It’s the hoariest of classroom debates: do people make history or the other way round? The answer, of course, is yes.

You and I could not have existed as we are in any other time or place. Change one of our facts and our story changes. And if I had not gone here, done that, been who I was, results in my vicinity would have been different. We each make history every day – and are made by it.

You, I and the Nameless One are all products of our hour. What we make of our hour is what history will recall (assuming humans survive). While we live each is responsible for our result. For some this represents an heroic opportunity (“I can change the world!”), for others a dismal doom (“What difference can I make?”).

The present crisis whipsaws us – collectively and individually – between determination and despair. In the morning, if I’ve slept well, I’m a world-beater; by bedtime, I’m hopeless, beaten by the world. Just now I’m feeling my oats: we the people can stop the trashing of our house! Then the news trickles in – of some brave feats, yes, but too often of pusillanimity, surrender, shame. Should rich and seemingly powerful universities and law firms have truckled to this maniac? I don’t presume to judge – I’m sure their choice was fraught – but, oh, what a chance was lost to inspire, even at the cost of martyrdom! I wonder how I’ll behave when they knock at my door. Will I stand firm or shrink back gibbering? I can envision either.

For moralists, thinkers, historians, and other bravehearts, ours is a thrilling moment. We matter as we don’t when all is calm. As Hitler animated his time, so does the Nameless One ours. We fumble in the fog for the right thing to do and way to be. Sometimes I pout and pule, at other times I’m Henry at Agincourt, rallying “we few, we happy few.” I’m panicked – and grateful, for the chance to prove my mettle. I never went to war – until now.

Friends ask, “What can I do?” My answer is, “All you can.” When your house is burning, you think of something. Can you quench the blaze? Maybe not. Can you save the baby – and the cat? Every attempt at life is precious, however impotent, for it encourages others. Defeatism is likewise obnoxious, for it disheartens others. I feel like thumping my funerary friends, bemoaning the loss of all. We’re alive, aren’t we? Well then, get cracking. Where there’s life there’s hope!

The Nameless One has done us a favor by being so much worse than most foresaw: more stupid, venal, ostentatious in his knavery and moral sloth. My expectations have been dire since his first election, but recently he’s exceeded them dazzlingly. Each dawn I blink, “This can’t be happening!” But it is – to us now – in the time we call “real” – and we must react – and act. Occasionally I opt for the ostrich option, burying my head in the sands of literature or speculation, but the respite doesn’t last. However deep I bury my brain, I can still hear the roar.

I’ve no idea how this crisis ends. Anyone who claims to know is either lamebrain or liar. But I know it will end – wars always do. And I know we will be judged for our conduct in this crisis. My exhortations to myself during this testing time are: “Do all you can – and do yourself proud. Are you among the valiant – or the valueless? Embrace this obligation you cannot escape. Suck it up.”