candidacies have made their mark. In fact, the leading contender for this year’s Democratic nomination is at heart an independent. Yet and still, the vitality of our republic depends on healthy competition between the Republicans and Democrats, with a fidelity to honor and fairness, defined and enforced by the rule of law and the constitution that informs it. And make no mistake, the absence of one will kill the other and leave US democracy – the world’s ultimate stable currency – up the creek sans paddle. A rotten legislature is far more dangerous than an unleashed executive because it passes the laws meant to keep each honest. The corruption of both, in service to each other? Sayonara democracy.

Trump’s 2016 campaign was shocking in its flagrant, forget mere disregard, but outright disdain of established practices meant to promote civility and temper division, not to mention respect for the sacred electoral process. What rendered his victory as something less than an existential crisis to many was bipartisan confidence that his worst would impel at least a percentage of the GOP to hold him accountable. At the time, even with control of both chambers firmly in Republican hands, the belief even 10-15% of either GOP caucus would at least give others pondering dissent a refuge for thwarting the worst few doubted he was capable of provided essential reassurance for getting on with day-to-day routines.

Last Friday’s vote to bar witnesses from an impeachment trial with a foregone conclusion confirmed how delusional such assumptions were. Worse, caught in the bedroom, buck naked and fornicating with a despicably corrupt nation wrecker, unfaithful public servants like Murkowski want us to know it’s all our own fault. Who do Democrats think they are trying to hold Trump to account? How dare the House put Senate Republicans in such a position. Send us impeachment with no GOP support will you; who cares if he’s guilty?! Or, er… the transcript of the call…. I mean, why didn’t you wait and get Bolton to testify to you?! That’s it…. shoddy and lazy work. Doesn’t rise to impeachable anyway. So there! No witnesses!

Murkowski made a great show of both her indecision and seriousness at weighing the arguments throughout the trial, taking copious notes and asking numerous questions. Yet and still, in the end, her lame justification for denying witnesses was no different than Trumpie eunuch Rick Scott’s, just issued in more sincere tones. While Scott whined about refusing to “do the House’s job for them,” Murkowski solemnly derided “the partisan nature of this impeachment from the very beginning and throughout…” The articles of impeachment were yet another chapter in the relentless victimization of our martyr President, according to Murkowski:

“…. I have come to the conclusion that there will be no fair trial in the Senate. I don’t believe the continuation of this process will change anything. It is sad for me to admit that, as an institution, the Congress has failed.”

It’s hard to imagine a more comprehensive and impressive presentation than House impeachment managers put forward. The difference between drunken Lindsey Graham foaming at the mouth and Murkowski’s soft sell doesn’t mean anything when the result is the same. It’s like two golfers bogeying the same hole. One drives it right down the middle, chips on in regulation, putts to within three feet but then blows the par putt. The other guy drives it in the woods, chips back out to the fairway, hits it in the bunker, blasts out and makes a 25-footer for his five. One was uglier than the other, but each carded the same score.

The sham winds down this week, but this national nightmare promises to endure. When Trump finally does get his full party-line acquittal, one thing will be certain: his facilitators will all be in that hotel room with him. Each will be just as corrupt as the others, albeit some a bit more painful to discover. The blatant shamelessness of ruin. BC

There is not another group in America who has suffered more as a singularly direct result of Trumpenomics than Wisconsin family farmers. It is as though Trump and his tariff toadies, Peter Navarro, Larry Kudlow et al., get up daily and think “how can we screw those cheeseheads today?” Every bluster, every dictat, every impulsive declaration seems to come at the expense of the very voters most responsible for the 2016 election victory Trump never tires of rehashing in excruciatingly narcissistic detail. But like an abusive spouse, this Administration has constantly damaged Wisconsin’s dairy interests abroad, even as he swears they are the darling of his arbitrary tariff regimes. The numbers don’t lie.

In 2019 Wisconsin reported 48 farm bankruptcies, tops in the nation with most all small generations-old family outfits. Cheese exports, a Wisconsin niche, were down 14 % in 2018. Data from 2019 will surely punctuate that trend. Things have become so bad the US Department of Agriculture has made $2.3 million available for no other purpose than to combat the devastating emotional toll economic failure has wrecked, literally suicide prevention.

Last year one local cheese company executive made a doomsday prediction that, should export market conditions worsen, “I could see us getting to the point where we’re dumping our milk in the fields…. It’ll be a big ripple effect through the state.” Most agree that reckoning has arrived.

Reciprocity, the cornerstone of international trade relationships, assures that any protectionist inclinations by one partner will be met in kind by the other, toward a sector of their choosing. Moreover, markets are dynamic and don’t pause long for uncertainty; if one opportunity seems unreliable for long, other relationships will be pursued to reassert the balance. And it’s business… nothing personal. Unfortunately for them, Wisconsin’s farmers are favored pawns in Trump’s mindless attempts to bully concessions out of trade partners for interests that couldn’t be further from a failing dairyman’s dinner table.

The original North American Free Trade Agreement benefitted dairy interests, establishing new markets in Mexico and reinforcing advantages in Canada. Indeed, by 2016, when Trump was in Wisconsin calling the pact, “the worst deal ever signed,” Mexico had become the largest importer of American cheese products. Why a dairy farmer would enthusiastically vote for a candidate promising to tear up an arrangement fully benefitting his principle prospects is not near as mysterious as why he would promise to vote for the same pol after the pledge was carried out along with a plethora of other actions with similarly ruinous consequences. Yet and still, there it is.

As with everything else, White House messaging about family farm interests is fully conflicted. Trump never fails to mention at his rallies how “we love our family farmers and will always be there for them.” However, Secretary of Agriculture, Sonny Purdue, the best friend corporate pork interests ever had, has been delivering an entirely different message lately. For example, last October, attending Wisconsin’s World Dairy Expo, Purdue offered blunt conclusions to those who embraced Trump in 2016:

“In America, the big get bigger and the small go out…..I don’t think in America we, for any small business, we have a guaranteed income or guaranteed profitability.”

It’s hard to imagine a clearer declaration of Trumpian priorities. The big dogs are going to hunt and the bones they leave just might not be enough… sorry Charley.

Last week, as the President was signing his USMCA – NAFTA’s replacement, which, except for a significantly larger big-money foot print, bears an uncanny resemblance to the deal it replaced – Wisconsin’s family farmers were holding out hope milk prices would rise and export opportunities would re-emerge. Even so, most are getting up even earlier and desperately plowing tracts of their land to grow soybeans and other crops in an effort to diversify. Of course, Trump’s trade war with China has blown up those markets as well. MAGA wing and prayers don’t offer much.

Near two years ago, as the first waves of Trump’s arbitrary tariff trouble started washing up on Lake Superior’s shores, the $64,000 question was whether rural America would permit the euphoria full liberation of their cultural resentments provided to sufficiently assuage the personal ruin MAGA economic idiocy would inflict. Today, as GOP Senate conduct crystallizes that our democracy is every bit as imperiled as Wisconsin family dairy farmers, and it’s clear our future will be decided this November, the latest polling data isn’t too hopeful.

Wisconsin voters appear as split now as they were when Trump eeked out his plurality in 2016. Since we can assume urban and suburban dissenter ranks have only grown, the polling more than implies Cheese State farmers remain MAGA-fervent. Apparently, sending immigrants packing, reversing Roe v Wade, and generally sticking it to the libs is worth a lot to them…. even generations-old legacies.

Or perhaps, like the blank-eyed Senate Republicans who reflect Trumpism’s grasp on flyover country, there is now simply a dystopian surrender to the futility of fate… a collective throwing up of the hands – “what can you do? He has to know what he’s doing, right? After all, he is a billionaire. Besides, it can’t be worse than the socialism Democrats offer.” Of course, subsidy checks now being cut to fortify farmers’ allegiance are the very essence of socialism, but that apparently complicates the narrative more than this addled and besieged bloc wants to consider. So, whatever the rationalization, it’s Trump or bust. Have some milk with those cookies! BC

Growing up as a young boy my father was of the Mad Men generation; he viewed his principle duties to our family as providing us with all the fruits his labor as an attorney could bestow, and being a protector and intimate partner to my mother. Standard stuff for his peer group. Spending off hours with his first born was not a priority for him. My brother John – two years my junior – and I enjoyed my father’s attention far less often than we would have liked, except when he was doling out discipline, which comprised a measurable portion of our dad-time allowance. Years later my youngest brother Alex would benefit from my dad’s post 60s enlightenment about “quality” time and perhaps some shame he felt for ignoring John and I, but we were beggars and couldn’t afford to be choosers.

One weekend night when I was perhaps 8 or 9 years old, my mother went out with an old friend visiting from out of town. Aside from the glee of getting a ten spot to run over and pick up some KFC for our dinner, the best part of the evening to me would be sitting on the couch with my dad as he attended to his Hamms (plural) and watched television. I didn’t much care what was on, hanging with him was enough. As it happened, that night I sat down licking my grease-stained fingers just in time for the start of To Kill A Mockingbird. When I asked my father what it was about, he mentioned something about kids growing up in the south, and upon reflection, grew more enthusiastic about me watching it with him. You’ll like this, he said with sincerity before ordering me to get some napkins for my hands!

I will always remember the experience of that night’s showing. Please understand, I was just a young boy with no idea or appreciation of any subtext that movie classic offered. To me it was just a story I was riveted by. Sure, Dr. King had been shot, and I got the broad strokes of what prejudice was, but institutional racism and injustice were not things I had any ideas about. And so I sat glued to the set, overwhelming my father with questions during the way too many commercial breaks. “Billy, just watch the movie!” still rings in my ears decades later.

I was horrified when they came to lynch Tom Robinson. “He’s supposed to get a trial, right,” I beseeched my dad. And I cheered on Atticus Finch as he laid waste to the prosecution’s case, finally getting Tom’s accuser to break down and replace details of the supposed attack with nonsensical gibberish that merely confirmed she was lying. When Atticus finished his closing argument I had a new hero to go along with Ernie Banks! But nothing prepared me for the verdict; it devastated me, made no sense at all!

Whether my father embraced the moment we shared that night, appreciated the enlightenment I received, I’ll never know. Perhaps he was heartened and proud seeing me agonize about racism’s cruel realities. Maybe he was just as glad to get me off to bed so he could pop open another brew… whatever. I do know that my education about the chasm between sanitized versions of America my elementary schooling provided and our actual civic deficiencies began then and there. Somehow I had to reconcile both sides of the equation: the trial of Tom Robinson I watched with the ridiculous conclusions of the jurors who found him guilty. Tough sledding for a wee lad.

Listening to Adam Schiff and company dutifully carry out the thankless work of presenting, not only an airtight case for impeachment against Donald Trump this week, but the historical landscape for assessing how unprecedented his actions were, memories of my first viewing of the Hollywood classic came rushing back. Just as Gregory Peck brought life to my still nascent sense of justice more than 50 years earlier, Schiff’s steadfast recitation of the facts reinforces a clear understanding of right and wrong, validating how overtly corrupt Trump and his toadies have acted throughout this entire affair. It’s all there for anyone to see and hear; there is nothing to the imagination. To deny its specifics is to embrace the essence of corruption they embody.

A nine-year old boy, unsullied by the relentlessly false counter narrative Fox/AM continuously recites, and the full GOP Senate caucus shamelessly embraces, would come to the same emphatic conclusions I reached after Atticus’ closing argument 50 years ago. A naïf not yet coarsened by MAGA’s relentless gaslighting of truth would surely be shocked by the case Schiff’s team has laid out, appalled a President could pursue such a scheme, and then disdainfully refuse to cooperate in the subsequent investigation of his malfeasance. Surely, as I was a half century ago, the youngster would be rapt by Schiff’s final entreaty to the Senate that:

“Here right matters. … If right doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter how good the Constitution is…..It doesn’t matter how brilliant the Framers were. It doesn’t matter how good or bad our advocacy in this trial is. It doesn’t matter how well-written the oath of impartiality is. If right doesn’t matter, we’re lost.”

In his innocence the kid could be certain of the verdict jurors would reach. After all, they’re Senators who swore an oath, right? They’d have to be criminals engaged in a blatant cover up to sit through such an hours-long litany and let the scoundrel off the hook.

Sadly, we adults, like my father decades past, can only look with knowing resignation at a child’s reasonable naïveté, aware of the incomprehensible disappointment coming his way. After all, we know this GOP all too well. Rand Paul would have thrown spit balls Schiff’s way if not limited by decorum. Marsha Blackburn openly flaunted the rules and left the chamber to grant an interview for MAGA consumption. Later, she tweeted scurrilous libel against Lt. Col. Alexander Vindman, a Purple Heart recipient, whose high crime to Trumpie sycophants consisted of following the law and obeying a Congressional subpoena. The talk track none will veer from is they’ve heard nothing new, even as every single one votes not to allow additional witnesses and documentation. Circular obstruction.

Whatever passions and outrage Schiff could incite from those watching the proceedings on television, a decisive bloc of jurors are merely bored and indifferent, like children at church. After all, as most made clear before the trial began., their minds are made up. House manager Hakeem Jefferies was spot on today when he said with a hint of resignation in his voice, if we can’t hold Trump accountable for this sorry episode, “God help us all.” Tragically, his plea fell on way too many deaf ears. Tom Robinson wouldn’t have stood a chance with this bunch. BC

In 1956 Hungarians reached their limit with being a Soviet satellite and took to the streets. As grass roots as it could be, the uprising morphed into an armed struggle for independence the puppet government seemed ill-equipped to quell. Each day of conflict appeared to enhance the movement’s prospects as armed clashes got the better of government reinforcements, many who seemed conflicted about repressing their own people. The Kremlin was not happy with developments.

But Nikita Khrushchev had an ace in the hole on the ground, an otherwise invisible diplomat leading Russia’s embassy named Yuri Andropov. Repelled by what he saw as scurrilous mobs challenging the communist ecosystem, Andropov got to work transmitting intelligence and analysis back to Moscow. His reports calibrated the opposition’s strength and weaknesses, paving the way for Soviet military intervention. With a coolness and moral indifference that would become his calling card, Andropov directed the violent destruction of Hungarian independence.

His bones made under fire, Andropov returned to Moscow a couple years later and in 1967 was tapped by Leonid Brezhnev to head up the KGB. It’s not hyperbolic to say his near two decades there would and continues to steer history. Throughout Andropov’s tenure he masterminded both the ruthless efficiency of the KGB’s domestic and Eastern Bloc apparatus, which made dissidents disappear every bit as seamlessly as his predecessors, while overseeing an arsenal of foreign agents pivotal to destabilization agendas abroad.

Ironically, while fully committed to totalitarian relativity of truth, Andropov was a well educated and secure man who insisted on frank honesty from subordinates, formulating policy and procedures in line with facts, no matter how inconvenient. A paradox to be sure. Yet and still, nothing contradicts the notion Andropov was every bit as guided in his world view as Lenin himself that capitalists were vapid and weak, there to be steamrolled by history’s inevitability.

Flash forward to the fall of 1982 and University of New Hampshire’s outstanding political science department. It was an exciting time to be a senior poly sci major at UNH. After all, the campus was beginning to see the first visits by Democratic presidential primary candidates looking to unseat Reagan. Moreover, for a US-Soviet studies geek like me, the Cold War was perhaps at its peak, with Arms Control center stage, the no nukes movement roiling Europe. But what really had my attention that semester was Soviet succession.

Brezhnev was desperately ill and for only the fourth time in the history of Soviet power a change at the top of the politburo was imminent. My mentor at UNH was a Soviet studies professor named Thomas Trout. A dashing former naval intelligence officer, Trout’s lectures were the most well attended in the department, if not the entire school. As charismatic as he was handsome, Trout meticulously organized his presentations to both explain the mechanics of Soviet decision making and provide an interesting narrative for how its policies impacted current events.

By my senior year I was a Trout protege, flattered by the extra time he often granted me to discuss unfolding events. As to Brezhnev’s replacement, Professor Trout was adamant the successful candidate would be a “generalist,” a politician instead of a government bureaucrat. As in America, pressing the flesh and networking influence, a vast outreach amongst the nomenklatura was necessary to win a game of thrones few really understood.

Of course most all I knew of the Soviet system I had learned from Professor Trout, and I wasn’t inclined to doubt his inclinations. Yet and still, I had a tough time eliminating Yuri Andropov from the mix in my handicapping. It seemed to me common sense dictated that within a totalitarian security state control of the secrets meant you knew everyone’s weaknesses and how best to exploit them. And as George Kennan observed, the cutthroat nature of Soviet politics would make American mob bosses blush. Stalin was not a politician; he was a henchman. So why not Andropov?

Sadly, I wasn’t confident enough in my own instincts to follow through on my hunch. As Brezhnev gasped closer to death, I convinced myself some mayor of Leningrad had the “generalist” profile and enough Central Committee connections to grab the ring. The final exam of my Soviet Policy class contained a bonus question to pick Brezhnev’s successor, with the promise of personal public props from Professor Trout for any winners the next semester. Nobody had Andropov and I learned an early lesson about the propriety of swimming upstream against convenient conventional propositions.

Yuri Andropov survived just 15 months as Soviet Party Secretary before his own failing health caught up with him. However, his influence on history would far outweigh his brief tenure at the helm of the Soviet State. A young intelligence officer would embrace Andropov as a hero, and utilize the sources and methods institutionalized by the KGB before the USSR’s fall to facilitate his own rise to power and lead what was left through the slog necessary to restore past greatness. Whatever degree western democratic sensibilities pervaded post-Soviet Russia, whatever optimism existed that pluralism could effectively replace authoritarian rule and usher in a new era of regional and global power, Vladimir Putin was never on board.

In June of 2004, on what would have been his 90th birthday, a bust of Yuri Andropov was unveiled in his hometown of Petrozavodsk. That same day a ceremony was led by Vladimir Putin himself to commemorate his hero. Old school state power was what Andropov brought to mind, and Putin was not bashful in praising it. For younger Russian progressives it was yet another ominous sign of democracy slipping away,

Meanwhile, about the same time in the US, Trump Casinos and Hotels was $1.8 billion dollars in debt and filing for Chapter 11 bankruptcy. After going through near half a billion dollars of his father’s wealth, Trump had virtually no prospects left in America, not a bank or lender would allow him into their lobby. As one biographer put it: he was going down like the Titanic when suddenly help arrived just for him…. Russians. The synergy of ruin. BC

America’s system of government has sustained itself since the nation’s birth through institutions representing three separate branches of authority the OG founders deemed critical to maintaining a sovereign democratic state. The sovereign part has been aided immensely by the geography we have been blessed with, oceans are formidable military obstacles. The democratic part has been more challenging, but it’s the diligent development of our basic institutions that has always carried the day through rough patches.

Equally important to the institutions themselves are the norms established for the way they interact among each other. The fine line between competition and cooperation, ally and adversary has defined how both domestic and foreign policy is imparted. It’s not too much to assert that critical balance is the gist of our political ecosystem; if it’s distorted, or worse destroyed, all bets are off and America is in big trouble.

That the Constitution grants Congress the power to declare war is a no-brainer; after all, war is expensive and lawmakers hold the power of the purse. Far more fuzzy is the conduct of foreign policy, and what level of oversight, what degree of interference Congress is allowed to exert on White House actions abroad. These questions didn’t become particularly pressing until the 20th century when technological progress and American capabilities conspired to tempt us toward a more active international role. Things came to a head as FDR recognized the national interests at stake in Europe’s war against Hitler and moved to provide Britain with military hardware for the effort. Congressional isolationists, still attuned to the boys lost in WWI, and determined to keep us out of another conflagration, moved with purpose to challenge Roosevelt’s authority. The Supreme Court issued the final word.

In 1936, ruling on Curtiss Wright Export Corporation’s challenge to a prohibition of arms sales pertaining to earlier hostilities between Bolivia and Paraguay, the Supreme Court issued a watershed decision on White House powers over foreign policy. The language of the 8-1 majority was unambiguous:

“While the Constitution does not explicitly say that all ability to conduct foreign policy is vested in the President, it is nonetheless given implicitly and by the fact that the executive, by its very nature, is empowered to conduct foreign affairs in a way that Congress cannot and should not.”

The President, declared the Court, is the “sole organ” of US policy abroad, and entitled to plenty of leeway when conducting relations with foreign powers. The immediate impact of the ruling was to enable FDR to provide the British Navy with hardware through a “lend-lease” arrangement. The lasting implications were it established legal precedent for an emerging internationalist US posture that WWII and the subsequent Cold War would solidify.

From “police actions” such as Korea and Vietnam to by-the-book Iraq I and post-9/11 carte blanche, the seesaw has tilted from one side to the other and back again. Yet and still, it’s always been about checks and balances in action, with individuals acting together on behalf of the institutions they are a part of. Isolationists and internationalists, hawks and doves, have been represented in both parties. And while partisanship is supposed to end “at the water’s edge,” America has learned the hard way, time and again, that a White House afforded too much leash is prone to destructive hubris, “breaking” nations they then own with consequences that addle US interests well into the future. Thoughtful lawmakers throughout the last 75 years have understood sometimes Republican and Democrat are required to unite for no other reason than supporting the vibrancy of the legislative branch they both work for. Checks and balances.

Donald Trump has no interest in the institutional power of the Presidency he can articulate past whiney tweets and rally gibberish. His pathological narcissism and abject intellectual laziness assure only minute to minute rabid impulses jockey to be a part of an infantile attention span. Nonetheless, Trump views anything other than strident sycophancy within the GOP he now expects to pay him hourly homage as apostasy. MAGA is patriotism, and whatever he decides to do is what’s best for “us” in the continual war against “them,” who are everyone else but us. As Trump would rage at a rally in Toledo after he killed Soleimani, only “we” don’t love terrorists. The farcical briefing his national security team provided US Senators on Thursday about the Soleimani assassination mirrored this attitude.

Those expecting Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell to uphold his chamber’s virtue and prerogative, after the White House ordered what most observers deemed an act of war without so much as a syllable of consultation, got a heaping helping of lamb. Turns out the guardian of the realm’s most pressing concern, posed to the MAGA braintrust with his usual docility, was whether Senate debate about war powers may hurt troop morale! Ascendent Trumpster Defense Secretary Mark Esper made clear it was follow or betray your country, this is no time for seditious democratic outbursts. It’s been taxing enough having to make up stories to uppity allies, we have to justify things to you? You’re cruising for a tweeting!

Pressed by incredulous Democrats when, if ever, the Administration planned to consider seeking congressional authorization, Secretary of State cum Dr. Strangelove Mike Pompeo declared he would not entertain hypotheticals. Chris Coons of Delaware repeatedly pressed the issue, asserting there was nothing hypothetical about war resulting from targeting Iran’s top military official for assassination. He got nowhere. Pompeo has become very good at saying nothing constructive over and over, his nervous smirk a sure tell he is lying yet again. Small wonder he is now Trump’s Iago of the month. This President simply doesn’t trust anyone honest. No worries about that with Pompeo.

The real shocker from the briefing is apparently the GOP libertarians do have a limit to their ideological expediency of Trump outrages, as both Mike Lee and Rand Paul decided their brand could not survive coddling the President on this one. You can’t cheer on abandoning Kurds to slaughter one month because “it’s none of our business,” and then support mindless escalation toward open ended regional war the next …. er, can you? Mitt Romney can and did, pronouncing himself satisfied with “the largely effective presentation.” Susan Collins of Maine was coy as she hinted a cabal might exist to explore war powers. Fat chance. Believe that when you see it! The myth of Collins as some GOP boat rocker was laid bare long ago. She is as reliable an aye as any Trumpie.

It becomes increasingly clear that the decision to kill Soleimani was made more as a function of Trump’s wild-eyed pre-occupation with impeachment than any US national interest. Seems the President wanted to quench GOP chickenhawks’ taste for Persian blood in order to secure more robust cooperation from them as jurors at his trial. Of course, he needn’t have worried, when it comes to fulfilling their roles as guardians of the Constitution and the institution they pledged to loyally serve in order to protect it, Republicans have clocked out. Now they merely parrot the rants of a mob and loyally serve its seditious champion. The cowardly abdication of duty added to the stew of ruin. BC

One of the most counterintuitive absurdities of Donald Trump’s political ascent is his personal popularity with many in the military. After all, it was previously an article of faith that those who relied on the privilege of wealth to avoid service during Vietnam were at the very least not entitled to anything more than grudging cordiality, even as Commander in Chief.

Bill Clinton certainly suffered through such estrangement during his eight years. Ending “don’t ask, don’t tell” didn’t help matters, but a substantial bloc of veterans already detested him, presumably because he took advantage of a Rhodes Scholarship instead of entering the draft or enlisting. Even W Bush suffered some aloofness due to the correct perception his father used connections to keep him stateside in the Air National Guard when he should have been overseas. “Chicken hawk” is a title vets have used in bipartisan fashion, reflecting the lack of credibility those who avoided service in Vietnam deserve to the eyes of those who did not.

That Trump, he of the multiple “bone spurs” diagnoses, who once told Howard Stern avoiding VD was his “personal Vietnam,” could enjoy the adulation of the Rolling Thunder crowd, current rank and file, and retired naval officers alike, seems to clarify their perceptions are guided by more odious biases previously deemed less important to their thinking, like race and homage to authority, or even embrace of debunked conspiracy theories. More than 50 years after she went to Hanoi, Jane Fonda would still be burnt in effigy, but Trump phony baloney draft deferments are easily forgotten. Go figure.

Regardless, both acting and retired service members are about to have their loyalty to Trump tested by his impulsive order to assassinate Iran’s most revered military leader. Make no mistake, Trump has placed our people serving abroad in mortal danger, particularly those in Iraq. Nobody believes Iran’s vow for revenge is the sort of empty bluster our President defines himself with; there is plenty of substantial tat coming our way, at a place and time we have no means to control.

From that faithful day “shock and awe” was unleashed on Saddam, Iran has been predominant in the Middle East. Its natural adversary fully obliterated, it has been able to focus on what it’s done best since the Mullahs took over, expanding control over a vast network of operatives with only one ultimate aim for one master. The success of that effort is about to be exhibited, American casualties likely the tragic result.

In Gaza, Hamas may operate as representative of Palestinian aspirations, but it is largely financed by Iran, who will surely now expect some of that tab be paid with services only desperate radicals are able to provide. Syria is an Iranian puppet state; that is, Assad does nothing without Tehran’s approval. Ditto Lebanon, where Hezbollah plays a dominant role and stages operations employed to enhance Iran’s reach throughout the region. Whatever Iran requires from either, they will get with at least the indifference of, if not cooperation by host governments. It’s not at all hyperbolic to say our now vastly outnumbered forces within Iraq are encircled by thousands of players mobilizing as we speak to do exactly as they are told.

The most significant aspect of the siege carried out last week by Iran-backed militia at the US Embassy in Iraq was the refusal of Iraqi security forces to intervene in any way. This portends nothing good for our people on the ground there. After more than 15 years of occupation, the army we dissolved remains unable to either guarantee its government’s well being or inspire trust about whose side they are on. Now, when we’ll need them most, anything is possible, nothing and nobody can be counted on. The announcement over the weekend that US personnel has suspended training of Iraqi soldiers clarifies a bunker mentality now exists.

Apparently, like most Presidential decision making these days, the move to kill Soleimani was purely impulsive, made out of frustration while watching television prior to yet another round of golf. What could go wrong? Pentagon brass were stunned, apparently the option had only earlier been presented as the most extreme of a range of possibilities, meant solely to bracket the presentation and encourage Trump toward moderation. It didn’t work. Why they thought it would and didn’t push back more when it didn’t is for another day, a crisis is now at hand. Which of his advisors were all in for targeting Iran’s equivalent of our CIA Director and Secretary of Defense for assassination? Why, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo of course, our chief diplomat! Think about that.

The big winner is ISIS, who Iran was instrumental in containing. It’s the second gift Trump has recently given the world’s cruelest group of fanatics, coming on the heels of his similarly thoughtless move to abandon the Kurds, allowing Turkey free reign to replenish ISIS elements that were on the brink of destruction. Now they get another reprieve with both Americans and Iranians focused fully on each other. A couple months ago Trump declared betraying the Kurds was part and parcel of tough love decisions required to keep his promise of ending ceaseless war in the Middle East. Now he has rendered US forces in Iraq sitting ducks, awaiting the worst, even as 3500 hundred more troops are rushed to the region. In less time than is required to get his weave ready for the public, “bring our boys home” has morphed into a very open ended situation.

The wretched core, which now includes the full Republican Party, is predictably deflecting geo-political inconvenience, instead repeating ad nauseam what a terrorist Soleimani was, and how much American blood he was responsible for. But what about where killing him leaves us, and more importantly our troops and personnel abroad, our allies, not to mention global stability? “Let’s just hope Iran does the right thing,” sneered Pompeo.

Meanwhile, the POTUS has made clear via tweet that war crimes are on the table, with a variety of “cultural” sites included in a target package he will choose from should Iran keep its promise to avenge Soleimani. That such strikes would violate international law is beyond doubt:

Protocol I of the Geneva Convention prohibits the targeting of “historic monuments, works of art or places of worship which constitute the cultural or spiritual heritage of peoples,” while also prohibiting making such sites the “object of reprisals.”

No matter. Last night Trump tripled down on his threat, snarling the US is obligated only to behave as low as it’s opponent:

“They’re allowed to kill our people. They’re allowed to torture and maim our people. They’re allowed to use roadside bombs and blow up our people. And we’re not allowed to touch their cultural sites. It doesn’t work that way.”

Asked repeatedly if they support Trump’s rabid disregard of civilized norms, Republican Hill eunuchs ignored the question in favor of inane repetition of Pompeo’s “hope” that Iran doesn’t escalate things. Of course Fox/AM personalities competed to agree most with their champion, no doubt sure he was watching as they supplicated. In addition to reason, logic and democratic values, the wretched core will not be bound by moral decency, that’s for the liberal traitors Trumpie social media threads now assure us anything less than full support of the President confirms.

The river of lies and daily outrages Trumpism requires to feed its relentless totalitarian torrent now approaches an ocean of chaos and needless destruction Middle East War promises. Eisenhower said it best when he observed only those who have actually seen the mindless brutality of war can fully appreciate its wanton stupidity. Perhaps now our future rests with those who are personally affiliated with Ike’s wisdom. One thing is certain, if men who have experienced battle can embrace Trump as a leader worth dying for, the future is bleak indeed. The march to ruin, at the double step! BC

The Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) has its roots all the way back to Article 1, section 8 of the Constitution, which grants Congress the power to regulate the military. The UCMJ’s current specifics were authorized by Harry Truman in 1950, adopted in no small measure as a reaction to the many atrocities of WWII brought to light at Nuremberg, particularly the question of when subordinates must refuse to obey orders at odds with human decency.

While protective of individual rights and concerned about the means of safeguarding them, the USMJ draws clear lines for prosecuting crimes and abuses by US service personnel, regardless of branch or rank. The system it establishes deals with the very fine line between the key importance of respect for the chain of command and protection of “whistleblowers” holding officers to account for misdeeds. It’s not at all easy, but the code’s provisions offer firm guidelines and processes for establishing such balance.

Like so many institutions our nation requires to make the rule of law work, military justice is dependent on honor and good faith, presumably imparted to personnel from the first day they enlist, or, for officers, throughout their matriculation at the service academies. And this requisite permeates the process all the way to the very top, right to the White House. As Commander-in-Chief, the President possesses broad powers to intervene and alter military justice if he pleases. The ability to pardon, in particular, essentially permits him veto power of decisions rendered by military courts, ultimate authority as it were.

Of course, were such power to be used recklessly and arbitrarily, or worse, for political objectives, the entire system would be jeopardized from top to bottom. A couple of centuries of best practices could unravel quickly under such circumstances, the principle victims our soldiers in the field, no longer able to trust the foundations of their training because they can no longer believe in the chain of command.

The list of anecdotes about the casual and arbitrary violence by Special Warfare Operator Chief Eddie Gallagher is long and shocking. That the accusations come from his own men, several visibly anguished by what their conscience was forcing them to do, enhances their credibility, even if the actual charges he faced in court pertained only to his mistreatment of one teenage ISIS captive.

Stories of randomly shooting into crowds and windows, at women and unarmed pedestrians, witness intimidation and threatening whistleblowers describe an amoral predator. What comes to mind while reviewing the Gallagher file is, not only an American asset gone bad, but one that may have never been good, a Navy Seal who should have been red flagged from the start, identified as the conscienceless outlier his misdeeds in the field would later confirm. When descriptors such as “maniac” and “pure evil” are being employed to describe one with license to kill, everybody is in danger.

No matter. After an investigation and trial that acquitted him of murder once a fellow Seal with full immunity copped to the stabbing of a teenage ISIS fighter he was in the docket for, but fully clarified how dangerous Gallagher was to anyone within rifle range, the POTUS decided he had found yet another MAGA martyr to political correctness. Like Sheriff Joe Arpaio, who bragged about how many Hispanics he could round up and force to endure the elements, and Scooter Libby, who endangered the lives of intelligence personnel for politics, Gallagher was another cause celebre from the bowels of Fox/AM. But this time Trump’s impulsive idiocy has inflicted incalculable damage that will reverberate into the indefinite future. To spare Gallagher from being drummed out of the Navy Seals, his trident repossessed, a fate all of his superiors agreed he richly deserved after posing with an ear-to-ear grin for a picture with the body of a teenager, Trump was willing to dismiss his Secretary of the Navy, and lay waste to the UCMJ.

For little more than some props from Fox and Friends, and fresh gibberish for his rally monologues to the wretched core, Trump has unsteadied the basis for honorable conduct by US military personnel in the field. After all, if a worst-case scenario like Eddie Gallagher is protected in full, indeed declared a hero and invited to Mar-A-Lago for cocktails, why would any soldier put his ass on the line to report misconduct, no matter how grievous the atrocity? And what bad apple would give a second thought to the consequences of a command he may be ignoring, or whatever ethical line he may be crossing. For God’s sake, the POTUS personally has his back! Best practices don’t stand a chance when the worst of us has the power to be despicable without thought or accountability… just a tweet.

Looking back on 2019, a year that encompassed some of the ugliest behavior of our nation’s worst Presidency, the Gallagher pardon may be the nadir. In various ways it clarifies how truly awful Trump and his base are, how destructive their abysmal sensibilities can be. The reality we suffer is as grotesque as it is inane: Presidential decision making has been relegated to the visceral impulses of just another Fox/AM consumer with remote in hand and way too much “executive time” to employ it.

The MAGA narrative behind the pardons of Gallagher and other US soldiers held to account for documented war crimes, ignores international law in favor of the ready-made excuses the barbaric acts of American enemies always provide. That is: our virtuous past now entitles us to be judged by the lowest common denominator enemies like ISIS embody. Instead of being appalled by an American sniper taking potshots at women in burkas, the ready response is simply “they do much worse and more!” A thought to ponder for 2020: the right of Iraqi or Afghani citizens to walk down their street without being shot for kicks by a maniac with a Navy Seal trident means less to our President than whatever wretched core acclimation he can gain for obstructing justice on his behalf. The banality of ruin. BC

More people than usual were flying out of Portland Jetport on a weekday, and access to iPhone recharging stations was at a premium. Worse, the unit I was sitting next to was DOA, the blue power light extinguished. Of course, that didn’t stop me from cluelessly prodding around until a helpful fellow traveler pointed the problem out to me. When I asked her if I could appear any lamer, she assured me it was a common issue that most, including herself, responded to no differently than I had. I thanked her for the fib to make me feel better and started surveying the gate area for unaccompanied blue lights. A silver haired witness to my inadequacy generously offered me the seat next to him, which boasted a true blue energy source.

His name was Steve and he hailed from near Augusta, born and bred in the vacation state. Mainers are noted for their pleasant stoicism, and my new friend was no exception. I did most of the talking, but he was jovial and responded to my inquiries with what can best be termed enthusiastic brevity.

The grandfather of five, he was a cable company construction supervisor on his way to Syracuse for training. His employer had played a dirty trick on him and necessitated he first fly south to Philadelphia to then connect at 9:30 pm to eventually arrive in Syracuse near midnight. I cringed at the thought and offered my heartfelt sympathies.

Throughout our conversation I was struck by how, despite certainly not talking my ear off, Steve answered questions thoroughly, while making sure to never stray past the subject matter he was discussing, there were no tangents to his line of thought, no unnecessary anecdotes. He was pleased to answer any inquiry, and willing to rejoin with an invitation for me to address the topic as well, but we stayed on whatever point was at hand. That I found his method of discourse comfortable, even admirable, perhaps speaks to a certain self-loathing toward my own tendency to tell stories and wander fairly aimlessly during discourse. I don’t know. Point is, he was a very easy guy to be around… and to like.

I have no doubt, were I lucky enough to count Steve my neighbor, he would dutifully have my back, and would appreciate but certainly not feel entitled to me having his. Good communities start with the Steves of this world, and countries are merely the sum total of their communities. So, from what I know of Steve, he is an asset to America, necessary to our fundamental prosperity, a root of our foundation, Rockwellian salt of the earth.

This Holiday Season, our third under the Trump Administration, may in fact be the most appropriate opportunity of the year to consider Steve and I and how the awful divisiveness of MAGA encroaches on the community development most agree goes hand in hand with our well being as a nation.
I never asked Steve about his politics, and wouldn’t be surprised wherever he came down. Which is to say I’ve been repeatedly disappointed by otherwise wonderful people I’ve known for years who are now unapologetic members of the wretched core, just as I know plenty of unpleasant sorts I’d just as soon avoid who have not a shred of patience for Trump. However, that is not at all to equate the two groups, which way too many still seem prone to do, contributing to our ingestion of ruinous toxicity.

The space between a rock and a hard place America now occupies consists of two precepts all of us took for granted growing up. Until 2016 we never had any compelling reason to challenge either one of them because each serviced the other. The demeanor of our Presidents never strayed from parameters they entered office determined to respect and left unchallenged. As a result, we had the luxury of assuming, Democrat or Republican, they would function in the background of our life routines, and, more importantly, respect the system that enabled their ascendency or terminated their service. Moreover, they would faithfully champion one common theme, paramount to our existence as a country: national unity. Together, these bedrocks established acceptable norms for civility and behavior, protecting relationships from political passions. No more.

As America confronts its version of the classic symptom authoritarian populism presents, a steady erosion of democratic society, Trump’s wretched core are no longer the primary issue. They’ve become a constant variable. They have elected and emboldened a destructive nihilist, and will embrace his worst, which could certainly descend to historically malevolent depths, but there is no longer any mystery to them or their misguided inclinations.

The open unanswered question now is how the rest of America tolerates them amongst us because, sadly, that has become synonymous with whether MAGA prospers further or is contained and eventually dies out. Totalitarian movements can’t survive dormancy. They can’t live through the collective disdain required to drive them from power, regroup, and then again hit the ground running. Trump out of the White House will look and sound very different, and without the Presidency’s bully pulpit and resources, even with 24/7 Fox/AM participation, he will become page A4 rather than the headline. Relevancy will become much harder work, and we all know Trump is a very lazy man, his own worst enemy.

Our ability to accept Trumpism as anything other than an ugly aberration is everything, the metric of our future. The most significant measure is whether we continue to categorize politics, doggedly refusing to permit this Presidency’s cauldron of degradation to boil over and co-mingle with community relations. No matter how many times it’s been said, it bears repeating, this isn’t Romney, or W, or even Nixon, and it’s a GOP the country has never before experienced, an enterprise with nothing in the way of constructive governance on its day timer. The ever growing list of former Republican Party stalwarts now as opposed to MAGA as any “liberal” certifies this reality.

When the Senate majority leader breathlessly reassures a Sean Hannity of his predisposition to, not only acquit an impeached President, but fully map out the entire process of his trial with him, there exists a massive chasm between the historical norms that are supposed to inform his job performance and absurd new expectations he believes his primary constituency intends to hold him to.
It’s our everyday give and take with that bloc that will define us moving forward. They don’t exist in a vacuum. They aren’t cordoned off and neatly showed for their worst. Many are Steves, whose plethora of good qualities are right now consumed by the existential crisis they believe is saving their country. Of course, it would be a far more pleasant task to talk about grandkids and the New England Patriots. Yet and still, it’s the grandchildren who are at the heart of this matter and deserve more than pleasantries. Confronting ruin. BC