Person of the Year

What does this title bring to mind? As that same wise person said to me, what’s “Salesman of the Year”? What’s “Student of the Year”? What’s “Teacher of the Year”?These monikers evoke excellence surpassing all others. So it’s only natural that “Person of the Year” bring visions of an individual beyond our everyday goodness, someone who exemplifies humanity.

TIME magazine (I am not linking to the story, you can find it yourselves) has chosen the president-elect as their “Person of the Year.” I get that according to their criteria (mainly impact on the news within the prior year) he is the runaway choice. And I also get that by the same criteria, their covers and stories were in various years devoted to Hitler, Stalin, Ayatollah Khomeini and Khrushchev. However, this year’s choice misses one critical reality: We do not live in normal times.

What I mean is that we are witnessing an attempted coup, a take over of our Democratic Republic by a gang of fascist authoritarians. And no, I don’t need to look up these definitions — their words and deeds tell us who they are. Our president-elect has railed against media, has shut out many of the credible outlets, has tweeted outright lies, has been enabled by the Republican leadership to create his own reality, has called upon citizens exercising their right to free speech to be either imprisoned or expelled from the country, and all this in just the last couple of weeks. On top of this, he flouts all prior decorum and honor, and even the Emoluments clause of the US Constitution, by refusing to divest himself of the clear conflicts of interest inherent in his financial dealings. And already his pockets are getting fuller from his future title — see reports of his projects in Taiwan, Argentina, India, Turkey, and his daughter’s global deals, not to mention foreign diplomats falling all over themselves to book into his new DC hotel.

I come from a country that has passed from dictator to dictator for generations, whose people exists in a hypnotic trance of lies engineered so precisely as to keep them docile and compliant, lashing out only at the state-designated enemies of the state. Like an abusive spouse, Putin the dictator of Russia, much like Stalin and others, has once again isolated citizens from any opposing opinion or a narrative that clashes with his own. Our president-elect has similarly claimed a stake in our truth right here under our noses, with a large swath of the population already nodding their eager ascent, offering their wrists for binding and mouths for gagging.

So, no, this is not a normal time, and it is not a time to feed the beast with the title of “Person of the Year.” Despite TIME’s claim of equipoise, their own commemorative issue on the occasion of the 75th anniversary of conferring this title says this about its recipients:

Here are the great makers of history in our time…

And the Wikipedia entry for “Person of the Year” clearly says the following, referencing the same 75th anniversary issue:

Despite the magazine’s frequent statements to the contrary, the designation is often regarded as an honor, and spoken of as an award or prize, simply based on many previous selections of admirable people.

And furthermore, in 2001 the magazine gave the title to Rudy Giuliani, instead of Osama bin Laden, giving in, rightfully, to the concern over potential backlash from the traumatized Americans.

So, I am not wrong to call out this breach of trust, if not of journalistic ethics, by the magazine in their choice of our president-elect as the Person of the Year, given the threat that he and his apologists/enablers present to the Republic. Other despots and murderers aside, having a ring-side seat in this real-time spectacle of an historic overthrow of human decency and centuries of decorum in our democratic nation, all good journalism must educate and resist. Alas, TIME has conceded to the lowest common denominator.

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Thou shalt not fear thy neighbor

I went for a walk yesterday. I do it a lot here in my town nestled into the foothills of the Berkshires in the Western part of the blue state of Massachusetts. A curtain of mist had settled in the distance upon the hay fields, the bare tree crowns peering out above its straight upper border.

On days like this, when the cold hasn’t yet reached the ferocity of the deep New England winter, a teeshirt with a down coat will do. If cold, I zip the coat all the way to my chin. But when I overheat, there is the option to unzip and let the cold air chill me. And on this ordinary late fall day here in Massachusetts, for the first time since I arrived in the US as a teenager in 1977, I am giving my choice of teeshirts some thought for reasons other than fashion.

You see, when I got up yesterday morning, I put on my Clinton/Kaine 2016 shirt, and its soft blue still envelops me as I lace up my hiking boots. My coat on, reaching for the door handle, I realize the potential thorniness of walking on our roads, coat open, my chest advertising my implicit resistance against what has been elected.

Now, it’s not a secret that Massachusetts is and always has been a blue state, our penchant for electing Republican governors notwithstanding. Yet when parsed, all this means is the majority of our voters overall go Dem. This leaves a substantial swath to support the other side. And generally, it’s good for a Democracy when people don’t walk in lockstep, don’t all fall in line with a single governing philosophy, do challenge each other’s views and convictions. Dissent is patriotic and Democratic, after all. But this election season has been different, and now, with my damp teeshirt clinging to me half-way through my walk, I am reluctant to unzip my coat.

To be precise, over 60% of Mass votes went to Hillary, and the breakdown in my small rural town was roughly the same. And when I walk around here, I always wave to the drivers going by, and stop to say “hi” to and chat with my neighbors. So you would think in a small rural town like mine, inhabited in part by Yanks with deep local roots and in part by city explants like myself, we can handle a political disagreement better than most. Yet I shrink when I see a Trump flag hanging limply on a pole in my neighbor’s front yard, a flag that either wasn’t there before the election day or that I hadn’t noticed in my blind trust in the wisdom of our voters.

I keep walking, and I see my neighbor R., an older man whom I have known for years, though not well. He is walking from the garage to the front door. R. is the one you can see everywhere in our town, no job too big or too small. Need a trail cleared from a felled tree? R. is there with his chainsaw and rolled up sleeves. Looking to place a memorial bench for a beloved member of the community after her unexpected death? R. delivers and installs it. A while ago, he was our animal control officer, driving into our driveways in his pickup, making sure the dogs’ licenses were up to date, and the chickens were treated humanely.

I don’t know for whom R. voted, though if I had to guess… A few months ago, at the time many of us were vigorously protesting the Kinder Morgan pipeline through our state, the sign in his yard urged “Build the Pipeline,” its slogan tinged with something close to hope about American jobs.

Since the election I’ve been wanting to reach out to my neighbors, if only to understand how they deal with the cognitive dissonance of electing a serial liar, racist, misogynist, homophobic know-nothing with self-confessed history of sexual assault to the highest office in the land. I want to understand their priorities, their views, want to convince myself their choice wasn’t driven by the same rank -isms their candidate continues to flaunt. But how to start?

I take out my earbuds and walk up R.’s driveway toward him.

“Hey, long time,” I say. “I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. How are you?”

“I see you all the time,” he says, his green Carhartt jacket open, the plaid shirt underneath covered in wood dust. “You walk here a lot.”

“Yeah,” I say, “You should come with me sometime.”

“I don’t walk,” he replies. I know, he is too busy working on projects, his own and our town’s.

I turn to walk away, but hesitate, move closer toward him instead and pull him into an embrace. He hugs me back for a long moment before we part with a “goodbye, see you again soon.”

Here in my rural town in the foothills of the Berkshires we haven’t been hit with the wave of hate crimes gripping the nation since the election. The similarities in our skin hues hide a number of more subtle differences of religion, ethnicity, sexuality, philosophy. Everyone here still waves back, still says “hello” with a smile. But I feel that cold fear in my gut now, the fear that until three weeks ago would have been an anachronism, a useless left-over of my childhood in the Soviet Union.

I don’t want to live in a place where I have to worry for my safety and the safety of my loved ones. I don’t want to live in a place where accents and different skin tones and opposing views are not welcome. I don’t want to live in a place where I have to question the decency of people whom until just a few weeks ago I knew to be decent.

I will be walking with my coat wide open. I will be hugging R. again, and perhaps my other neighbors with their flaccid Trump flag. I will not let fear determine my actions. Because, as someone very wise recently said to me, if I do, the big nefarious “THEY” has already won.

When fascism comes to town

Well, so much for the “in-betweenness of being.” Nothing in-between about this — hate has won this round.

I know, I know, I too have friends and neighbors who voted for him. They are people whom I love and respect (respected?), and I am pretty sure that hate wasn’t the driver in their minds. But hate is what’s here.

What else can I call it? I cannot turn away from the heinous campaign rhetoric about immigrants, ethnic minorities, from the racism, homophobia and virulent violence against women this campaign traded in (I will not link to those horrific images here; we all witnessed them in real time). The image of the now President-Elect mocking a disabled reporter at one of his rallies haunts me; I have not seen such deplorable behavior from a serious contender for public office, let alone that of the President, in a long time. His election has legitimized violence and enshrined ignorance.

Stephen Bannon is now the President-Elect’s chief strategist. In case you are not familiar with this man’s history, here is a comprehensive article about him from Bloomberg. Briefly, he the alt-right’s (read neo-nazis, white supremacists) propagandist-in-chief. It would be redundant for me to recount all of the evidence now, but here is a link to a recent HuffPo article that samples at least some of the hateful pernicious lies he purveys through his Breitbart news organization. Oh, and if you think this man is not a threat to our Democracy, think again: his organization is already preparing a law suit against free press. (And if we don’t have free press, I am afraid we will, just like that song, be “back in the USSR.” But that’s a tale for another day. And I will tell it, since I experienced that brand of dictatorship first hand.) This tactic is a page out of Peter Thiel’s playbook, the self-hating gay man in the fold of this bigotry machine. This strategy was used by him to exact a personal vendetta from Gawker, putting them out of business for outing him.

The KKK has endorsed the President-Elect, and they are jubilant about his victory. They are holding rallies to celebrate his victory. This is one of the most dangerous hate groups in the US, and THEY ARE CELEBRATING OUR NEW PRESIDENT! Let that sink in. And, please, don’t lie to yourself: their endorsement is not a coincidence, no; it is the very essence of this campaign of hate. Think about it, if you were a group with a radical agenda, would you be ebullient about a candidate who did not advance it? Exactly. Here is an article that lays out this argument far more eloquently than I can.

I can believe the discontent felt by a large swath of the American voters that compelled them to vote for this man. But I cannot believe that they will now sit by and watch this spectacular assault on all of our values in silence, worse, cheer it on. Is this really who we are now?

I will leave you with the words attributed to Sinclair Lewis: “When fascism comes to America, it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross.” And guess what: it’s here.