Grieving for what we’ve lost

 

On the day of Jimmy Carter’s state funeral, I had my weekly lunch date with a group of guys my age, so I left off watching the service just after President Biden had spoken. As I sat down, it was clear to my friends that something was wrong.

Of course, I had known something was wrong, and I knew what it was. I thought I had been able to regain my composure before going out in public, but I had failed. No sense covering it up.

“What’s wrong?” one asked.

After hesitating, I shakily admitted, “I am grieving for what we’ve lost.”

“Such as…?” he asked.

Again I hesitated. “Our decency, our humanity, our compassion,” I stammered, and waved my hands to head off more questions.

This group keeps its conversations confined to things like sports, doctor visits, what’s wrong with our community’s administration, family, and the like.

Not much politics—or religion, now that religion has become dangerously politicized.

I was clear in my mind that the grief I was experiencing from watching Carter’s funeral was in fact grief over the death of decency, humanity, and compassion in our social and political discourse.

“I will never lie to you” has been supplanted by, “I will tell you whatever I can dream up to keep you on my side.” Truth is victim to expediency and to the hunger for power and prestige. Commercial advertising’s most deceptive weapons are employed in the fight for votes and money. Candidates who refuse to use those weapons are disparaged and defeated. Long-trusted news sources are replaced by crass opinions cleverly disguised as real information.

Donald Trump is not to blame for all of this (though he might like to take credit for it). The wholesale attack on what’s kept us together as a nation has been building for decades, and no extreme is wholly without responsibility for it. What Mr. Trump has done is to elevate it to the highest office in our land, giving it a legitimacy that would have shamed nearly everyone just a few years ago.

I grieve for what we have lost; lost not to the Republicans or to the Democrats or to the left or to the right, but lost to ourselves. We have given up something essential (“character,” if you will) to get us to where some want us to be, and now that we are there, the landscape around us looks like death itself.

So, I grieve.

Update on my previous post: the American flag has been taken down and replaced by the "FJB" banner!

MAGA to the hilt

 

A home in a nearby neighborhood has been adorned with MAGA and Trump signs almost without interruption since we moved here four years ago.

During the 2024 election, a Trump/Vance banner hung from the railing. After the election, the "Love not hate makes America great" sign was posted and I felt a little hopeful. Perhaps a change of heart? Then, the campaign banner was replaced with a very large "Merry Christmas" message. Very good! But last week, the FJB banner replaced the Merry Christmas one. "Love not hate," ironically, remains under it.

At the very least, it's going to be a confusing four years.

(The flag is at half-staff, at least for now.)

January 20, 2025

 

On January 20, 2025—Martin Luther King, Jr. Day—Maxine and I are meeting with a few friends to remember and reflect upon Dr. King’s work and vision for our country. We will gather from 11:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. or so.

At noon that same day, Donald Trump and J.D. Vance will be inaugurated as President and Vice President of the United States. We will not be watching the inauguration.

Some may think that it’s sour grapes, or disrespect, or something worse that are leading us to do this; after all, our candidates lost the election.

They would be wrong.

Nor are we coming together to pout, or to lick our wounds, or even to develop some grand strategy of resistance.

We are gathering on that day at that time to remember a man who looked at the United States of America and saw in our future a nation of equals before the law. Ours would be a nation whose government was committed to assuring that none of us could deny others of us our basic human dignity, nor our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness as sibling citizens of one country.

Not, perhaps, a nation in which we’d all love one another; that’s too much to hope for. But it’s not too much to dream of a nation in which no-one gets away with trampling upon anyone else, and in which no collective power can treat anyone with impunity.

We will gather to own again Lincoln’s conviction that government of, by, and for the people—of, by, and for all the people—shall not perish from the earth.

We will not be a large group, by intention. So, if you like our plan for January 20, perhaps you would consider inviting some folks to join you in doing something similar. Think of it as a bright, sunny high noon of our collective spirit.