This election — so many don't like what it's done to the
United States. I'll go further and say I don't like a lot of what's it done to
me. It's made me harsh, aggressive, excessively judgmental. It's made me find
allies, people of like mind, and has also done the opposite, challenging or breaking
complex connections to some who are or were real friends before.
Before what?
When, and if, this is over, and the specter of Donald Trump
hopefully dissipates like a nightmare, an episode, say, of "American
Horror Story," I hope to grow more kind and to fixate on politics and its polarities
less.
Politics brings the urge for certainty out in us, — how can
it not, so much being at stake for so many.
I find myself referring to Bertolt Brecht's great poem,
"To Posterity." The situation he refers to is much more dire than
ours. Donald Trump, asinine, sickening pretender that he is, is not yet remotely
on the same page with Brecht's fiend, Adolf Hitler.
Yet Brecht's words have relevance:
For we knew only too well:
Even the hatred of squalor
Makes the brow grow stern.
Even anger against injustice
Makes the voice grow harsh. Alas, we
Who wished to lay the foundations of kindness
Could not ourselves be kind.
But you, when at last it comes to pass
That man can help his fellow man,
Do no judge us
Too harshly.
No comments:
Post a Comment