[Trigger Warning: Quaker jargon ahead] I’m just finishing a book about the demise of North Carolina Yearly Meeting, which came about in 2017 after the group’s 320 years of existence. [Watch for a book announcement soon.] That long, unQuakerly process was covered in detail in this blog as it unfolded, and the story will not be rehashed here. (But if you want to go over it, click this link.)
The book was supposed to be done by now. Yet what with the seemingly endless succession of calamities and catastrophes this year, completion was delayed until this week.
That meant there were now election results to take account of. So I just wrote an “Election Postscript” for it.
Eric Trump was one who sneered at the pandemic in late Spring, and said media attention to it was no more than a Democratic Party campaign ploy. As reported in Forbes(a respected, business-oriented journal):
During an interview with Fox News host Jeanine Pirro on “Justice with Judge Jeanine,” Eric Trump, the son of President Donald Trump said, “And guess what, after November 3 coronavirus will magically all of a sudden go away and disappear and everybody will be able to reopen.”
The following tweet includes a video of this segment: [ text: “Biden loves this,” @EricTrump says, talking about agonizing shutdowns during the pandemic… “They’ll milk it every single day between now and Nov. 3, and guess what. . .”
He repeated the talking point in a TIME report:“They think they’re taking away Donald Trump’s greatest tool, which is being able to go into an arena and fill it with 50,000 people every single time…,”Trump said. “And you watch, they’ll milk it every single day between now and Nov. 3. And guess what, after Nov. 3 coronavirus will magically, all of a sudden, go away and disappear and everybody will be able to reopen.”
Trump added in the TIME report that that Vice President Biden “loves this” because [Biden] is not able to draw comparable crowds to his campaign events. He said that Democrats are trying to take away the President’s “greatest asset”— his ability to connect with the American people, and appear at campaign rallies.
News reports since Election Tuesday indicate that a growing number of White House staffers are reviewing their resumes, riffling through address/networking lists and beginning to think about a post-West Wing job search.
This possibility was evidently not on their radar when they were watching the Boss’s rallies last week, hearing the crowds roar their belief in an impending red wave and screaming for four more years (at least).
But it seems that Fate, or the Deep State, had other ideas.
The post-election reports also whisper that for some, maybe many who have labored inside the fence around Lafayette Park since January 2017, employment prospects might not be as plentiful as they would have expected. After all, there’s been a pandemic-driven crash. Plus something about 20,000-plus lies, threats of violence, and 500-plus families broken up at the border, the technical term for which is, stinking up the place.Continue reading Job-Hunting Leads for Departing White House Staffers→
Reading this morning’s comments from my Facebook friends, you’d think the election was a landslide win for the other guy: so much gloom, doom, depression & lament.
To which I feel obliged to reply sternly:
Friends — GET A GRIP.
Sure, I didn’t get everything I wanted from the election results; not even close.
But there was one thing, one BIG goal that was reached — or is about to be.
What’s that? It’s summed up in a poster that was attached to a podium from which Obama preached us the word a week or so ago; and some other places before that.
It’s this: Behind all the hoopla and hype, we’ve been in a dead-serious battle that goes way beyond politics. What battle? (See below.)
I first saw such a motto in the office of Dr. King, in 1964 when I signed up as a rookie civil rights worker. I was then secular-minded and anti-religious, but I soon figured out that Dr. King and his crew, with all their shortcomings, were dead-serious about it.
And before too long, I realized that they were also dead-right. There is such a thing as “the soul of the nation” (but don’t go all metaphysical and ask me to define it). And that soul was and is poisoned and imperiled by racism (and poverty and war and other evils Dr. King preached about).
But they believed it could be saved, or redeemed. And they knew something else that took me a long time to get: that “saving” this soul wasn’t a one-and-done thing. America had been saved before, and would likely need to be saved again.
Like now, for instance.
I wasn’t sure what they were talking about, though soon, in the unforgettable song:“A Change Is Gonna Come,” by Sam Cooke, I started to get the beginning of a clue. White readers, listen to it; and if you still don’t get it, listen again.
“Soul” music, brought it home with more potency than any philosophy book I’d tried to read in college. With that and the movement, I ended up a peacenik Quaker. (Your mileage may vary.)
Dr. King and the crew are almost all gone now. And their “battle,” while it won some big skirmishes, was far from a total success. In fact, we’ve just come through another big round of the struggle. And it isn’t over.
So when this motto reappeared last spring, I resonated to it at once: there was more than an election underway in the USA in 2020, and one candidate knew it. Despite not being a great orator, he closed in on the essence.
And speaking of closing in, that’s what’s happening this morning. Like the headline says, the soul candidate is closing in. He could even cross the electoral college finish line today. (Or tomorrow.)
Which also means, that the door is closing on the other guy, the Nemesis who has trashed so much, and corrupted so much.
Oh yeah, there will be plenty of desperate bombast and last-ditch bullsh*t before he’s escorted out of the oval office and off the grounds into 14th Street’s “outer darkness,” where much “much weeping and gnashing of teeth” awaits. I confess, that aftermath will be fun to watch.
But before that, when his rival crosses the finish line, maybe today, I don’t want to hear any more moaning and groaning. Take a break, and give yourself some credit.
For at least fifteen minutes.
In fact, if you can read the signs of the times with even a little insight, that will be a time to celebrate. Do something that pleases and nourishes you.
I know I’m going to.
Hmmm. Celebrate. How will I do it?
If I was a drinker, I’d get drunk.
If I was a doper, I’d get stoned.
If there wasn’t a pandemic, maybe I’d party.
But as I’m old and boring, not to mention sleep-deprived after the longest freekin Tuesday of my nearly 80 years, I’m more likely to take a nap.
But mind you, it will be a VICTORY nap. One from which I can expect to wake up and find that the Orange menace is still on the way out.
Or if I get really wild and crazy, I might even write a poem. A VICTORY poem.
In fact, I feel one coming on right now. So stand back, and stand by:
To 270: A Concise Ode on the Rescue of the Soul of the Nation
Battered, tattered, nearly shattered.
But it’s still here, While the Superspreader’s Scattered.
If you drove west on the Chapel Hill-Greensboro Road through Snow Camp, North Carolina on Sunday, November 1, 2020, at about eleven AM, you would have passed a white chapel-looking building on your left. A few cars were parked outside, on the grass under the big old trees, which are shedding their wrinkled brown leaves after a hot green summer.
That was Spring Friends Meeting. From the outside, it looked quiet, secluded, and almost deserted. Easy to miss amid the wooded stretches and dairy farms of southern Alamance county.
But inside, it was none of those. Yes, just a handful of Quakers, or Friends, were sitting, widely-spaced and mostly masked, on its long benches. And they weren’t loud. But a lot was going on.
Near the climax of his book Disloyal, Michael Cohen writes:
In the summer before the  election, I told a reporter for Vanity Fair, Emily Jane Fox, that I’d take a bullet for Trump, and I meant it.
But not if Donald Trump pulled the trigger. . . .
Which of course, Trump did, in 2018. In May 2019, the betrayal landed Cohen in the federal prison at Otisville, New York..
Cohen, like most cons, thought his prison sentence was grossly unfair. He only pled guilty to tax evasion, he says, to prevent his wife from being indicted as well.
That showed personal love and nobility; but Cohen had also lied to his wife about the money he took from their joint account to pay off pornstar Stormy Daniels for Trump; and it was his wife’s name on the account that made her vulnerable to indictment once the feds traced the money.
I’ve finished Michael Cohen’s book, Disloyal, but I’m not through with it.
In part that’s because the book itself isn’t finished.
Not that Cohen has shortchanged readers. He simply ran out of time to get the book out in the market before the coming election, and I don’t fault him for that. Nor has he, as far as I can see, skimped on damning details, especially about himself and the unbelievable journey to the dark side he was on for so long.
No, Cohen’s book isn’t finished because the story it tells is not finished. It charts his rise, and the wild, destructive, ego-tripping ride with Trump into the White House, and his sudden fall, when the feds collared him and Trump coldly dumped him.
After the fall came a dramatic personal turn. But we don’t yet know where that turn will lead Cohen. Perhaps he doesn’t know yet either.
In any event, the fall happened abruptly: on April 9, 2018, Cohen woke up in his luxurious Manhattan digs, had coffee and oatmeal, and saw his son off to school.
Then there was a knock at the door. Peeping into the hallway, he saw a crowd of men in suits, some holding up badges, and heard a line From so many mob movies:
Michael Cohen describes the kickoff of the mutually self-serving “courtship” Between Trump & prominent evangelicals, who became a central pillar of Trump’s political base. From Disloyal, with rough language:
“So how did the amoral Trump come to be beloved by evangelical voters, a question that remains one of the abiding mysteries to this day?
Begin with the premise that Donald Trump hadn’t darkened the door of a church or chapel since the age of seven, as he would openly admit in his past incarnation. Places of religious worship held absolutely no interest to him, and he possessed precisely zero personal piety in his life—but he knew the power of religion, and that was a language he could speak.