I occurred to me, just as an aside, that part of what I find so disturbing with the current Democrat meltdown over Trump is the extremely high level of me-me-me-orientation (the narcissism) embodied or expressed in the outrage. Okay, that’s a too-complex sentence, which actually could be simpler.
For example, individual Democrats seem personally outraged or offended – hence the easy label of “hysterical” or “deranged.”
I happen to think that on the level of world politics or, say, Realpolitik (if realism even still has any role to play in our over-media-filtered world), the reactions are deranged and hysterical, yet in this new climate they seem to be acceptable somehow. A person might be perfectly calm, discussing their child’s health or upcoming vacation plans, but if the subject turns to Trump – and especially Russia – a tsunami of personal anguish, fear & loathing, pours out, as if this person him- or herself was being assaulted by Russians hiding in attics and closets, etc. These are people whose ordinary “political” involvement might climax in voting (big deal) – they’re not activists, they don’t write letters; they may be clicktivists and subscribe to the requisite newsletters (keeping “informed” is a badge of honor). Yet suddenly they’re personally affronted – perhaps because their flaccid attitude to politics normally doesn’t allow for the exercise of any muscle other than the personal? Or is it because of the steady drumbeat, the constant invitation to feel personally aggrieved, stemming from media? Whatever it is, it throws their whole critique under the bus (a bus called status quo?) even though it’s dangerous, too. (How many times can you cry “Wolf!”?)
Yesterday, Donald Jr. released emails showing contact(s) with “Russians” (for Democrats this means Kremlin, which is in itself shorthand for Putin, for other people it might mean garden variety opportunists). The contact involved meeting with someone who promised some juicy dirt on Clinton – this was during the campaign in 2016. Apparently, nothing came of it, but in the pro-Democrat press it’s described as treason. The personal hatred of the Trumps shows its face in the hyperbole of the charge.
For me, I couldn’t give a flying fuck about your outrage, your personal outrage, and your misplaced nostalgia, your desire to turn back the clock to a Clinton victory. Heck, at this point I’m not even that interested in a pre-Trump situation, because it’s impossible. Pre-Trump is not an option. Get that through your thick skulls. That train has left the station, we are now and will be going forward (should we choose to go forward, versus wallowing forever in a past-orientation) in a post-Trump era. There’s no walking this back, and we have to deal with what is.
Yesterday I drove A. to the airport, had dinner with him there and then saw him off. In the morning we watched a Creative Mornings talk by Michael Ventura of Sub Rosa (and Calliope, and Corvus). Very impressive, he’s almost sociopathic in his work-drive. With his wife Caroline he runs four businesses, all out of the building they leased (and gut-renovated) in the West Village. Lots of press about them, “power couple,” etc. etc. For me of course the main takeaway was: he’s in NYC, not in some small city, a satellite to Boston. I’m at another crisis point over location-location-location, like a trapped animal. Ventura also teaches empathy, which for me might mean eliciting some of it for myself. …Makes me think of Sympathy for the Devil.