In troubled times, it is good to be in, and to know the peace and serenity of nature.
In the fields, looking east from the house. The green hills in the middle ground are along the NY border; the white ones behind are the start of the Green Mountains of Vermont.
Please see my photography site at peterscottcameron.com.
A follow-up, and by no means is this my original thought, and I wish it were unnecessary to say so, but…
Regarding the anemic (and in some cases even accommodating, if not outright assisting [i]) response of law enforcement with the insurrectionists: had this not been white Trump followers, but instead it had been Black Lives Matter protesters, and especially if protesters attempted to enter the Capitol building, there would have been a very different response. I believe there would have been bloody heads, tears streaming from the eyes of maced protestors, hundreds of arrests on the spot, and bodies on the steps.[ii]
That said, I know many Capitol police officers acted with great courage. My condolences to the family of Brian Sicknick, the officer killed by an insurrectionist. I am so sorry for him and for all those who loved him. He was a really good, well-loved person. This should not have happened.
Please read Phyllis Cavanagh’s comment; I am trying to get there.
I also want to mention that “Democracy” in the original post was intentionally capitalized in all cases, i.e., Democracy as a venerable institution.
[i] Sam Levin, US Capitol riot: police have long history of aiding neo-Nazis and extremists. The Guardian, January 16, 2021.
[ii] Substantiated by social science findings. Lois Beckett, US police three times as likely to use force against leftwing protesters, data finds. The Guardian, January 14, 2021.
Yesterday, January 6, 2021, many of us watched in horror as a mob of white supremacist militia members, conspiracy theorist adherents, Christian evangelicals, bikers, “ordinary” Trump supporters, miscreants, and out-and-out thugs breached the defenses of the United States Capitol Building, a world-wide symbol of Democracy. They did so at the unequivocal urging of the rogue American President, and with the aid and abetting of a group of Congressional Representatives and Senators, seeking to overturn legitimate election results.
Some watched in horror, but to be sure, there were many who watched not with horror at all, but rather with hope and joy in their hearts.
The day was intended to be solemn and ceremonial: the ritual acknowledgement of the will of the people in choosing the next President. That is, Congress had gathered to ratify the votes of the Electoral College and to affirm the peaceful transfer of power. Instead, insurrectionists pushed aside police, terrified public servants, invaded the Senate Chambers, and one hoodlum even desecrated the office of the Speaker of the House, while elected members and senators were squirreled away to safety.
The President, after earlier in the day exhorting people to do exactly this, later suggested that they “go home” but while doing so affirmed once more his lies to the effect that the election was stolen. And he concluded by saying to the white supremacists, the Neo-Nazis, the deluded, the thugs and the malefactors: “we love you” and “you are very special.”
And so, Democracy died yesterday.
But Democracy does not die all at once. It dies by a thousand – or a hundred – different cuts. It dies when people affirm the worst, not the best, in us. It dies when we, and our elected representatives, serve ourselves, and not the community. It dies when we turn away from decency and working to make the world a better place, and instead feed our hatreds, and stoke the suspicions of those who live in fear of “the other.” For Americans, it dies when we give up on the ideal of toiling for a “more perfect union.”
And so, we can say that Democracy died yesterday. But we can also say that it died previously, on Election Day, November 3, 2015, when the country elected a cheater, a reality television star, a grifter, a person who represented the lowest in us, rather than the highest: a person without the temperament, the competence, the intelligence, and the moral character to assume and carry out his duties. A case in point: the complete dereliction of duty during this Covid crisis, which has only accelerated in the post-election period, and resulted thousands upon thousands of additional deaths, the responsibility for which can be laid directly at his feet, along with the dangerous crisis of governance that we are in right now.
However, we can also say that Democracy died before that, when Mitch McConnell assumed Senate leadership, on January 3, 2015. He stated his main goal: the vindictive (and I believe, racist) determination to ensure failure of the Obama presidency. And Democracy died again and again during his tenure: for example, on March 16, 2016, when Merrick Garland was nominated by Barak Obama for the Supreme Court and McConnell refused to bring the nomination to the floor. Or again on October 26, 2020, when he presided over the confirmation of the theocratic cult member Amy Coney Barret, to replace the noble Ruth Bader Ginsburg on that same court. Or simply: Democracy died every time he refused to bring helpful legislation to the floor of the Senate. This is not about having a “loyal opposition,” helping to ensure that the government in power has some checks and stays in balance. This is about a regressive white man from a small State, illegitimately controlling the legislative agenda for the entire nation, without being elected to do so.
Perhaps it was the Supreme Court itself that inflicted a death, in its Citizens United decision of January 21, 2010, when it struck down restrictions on “independent expenditures from corporate treasures,” thereby affirming that corporations would be unfettered in spending and bribing in their efforts to cultivate favour and direct legislative benefit toward themselves.
We could say that Democracy died the day that Newt Gingrich became House Speaker on January 3, 1995. He ushered in a new, invigorated era of demagoguery and has never stopped carrying that flag.
Reflecting on my lifetime, though, I go back further: yes, to the criminality of Richard Nixon; but at least he was found out and summarily (relative to today, that is), resigned rather than facing certain expulsion. (This, of course, is exactly what should happen to the current President, even though Joe Biden is taking over in thirteen days. Donald Trump is unhinged and unfit for office and should be relieved of his duties immediately.)
But all that aside for now, I would also say that the death of Democracy occurred on August 12, 1986, when then President Reagan said: “The most terrifying words in the English language are: ‘I’m from the government and I’m here to help.’ ” People chuckled and nodded their heads upon hearing this nefarious witticism, but Reagan had planted a most destructive seed. Since that time, many Americans have turned away from an ideal: turned away from the idea of good, helpful, fair, and honourable government as a venerable and worthy institution.
The culmination of this was yesterday, when an ignorant, vicious mob disrupted the ceremonial duties of government – aided and abetted by the President himself as well by at least six Republican Senators and one hundred and forty Republican Representatives, including mine, Elise Stefanik, who voted to overturn the election results.
And so, what now?
Well, some would say that Democracy also lived yesterday. Despite all, the will of the people was affirmed, the voting result of the archaic[i] Electoral College was ratified. The Representatives and the Senators reconvened as soon as they were able, and over the objection of their less-than-honourable colleagues, did their duty in the wee hours of the night. It was a remarkable affirmation.
And one way or another, the current occupant of the White House and his corrupt family will be gone in less than two weeks. There is reason to hope and reason to believe in the resilience of the country, and that the United States will continue with its aspiration [ii] to become a real Democracy. The country has elected a President this time who is the very embodiment of decency, who more than anything works to bring out the best in us. And we have elected a Vice-President who champions justice and affirms the ambitions and capabilities of women – and men – everywhere, of all creeds and colours and ethnicities. And so, there is much to celebrate.
But I cannot say that I am entirely optimistic. The Trump supporters who believe the lie that the election was stolen, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, are still here. Their signs remain in their yards nearby my home, even today. I find myself struggling to find a way to understand and accept this. Also, the White Supremacists, the Misogynists, the Haters, the Militias, the Theocratic Evangelicals, the Conspiracy Believers are all still here. They are not going anywhere. I, and we, must find a way to limit their toxicity.
So, what, in the end, can we think and do? Rather than embrace blind optimism, I would rather abide by the words of Antonio Gramsci, who was imprisoned by the Fascists in Italy and died eventually because of the deterioration of his health and the neglect of same by his jailers. Of course, I do not embrace his Marxist philosophy, but I find a famous aphorism that he was fond of quoting to be helpful in a time like this. [iii]
Gramsci advocated “pessimism of the intellect,” along with “optimism of the will.” Pessimism of the intellect: things will not get better by themselves. They will not even get better once and for all. Optimism of the will: we must never give up in the face of these setbacks. We must be unyielding in our striving for what is good, what is decent, what is fair and just. We must help the Nation take its steps from an aspiring Democracy, to an actual one. In the face of darkness, it is sometimes all we can do is keep the lights on and try again in the light of morning.
My heart is bitter today. In my weakness, I can only reach for inspiration from the great ones: Mahatma Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, Susan B. Anthony, Jane Addams, Martin Luther King, and the young Nobel prize laureate, Malala Yousafzai. I do not have their capacity, I do not have their courage, and I certainly do not have their love. But I can, at least, aspire to these.
And we, as a people, can continue to aspire to Democracy, to go forward, and not only for our citizens, but all of humanity, to achieve a more perfect union.
PSC
January 7, 2021
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[i] More on this another time.
[ii] More on this, too, another time. It is true that formally, the U.S. is the oldest intentional aspiring Democracy, but it is not yet fully one.
[iii] He attributed this to the novelist, Romain Rolland.
We have finalized plans for this New Year’s Eve, 2020. Given that it was a tough year, we thought we should splurge and go in style this year.
First, we have reserved a black 1949 Cadillac limousine to sail us down to New York and glide us home again. Our first preference was the 1948, of course, because of its better looking grill-work (not quite so square) and a more dynamic treatment of chrome side-accents. But none were available, so we happily settled for the ’49, as these differences are immaterial for the traveller. The interiors offer identical ample comfort for both models, notably the sofa-like luxury and the fine material of the two-tone (black and brown) sumptuous upholstery.
Black-tie is the requirement for the gentlemen, naturally, and beautiful gowns for the ladies. Décolletage is always admired and appreciated!
On our drive down, with Count Basie playing on the Wonder Bar Radio, we will have appetizers and light drinks – select French beers and Italian wines, the latter from the Vento region only, please! For the abstainers we will have nectar of the grapes, hand-pressed – or should we say feet? – from the Bordeaux region, “right bank,” to be certain. It goes without saying that we will offer canapés, and there will be Sesame-Garlic Edamame especially for vegetarians. We will have Belgian Toast Cannibal for the carnivores, along with shrimp cocktail and caviar for revelers with a predilection for such, and escargot for those of a French persuasion. Don’t eat too much – dinner awaits!
We are, naturally, travelling to the Waldorf-Astoria on Park Avenue. No other venue would quite do. We should find ourselves in the wonderful ballroom by 7:30 or thereabouts. Do not forget to tip the hat-check and cigarette girls generously, by the way – they are essential and work very hard, and we are, after all, ushering in not only a new year, but, we hope, a new era. Speaking of: cigarette smoking is nearly obligatory, but you are not required to continue the habit after the evening. No need to worry about this – after all, this is before cigarettes were considered harmful. For the ladies, ebony and gold cigarette holders are always in style.
The Waldorf has the usual splendid menu, but we are recommending a few items that seem appropriate to the evening. First, you cannot go wrong with the Ahi Tuna Tartare as an appetizer, although a more neutral but delicious option is Sweet Pea Guacamole with warmed Tortilla Chips. For a main course, consider, if in the mood for seafood, the Roasted Faroe Island Salmon or the Dover Sole Meuniere with Lemon Butter and Persil. Of course, some may want more traditional ocean fare, such as the Roasted Maine Lobster with Glazed Cabbage and Sriracha Butter. Personally, though, we have our heart set on Peppercorn Crusted Wagyu Beef Tenderloin with Glazed and Roasted Carrots and Miso-Mustard Sauce. Again, there is a provision for the vegetarians: we cannot recommend enough Chef Joel’s Gnocchi in rich Pomodoro Sauce with Capers and Basil.
The meals and evening would not be complete without a smooth flow of Manhattans, Dry Martinis (shaken, premium gin only, not vodka!), London Bucks, a Dark and Stormy or two, and naturally, for the more classically-minded, highballs such as Scotch and Soda or Gin and Tonic – and again, for the teetotalers, we have provided tall, rosy, and tasty Shirley Temples.
The earlier part of the evening features none other than Sammy Kaye and his Swing and Sway Orchestra. Just try to keep your toes from tapping and feet from dancing to the sounds of Daddy, or Chickery Chick! If you are not smooching your Darling when Harbor Lights is played, then you are already dead. I expect to see some fabulous dancing out on the floor – Swing and Fox Trot, and we would not be surprised to see a few old-timers still doing the Lindy Hop.
At 11 p.m., Guy Lombardo and the Royal Canadians will take over the bandstand, for “the sweetest music this side of Heaven.” See if you can resist crushing that sweet honey in your arms, while waltzing to the strains of When I Grow Too Old To Dream. And of course, New Year’s would not be New Year’s at all, without Auld Lang Syne at the stroke of midnight.
We can expect to stay at the Waldorf until 1 a.m., when our car will whisk us away to the newly opened club, Birdland. Expect an exciting night! Who knows who will show – Bird himself? Stan Getz? Youngsters like Sonny Rollins or Chet Baker? Imagine if Satchmo brought his horn in from Queens and waltzed through the door! One never knows who will turn up for a New York New Year’s Eve jam session, but whomever it is, you can be guaranteed a potpourri of inventive and swinging jazz that will set your hair ablaze.
At 5:30 a.m. the Cadillac will pick us up at the door and swish us down to Houston Street on the Lower East Side for breakfast at – where else! – Katz’s delicatessen. The only allowable option there is, of course, the Oversized Omelet with the filling of your choice. Expect to be stuffed to the brim for the trip back – oversized is the key word here.
Then it is tumbling back into the Cadillac and out the tunnel for the smooth ride home. We can expect to be sleepy on this part of the adventure, but rest assured that our smart and attentive driver, Willie (“The Dirk”) MacDonald, will be wide awake, and will guide us deftly between the lines while we float along. With Sinatra and Ella crooning on the Wonder Bar, we can expect to slumber nicely…six sleepy people, by dawn’s early light…
It is a new dawn. A new day. It is a new year; 2020 is gone.
2021 is here.
Anything is possible.
After the troopers let him go, MacSorely found a bus terminal and got a ticket to Seattle. In Seattle, nursing a headache and pain from his nose-break, he bought another ticket to Vancouver with the last of his cash. He played for change with the battered guitar which once again had survived and made enough to buy a dried-out turkey sandwich, a cup of coffee that tasted like aluminum, and two packs of unfiltered Camels. He had some change left over. He gave one pack of Camels and half his remaining take to a bum with the shakes and piss-drenched pants. He settled down to try sleep in a hard, plastic, puke-green seat. Sometime in the night somebody got stabbed and the police came, but MacSorely was too out of it to get the details. The police didn’t seem all that interested, and he wasn’t questioned. He slept some after that, trying to keep an eye open, and rode out on the Greyhound in the morning. It took little time to get to Canada and Vancouver, other than a wasted hour at the border.
The Canada customs people were interested in his cuts, his crooked nose and black eyes, but when a thorough search of his belongings and person turned up no drugs, the car-crash story seemed to satisfy them. The other people on the bus frowned at him when he got back on, annoyed at him for holding them up. He was too beat-up to care. One older guy turned around to display a disapproving scowl and MacSorely stifled his more violent impulse and just stared him down. Soon enough the sour face swiveled back toward the front of the bus.
He arrived in Vancouver, Shangri-la, ringed as it always is by water and snow-capped mountains, glad to be back in Canada with his battered face and broken heart. His big trip had come to nothing. Here he was: divorced, out of work, out of graduate school, no more fellowship, and nowhere to live. He had no money, no place to go and no way to get there. A woman he had fallen for was 2,800 miles west on an island, no doubt lying in the arms of that bare-assed piano player. The daughter he loved was 2,800 miles east, in the care of a woman hurt and angry enough to kill him.
He sat on a park bench by the ocean, smoking the last of his cigarettes, full of loathing for a life that had become aimless and worthless. In the fading late-day sun he waited for something to happen, smelling the salty air from the harbour. When it grew dark, he rolled out his sleeping bag and fell asleep trying to think of what he might do next. Nothing came to mind.
MacSorely woke just before dawn to find he had been robbed. His guitar was gone. His pack, with his clothes, his books, his journal and hand-written manuscript, and the last traveller’s cheque were gone. He was left with his sleeping bag, the clothes he had slept in, his boots, his wallet with no money, thirty-seven cents in his pocket, and the impending dawn.
The sun cleared the mountains and the eastern horizon of the city and shone into his unblinking eyes, warming his face. He breathed in. The air smelled of the sea: fish, salt, seaweed, water-logged wood, rotting something, birds, and the water itself. Life.
Taken with an old Ansco Standard Speedex folding camera, made in about 1950 in Binghampton, NY. See my photo site at www.peterscottcameron.com.
My love
They said you were a prisoner
Then they said you were dead
And now
After four years
Of convulsion and grief
You show up on my doorstep
With that damnable grin
Your new scar
And that terrible uniform –
Dear God.
I would rather be dead
Than to stand and say to you
that here,
I live with another.
Please see my photo site at www.peterscottcameron.com.
It will surprise no one to say that the United States faces a stark choice this November in its choice of President, and that the nation is in a precarious state, with an election season and process that is quite unlike any in memory. There is no need to name the protagonists; we know who they are.
There have been many challenging times since the American Civil War, but not many in which there was so little political stability, and in which the population was so cloven apart as it is now.
Carl Jung, the great psychoanalyst, would comprehend what has happened. He would tell us that we, the people, have fallen under the power of the shadow, that dark part of our unconscious – the collective unconscious in this case – as the Germans once did, in the 1930’s. Hitler’s power was not political, Jung claimed; rather it was magic. It was magic because its power derives from the unconscious and the shadow. (i)
In Jungian psychology, among the archetypes – those primordial images or psychic energies hard-wired into the unconscious of human beings – there is the powerful archetype of the “King.” It could just as well be the “Queen”; (ii) in either case it is the Leader who provides order and stability for the nation. The good King embodies reasonability, responsibility, rational patterns of action, integrity and honest purpose – not just demonstrating these on behalf of the people, but, rather, integrating these, so that he lives them in his own life and persona. With both firmness and kindness, he affirms deserving others, and in doing so creates a “fertilizing” calm and centeredness within which the people can flourish and become their best selves. The King serves – not himself – but the people and the earth. He mirrors and embodies the best intentions of people, and thereby fosters harmony and creative opportunity for the folk to grow and develop. (iii) Because of his service, there is mostly peace in the land as people go about the business of providing for families, prospering, and developing their best selves.
But there are times, when the conditions are right, wherein the “Shadow King” emerges. The conditions that allow the him to emerge are times in which the shadow itself – a dark part of character that has potential for destructiveness, the hiding place of repressed and often enough, negative energies (iv) – has emerged from the collective unconscious of the people. (v) The Shadow King is both a reflection of dark forces, and an instigator of those same forces in the population.
The Shadow King is bipolar; he exhibits characteristics of both the tyrant and the weakling. Far from calm and generative, he embodies hatred and fear, and will actively incite those feelings in others. His “degradation of others knows no bounds,” because he “hates all beauty, all innocence, all strength, all talent, all life energy.” This happens because he has no “inner structure” of an assured and serene self, and is terrified of “his own hidden weakness and his underlying lack of potency.” (vi)
The land and the people cannot flourish under the Shadow King. His unrelenting assaults on people’s hopes, interests and talents, his constant deprecation of others, his promulgation of falsehoods, and the relentless self-promotion of his own interests will ensure confusion. Disorder will prevail. The people will become divided and fall into open conflict with one another. The quality of public discourse will degrade. Winning, rather than compromise and accommodation for all, will become the goal. Everyday problems will fail to be addressed. Feelings and actions will become more aggressive toward one another. Paranoid ideas of conspiracy will spread among the population. The Shadow King will draw out previously hidden fears and hatreds in the populace; he will provide legitimacy and a forum for these violent impulses. And because the Shadow King is extremely sensitive to criticism, when challenged, he will become threatening; at the slightest provocation, what the people will see is rage – the rage of a toddler, in fact.
And that latter is the most revealing of the underlying problem: the psychological problem of arrested development, the rage of the immature self, the inherent inadequacy of the personality frozen in childhood narcissism, ultimately lacking the development of a normal human conscience.
This is where we are, in America. For reasons that are deep in the collective psyche and history of the nation, we have elected the Shadow King, and mired in a projection of our own unconscious, are considering whether to elect him once more. Most frightening, it is not entirely clear what choice we will make.
It is not such a surprise that the Shadow King has been elevated to leadership in America at this time. America, that sunny, Enlightenment-founded and forward-seeking society, drags behind it a very long bag of shadow material, dating back to its origins in patriarchy and plutocracy, along with the ownership of African human beings as property, and the attempted genocide of the Indigenous People. As well-meaning as the country has been, there have been no true efforts at public national reconciliation of these things, so of course, it all remains in the collective unconscious, and stays as a toxin within an otherwise noble experiment. (More on that another time.)
But also, it is no coincidence that the election of the Shadow King directly followed the presidency of a man of colour, a person of partial African descent. Though he was not the descendent of American slaves, in the collective psyche he represented that, and he had a foreign-sounding name, and these were intolerable for much of the population. Then followed the near election of a woman as President, a person who, although not without flaws, was strong, experienced, and forceful. She won most of the votes of the people – but was prevented from assuming the role of Queen by that remnant of the patriarchal, plutocratic system, the Electoral College.
This all follows a principle of a certain kind of “social physics,” we might call it, where for every social action, there is an opposing, equal reaction. Progressive social steps will stimulate their opposites. Thus, the good King of partial African descent and the near election of a strong Queen was followed by a rejection of all that and by the ascension of a hyper-masculine, misogynistic, supremacist Shadow King.
Of course, not all people accepted this – particularly women did not. For the most part, they knew exactly what they saw before them. They precisely knew who had been elected. They took to the streets, in millions, all over the country, wearing their pink “pussy-hats,” warning the rest of us of what was to come.
And so now: the election of 2020 is upon us. One option is to affirm the leadership of the Shadow King.
The other option is choosing a good, if humanly imperfect King. He is a person with compassion for others, one who eaten more than one full meal of the ashes of his own grief, and therefore is sensitive to the grief and longings of others. He is one who has known failure along with success; one who knows that it is human to stumble, and human again to pick oneself up. He is one who admits and understands his mistakes, and so not only learns from them, but also is willing to help others adjust themselves and move toward integrity and growth.
There are days that I think we are at the point of no return as a nation. I admit that I am afraid of what we will do. Our election choice not mysterious, not cloudy. On the one hand, on the ballot is the Shadow King. We have the experience of him and know what that is and what the future will be if we allow his leadership to continue.
On the other hand, on the ballot is the ordinary, the human, the good King. We do not yet have the experience of this person as King; but we do know very well who he is, and we know his long service to the nation.
The choice is as stark, and as telling, as it could be.
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(i) Knickerbocker, Hubert R. Is Tomorrow Hitler’s? (Omnibook Magazine, February 1942). Retrieved from “Old Magazine Articles,” http://www.oldmagazinearticles.com/carl_jung_studied_hitler#.Wfi00hNSy-U.
(ii) I will use the “King” here, but it could just as well be “Queen.” For our purposes, gender, although it plays out powerfully in American public life, is not the issue in the present discussion. I use “King” simply because both candidates currently are male, and America has not yet found itself willing to elect a “Queen.”
(iii) Moore, Robert, and Douglas Gillette. King Warrior Magician Lover (HarperOne, 1990), 49 – 74.
(iv) Johnson, Robert A. Owning Your Own Shadow (HarperSanFrancisco, 1991), 4.
(v) The Shadow is not made entirely of destructive energy; it can also include more positive energies, such as exuberant and creative impulses that are put away – stuffed into the “long bag” – as a result of social conditioning, particularly in childhood. See Bly, Robert. A Little Book on the Human Shadow (HarperOne, 1988), 17 – 26.
(vi) Moore and Gillette, King Warrior Magician Lover. 64.
I have known some otherwise reasonable people who have fallen prey to think-tank propaganda, funded by the oil interests, that denies the reality of climate change, or its impact, or its origin – or in most cases, all three.
Let me state what the scientific consensus, and the reality is:
Period. End of story. Finum suum.
We have been aware of the problem for at least forty years, although the scientific picture has gotten clearer over the decades. At the same time, we have had forty years of climate-change-denial propaganda that has muddied things and derailed action. The propaganda has been constructed and disseminated by so-called “think tanks” and their minions on television and talk-radio, mainly funded by oil interests such as Exxon and extreme right societal and political manipulators such as the Koch brothers. It is unconscionable, criminal.
Concerning the scientific consensus, consider this thought experiment, with thanks to Tom Friedman.[i] Suppose your doctor says to you that your child has a deadly condition, but that it can be remedied by a careful course of treatment. However, your child appears to be pretty much okay, and you are not sure you want to have your child take the medication, so you ask for a second opinion. You go to ninety-eight other family physicians and pediatricians, and despite some slight differences concerning the potential severity of the condition and the strength of the remedy required, they all give you essentially the same diagnosis and treatment plan.
However, you find one doctor who says that your child’s apparent disease is a part of a completely normal cycle of nature, and adds that even there were a problem, it will disappear causing no harm. All you must do is to make sure your child continues life as before.
As a concerned parent, what would you do? Whom would you believe: the ninety-nine reputable physicians, or the last one?
This is the situation. The consensus from objective scientific observation and data analysis communicated by reputable scientists is clear and decisive.
Even if you prefer to acquire your opinions second-hand from television, as many of us do, whom would you trust on the matter of climate change: say, David Attenborough, the honoured naturalist and renowned BBC broadcaster, a level-headed man of integrity? Or would you trust the likes of Tucker Carlson, highly paid to bloviate, make trouble and manufacture controversy on Fox “News,” funded by the nefarious Rupert Murdoch?
I know what my choice would be.
It is all rather simple. The basic news is bad of course. It is uncomfortable and calls for changes. Yet there is good news. The problem really is fixable and does not have to be all that painful. The medicine is good, and we are perfectly capable of both making it and taking it. It is as easy to swallow as that good old Canadian cough syrup, Buckley’s Mixture, notorious in my childhood for its dubious taste. It was a little challenging going down, but boy, did you feel good about it afterward. And you got better.
Addressing climate change is like that. It can be halted. If you are a denier and will not help us out on this, at least, please:
Get out of the way so that we can get on with the doable job of reclaiming a habitable planet for our grandchildren and the other remaining species on earth.
More on that job soon.
[i] Friedman, Thomas. Trump’s Motto: Your Money or Your Life. New York Times, September 23, 2020.