Mendacities and Cruelties and Stupidities

Let’s see: first it was China. Then it was the Democrats. Then the Center for Disease Control (CDC). Then it was Obama. Then it was back to China. And now the fault lies with the World Health Organization. At some point, of course, I am certain that someone on the ridiculous (and dangerous) right will blame the schools and especially the teachers for the spread of the novel coronavirus. After all, they will say, they teach novels in English classes don’t they? And I suppose eventually blame will be attributed to Drs. Sanjay Gupta and Anthony Fauci. In the meantime, the Trump administration refuses all responsibility for anything relating to the outbreak, spread and ravages of the pandemic and instead has decided to congratulate itself on achieving victory over COVID-19. I suppose nobody at the White House has read the papers. I know they do watch Fox News that offers not news but propaganda. When someone criticizes anything about him, even on Fox News, like a pit bull he attacks. His loyalty is only to himself.

     I cannot recall a single instance during the entire reign of Trump when anyone in his administration has acknowledged fault for anything. Rather they have consistently attributed blame elsewhere and usually supported these accusations with falsehoods and calumnies. And this despite overwhelming evidence of wrong-doing, of wrong thinking; of abusive and hate-spewed language; of lies and deception. Civility has no place in his world view.
     That anyone continues to believe anything emanating from a polluted White House speaks to a serious problem in the United States. One thread that might offer some insight might suggest holding onto the belief that in a country born (erroneously) as a city on a hill, a country to be held by the world as utopian and pure, there should be no need for fault finding because no fault could be attributed to this perfect God-blessed union. This administration assumes the mantle of national purity and casts blame everywhere else. Despite the  earlier jeremiads of Puritan ministers that periodically accuse the populace of sin and wrong-doing, acknowledgement of fault by the populace remains anathema except that blame that can be assigned to those who would ascribe culpability and imperfection to the administration and to the nation. I understand that most of the angriest people out there are white people whose sense of privilege is not only dangerous but unjustified.

     Another thread winds its way to the ideological position that in the Land of the Free (for white folks, anyway) no one can require anyone to do anything: this is a free country, they assert and I can do what I want whenever I want to do it. They refuse to wear masks though the stores in which they would shop require them to do so. They hurt and hurl invective at the employees that ask them to follow the regulations. These people do manage to stop at red lights (mostly, though they do not come to a full stop at signs); obtain drivers licenses; fasten their seat belts (I suppose); they await their social security payment; pay their sales tax. Their view of freedom is limited to comfort and self-interest.
     A third thread is that these folks are just not very bright and cannot (or will not!) discern truth from lies. They cannot (or will not) follow an argument from premise to premise and note inconsistencies or erroneous statements; they are too much invested in the world view that Trump’s lies protect. I awaken every morning to the noise emanating from the White House and its minions and I despair.

Weights and Sorrows

I have awakened almost every morning to reports in the newspapers of new lies and vicious calumnies emanating from the administration. From the moment of Trump’s inauguration to the recent lies regarding this his handling of the coronavirus pandemic, this administration has polluted the air with false claims and libelous attacks on anyone who questions their actions or appears to be disloyal to the President and loyal to the country. I am reminded of Louis XIV claim, “The state, it is me!” We are afflicted with Trump I.  This past week they have opted to reject the recommendations of the Center for Disease Control for ways to open the cities and towns during the still active pandemic. The administration complains that the restrictions are too severe, violates religious freedoms and hurts the economy, a factor that Trump counted on in his attempt to have a second term so that he might continue to destroy democracy. But one religious institution packed with 100 congregants could early infect a thousand or more! The administration’s handling of the pandemic, inadequate at best and incompetent at worst, has endangered the health and well-being of every citizen. Even now, the corona virus continues to rampage through the country and now into the White House. May it find appropriate targets.
     Almost every morning I have awakened to reports of corruption and issues of ethical improprieties at the highest governmental level. The Justice Department has dropped the criminal case against Michael Flynn, who pled guilty of twice lying and once to the Vice-President. And both Trump and Pence have made it known that Flynn is welcome back into the administration. Almost every morning I have awakened to the noise emanating from the White House in language impermissible in third grade classrooms and indictable out here in society. Almost every morning I have awakened to the reports of nepotism, of incompetence, of greed and venality from the administration.

     The assault on our democracy and our notions of truth and decency wear me down. I’ve long thought about The Band’s song, “The Weight.” They sing “Take the load off Fanny, Take the load for free, Take the load off Fanny, and you put the load right on me!” Once I had discovered Fanny’s identity but I have since forgotten it and my source. I yet have hope that I will sooner or later remember and recover the information. Who Fanny might represent seems now significant  to me. The Band sings:
 

Catch a cannon ball now to take me down the line
My bag is sinkin' low and I do believe it's time
To get back to Miss Fanny, you know she's the only one
Who sent me here with her regards for everyone

Take a load off, Fanny
Take a load for free
Take a load off, Fanny
And you put the load right on me

Fanny burdened me in order to relieve herself of trouble. She is the only one who sent me out to speak for her; Fanny sent me out with her regards while she stayed safe at home. The weight of her demand was oppressive. Too oppressive.
     This song from the late 1960s speaks to an era categorized by war, lies and dishonest politicians. I think of Nixon and Kissinger and the Vietnam War. I think of the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy, of the travesty in Chicago and the killings at Kent and Jackson State Universities. The weight fell on all of us even as the administration attempted to keep clean their hands. Now the administration sends us out into the streets for their own benefit despite the continuing threat of plague. The weight overwhelms us.
     And I want to contrast “The Weight” with another song, “Pack Up Your Sorrows,” by Richard Farina. This song appeared in 1965 on the album Celebrations for a Gray Day by Richard and Mimi Farina.  They sing:

But if somehow you could pack up your sorrows,
And give them all to me,
You would lose them, I know how to use them,
Give them all to me.

   The song represents a different sensibility than does “The Weight.” The sorrows of which Farina have value, and he seems concerned that through carelessness or witlessness these valuable sorrows might be lost. The narrator knows that the sorrows can be useful and so he invites them to be handed over because he knows the worth of such sorrows. They can be used. About suffering I am no longer certain there is value, but of sorrows, well, I have no doubt that these sorrows have their use but I know also that through rashness and weakness that value can be lost. Thoreau writes, “Never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest.” Perhaps by sorrow Farina might mean ‘concern’ that might lead to an activism. The value of sorrows? But it is the invitation o pack up these sorrows and offer then to a willing recipient which intrigues me.  It is not a weight imposed, and it is not a burden placed on another. Rather, in “Pack Up Your Sorrows” I hear an offer to relieve the other of his and her sorrows the uses of which may not yet be understood enough to be given carer. The world is not an easy place to be:

No use in cryin', talking to a stranger
Namin' the sorrows you've seen
Too many bad times, too many sad times
And nobody knows what you mean

But I think that if somehow those sorrows could be given away to someone who might use them . . . well, they might yield something: a song, a novel, a piece of art, a political movement and even a call for a return to democracy and social justice. The offer even for a little while can give some respite from the sorrows that arise from just living in this world.

Agoriphobia and Claustrophobia

My agoraphobia has been challenged of late by the experience of claustrophobia. This is the end of week 7 of the shut-in and the walls of the apartment feel like they are tightening about a center. Floor space seems at a premium even as the clutter on it bespeaks a certain lethargy to pick anything up. It becomes more difficult to maintain a discipline of cleanliness and self-care, but the effort is important. All about the house are disinfectant wipes and hand sanitizers. Left-over meals do pile up in the freezer alongside too many loaves of bread and tins of muffins and scones, but cooking and baking are activities that fill the time. I have considered offering curb-side pick-up for baked goods. I am becoming a very capable and too frequent amateur baker. I have managed to draw the line (thus far) at cookies, pies and cakes, but my dear friend has delivered a crumb cake that I have not managed to eschew. Indeed, I have chewed it all up.
     Of course, I could use a haircut, but I appreciate the absurdity of the idea that it might be safe to enter a hair salon. I see that protesters in Michigan entered the State capitol carrying weapons and Trump doesn’t speak a word against what he refers to as ‘good people.’ It was similar (or exactly the same) language that he used to refer to the Nazis and white supremacists in Charlottesville. The President is the most dangerous person today in the United States. Every day his incompetence is on vivid display and every day his base applauds his misdeeds. Hillary made a great many mistakes and ran a terrible campaign, but about Trump’s base she was not wrong: they are deplorables! Not for their social class but for their blinding stupidity. Their willingness to accept his lies even in the face of clear evidence that he is lying. Their inability to think beyond their personal predilections and personal needs: like getting a haircut! I hope their children get some benefit from their lack of discernment, but I have my doubts. I do wonder whether a haircut in the midst of plague should really be a priority. Do those protesters in Michigan think to wash their hands after handling their weapons? I do notice that none wear masks or latex gloves.
     Walking once or twice a day tracked by the Health Data application on my iPhone. Interesting that  I walk the same routes daily and daily a different distance gets recorded. My hypos become exacerbated by the shut-in, but fortunately I am surrounded by those who indulge and even comfort me in my anxieties. In the meantime, we watch movies: Dean, Puzzle, Bringing Up Baby, My Man Godfrey, Blow the Man Down, and search for new series to occupy our early evenings. Playing borad games: Blokus (for two), Paradux, Mancala, Parchesi. Still to relearn: Backgammon and RummiQ. Reading novels with enthusiasm, more and less: New Grub Street, by George Gissing; Don Quixote (ploddingly); The Murmur of Bees (arrived today); periodicals: The New York Review of Books and London Review of Books. Scanning the New York Times with despair mostly.
     So the agoraphobia has gone into hibernation and the claustrophobia with my sourdough starter rises. In the chapter “Where I Lived and What I Lived For” Thoreau writes, “A man is rich in proportion to the number of things which he can afford to let alone.” During this time of shuttered doors and social distancing, if we have been paying attention, we have been learning what may be essential and what is no longer so for our lives. We have been learning what we really do need and of what can we let go. In this form of exile there is freedom. There remains in my home much clutter, and I am learning what I don’t really need anyway.