Game on!
In younger years I played a lot of tennis. I was competitive locally – country club champion, that sort of thing. While tennis wasn’t my life, it made my life possible – the competition, camaraderie, conviviality.
Before a big match, I’d obsess, playing points in mind, hitting and missing shots. Sleep was hard. Dread ached, as if I were a prisoner awaiting the axe.
Then game day would dawn and I’d bolt from bed eager. What joy to be alive! I’d count the hours till the contest. No more dread. Do or die!
That emotional roil recalls mine – and our nation’s – since November Fifth. Anyone with half a brain knew that the reelection of the Nameless One spelt trouble. But how much trouble – and of what sort? And maybe, we consoled ourselves, it wouldn’t be so bad. Hadn’t we systems in place – “guardrails” was the popular term – to prevent his veering too far?
Dread made sleep hard. Or joy. Each day’s news intensified dismay. This could get really bad, we moaned. And each day it got worse.
Today, a majority is waking to our peril. This really is do or die. It’s not just Americans affected, but the world. Europe and democratic Asia are quaking at the apparent defection of Big Brother to the dark side. Everyone’s getting nicked – in the wallet, the workplace, the classroom, services we counted on. Fear spreads like ink in water. A loved one gets whacked – out of nowhere. We could be next!
This morning, after a long panicky paralysis, I woke refreshed, ready to give this fight all I’ve got. No use bellyaching or blaming: we are where we are and we’re all responsible, passenger or pilot, for we were all boarded this plane. “Woulda-shoulda-coulda” is a limp defense against knives. Hindsight is a peacetime pursuit.
Our world is waking too. Europe and democratic Asia, having overcome the shock of America’s betrayal, are gearing up to defend themselves without us. The American courts are combining to defend their authority. Even a right-wing judge may resent their demotion to yes-person. Republican officials in competitive districts are uttering uh-oh ever more audibly. This nutcase may lose them their jobs – or off them if they squawk.
Psyches track time no less than clocks. A sniff of woodsmoke means nothing until we sense the house is burning down; then we scream, scram. Each day a swelling sweating consensus wakes to awareness that America is burning and we must quench the blaze before it quenches us. No more grumbling – we haven’t time. We must devote all our strength to self-defense.
Humans equivocate, procrastinate, speculate – this one to a fare-thee-well – to defer exertion. I don’t want to go to war – I really don’t! But I am eager to exist – and for my grandkids to grow as they might, not as a thug decrees. So game on, like it or not. And the surprise, which prompted today’s outburst, is I sort of like it. Clarity of purpose relieves us after long confusion. Now or never, do or die.
What to do? Specifics will emerge but the simple answer is “all we can.” The house is burning, we will think of something. Small gestures, conversation, contributions, symbolic acts, every voice enhances the chorus. Is your dear pal a quisling or soldier for the wrong side? To hell with them – till the shooting stops. And my enemy’s enemy is my friend – for now. This war is not between conservatives and liberals – Republicans and Dems – red and blue states – it’s between freedom-lovers and fascists (yes, the term’s correctly applied).
To arms.