Olympic Bold

    They are very careful and polite about it, but several USA Olympic athletes have expressed how difficult it feels right now to represent their country at the Games.  Skier Hunter Hess was the first, but others have joined him.  these fine young people are not shouting out against their country.  They are expressing concern that has become discomfort.  The most common comment has been, and I am paraphrasing. "Of course I don't like some of the things that are going on back home."

    They are getting criticized for not loving America.  I would point out that if they didn't love their country they would not bother to comment at all.  I feel it incumbent upon me to once again quote James Baldwin."I love America more than any other country in the world, and, for exactly that reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually."

    And this, from Albert Einstein: "If I were to remain silent, I'd be guilty of complicity."

    I know this blog is unlikely to reach the people who need to read it, who need reminding that true patriotism is speaking truth to power.  It doesn't have to be vicious or cruel.  The response from power almost always is both.

    After President Trump called him a loser, Hess himself posted, "I love my country.  There is so much that is great about America, but there are always things that could be better.  One of the many things that makes this country so amazing is that we have the right and the freedom to point that out.  The best part of the Olympics is that it brings people together, and when so many of us are divided we need that more than ever.  I cannot wait to represent Team USA next week when I compete."

    Hunter, you're already a winner and I salute you.

You are not alone

     It's been a while.  What have I missed?

    I have been thinking about my first return blog for some time.  Each day it changes with the events of that day.  I have been feeling so much outrage that I find it hard to pick just one thing to write about, and then I start to think that there isn't much point anyway.  Others are far better versed in the subtlties of world politics than I.  I should let them speak.  And, besides, what can one person do?

    One person can feel the outrage and express it.  He or she can scream out, "ICE is a government sponsored terrorist organization!"  We can ask how a five year old, or a two year old, or an 18 month old child can be hardened criminals targeted by an armed, masked body of quasi-Gestapo goons who have no respect for either the spirit or the letter of the law and will kill fellow Americans who get in their way.  

     One person can cry out to our neighbors to the north and our allies in Europe that the bullying and posturing of our President does not reflect our true sentiments.  "He too shall pass," we can say, hoping that somehow the world after Trump will somehow right itself and broken trust can be repaired.

    One person can hope and pray that Trump does not actually find a way to halt the mid-term elections later this year in order to hold onto control of the government.  That Trump's mania about naming everything in sight after himself finds this answer: "Mr. Trump, we will gladly put your name anywhere you want it to commemorate your life after you die.  We have the plaques ready to go, Sir.  After you."

    I have spent the last few months disheartened, anxious, afraid.  I have seen the writing on the wall, not because I can see the future but because I know the past, a past Donald Trump is trying to white-wash.  Worse than anything, I have felt alone.  But I'm not.  We number in the millions, perhaps billions.  Lorna Lovegood told Harry Potter that He Who Must Not Be Named wanted Harry to feel alone because it would be easier to control him.  Right now, we are watching Trump spiral out of control.  It does not feel good, but it feels right.

    When I was 2 years old, my parents immigrated to the United States.  One of the main motivating factors was their fear that there would be another land war in Europe.  After all, The Great War devastated the continent when my parents were children.  World War Two did it again, louder and bigger, when they were trying to raise a family of their own.  When they arrived at Ellis Island in 1952, my mother took a deep breath and said, "Now we are safe."  We have lost that sense of security.  We need it back.