“We the people” might just be screwed.
And instead of lamenting our victim status, we can look right in the mirror and blame ourselves for our plight. For this is a suicide. A full-fledged “everybody put on the black pajamas and bite down on the cyanide capsule” level of societal suicide.
We can see that by looking all around us, but a just-released Monmouth poll provides confirmation with this data point: 61 percent of those approving of Trump’s performance say there is literally nothing he could do that would cause them not to support him, while 57 percent say there is nothing Trump could do to earn their support except resign the presidency.
Plain and simple, that is a cult. Not a political party. Not a movement. Not a revolution. Just a plain old creepy cult.
Much was made this weekend about the tiki-torch-bearing white supremacists who littered Charlottesville with their filth. Yet whether those fools numbered in the hundreds or even jumped the thousand mark, they are a blip on recent history compared with the far greater number of cultural arsonists who simply will excuse anything their “side” does in the name of power, position, and prestige.
These people are legion on the Left and on the Right, but the group emerging on the Right has the potential to be the more devastating to the nation’s future. This is because it threatens to engulf the only coalition standing in the way of total progressive hegemony over our body politic.
They, in effect, light up their own tiki torches and gin up mob-like behavior for its own sake, expecting little to no return on their investment other than to stay perpetually hot and bothered about “the other.” To these people, anger isn’t a means to an end, but the ends justifying the means.
They would rather demand the “liberal media” write about Hillary’s 30,000 deleted emails than demand the Republicans in power prosecute her for them. They would rather seethe over a grandstanding hacktivist like Jim Acosta than seethe over “Mr. Trump” failing to keep virtually any of his biggest campaign promises. They want validation of their anger more than victory with their principles (if they even have any other than “Democrats suck”).
To such folks, Trump isn’t their political leader. He’s their spiritual and emotional muse. He makes them feel legit in their airing of grievances without expecting any of the grown-up follow-up.
The president lies, so I can lie. The president is profane, so I will be profane. And not only will I lie and be profane, but I want to be. For that’s the scoreboard that really matters. A scalp that I can share on social media with cartoonish Batman-like “Pow” and “Bam” commentary. They prefer this to an enduring moral, legislative, or legal win that would benefit their children, let alone preserve our constitutional republic.
But who needs the hard work of self-government when you can just urinate in somebody’s pool and call it a day, right? I mean, it’s all 4-D chess, or something. Trump’s approval ratings are plummeting even in polls that all but act as his super PAC (aka Rasmussen), but it’s all part of his master plan and he has the Democrats right where he wants them.
See, that’s the stuff that can and is taking down a nation. Not some small though disgusting rally of boys who can shave, who have traded their white hoods for a pair of Dockers and a room in their mom’s basement. American exceptionalism defeated their ilk once before, both in the Jim Crow South and in Berlin.
In fact, our inspired Constitution was built to withstand all enemies, both foreign and domestic, except one — a people that just doesn’t give damn any more.
When one side of our political duopoly pursues with zeal an agenda determined to undo that which made America exceptional, that’s bad enough. But when their only real opposition decides they’d rather emote than engage, and prefers the performance to policy, that’s when Don Meredith starts to sing “turn out the lights, the party’s over.”
When ruin meets meaningless rage instead of meaningful resistance, ruin always wins.