Yes, I’ve changed the look. It’s like rearranging the living room or getting a hair cut. Maybe the new theme falls under feng shui. Time to purge and resurrect. Really though, it’s an act of control. Asserting thin power over my environment, shifting the blocks and trading colors. In another time, this would be a meaningless act. Today, it serves a larger purpose and points to a more dramatic absence – the grueling lack of power, the steadfast drive to overcome.
Meanwhile, the talk show hosts are chattering, their condemnations like a frantic shivering from the freezing of our democracy. They’re the final bastion. Elected officials suffer short-term amnesia, others grovel and golf. Democrats make declarations, offer tiny drops of hope in this dust bowl of despair.
I look around. Things look the same. There’s no red guard at the city gates. No howls from internment camps. My city drags on with its petty bitching. But I know everything is changing.
Trump is fascism, that’s all, so we have to find a way to work it out between Hillary and Bernie. –Tom Hayden
Hayden died two weeks before the election that produced the fascist president. His lifetime of activism stilled but not before leaving that prescient warning.
I am in a battle to resist despair. I am frightened for this country and feel powerless. Its steady authoritarian bent is a hammer over my head, tapping out a daily beat of ignorance, obedience, hatred, silence. How do I push against this? America is segregated into choirs of dissent and assent. No one listens to the other. I face this cognitive dissonance of hoping for transformation while acceding to the need for a coup.
When dictatorship is a fact, revolution becomes a right. –Victor Hugo
We’re on the edge. I busy myself with small changes while revolution kicks like a baby.