Send Out the Clowns

The moment Donald Trump descended the escalator to announce his candidacy for president of the United States, you knew this was a joke. No one would elect this clown. Self-respecting Republicans would see through his pompous, uninformed rhetoric and sympathetically pat his combed-over head while grousing about the lack of a decent candidate. But they’d vote for one of the uninspiring but compos mentis challengers and hope for the best.

Strangely, and I still don’t understand it, conservatives elevated Trump in the primaries and rallied around him for the general election, enough for him to win against (I’ll admit) the stupidest choice under the circumstances the Democrats could have made in Hilary Clinton. I grudgingly voted for Clinton (I had voted for her husband, after all, when I was a Republican) only because I was physically repulsed by the inane blob of human skin (well, some of it is of a human-like substance) running against her.

It’s not that I don’t like his looks, that would be shallow and true and more to the point, moot. It’s not that I don’t like his policies in all their infatuated, illogical, cruelly backward, and monumentally ignorant glory. And it’s not that I don’t like his manner of speaking as uninformed, delusional, and childish as he is. It’s not any of that, for that’s my opinion and while good enough to decide my vote, there are those who agree ideologically with him and everyone’s entitled to their view.

No, my issue with The Donald, and this is where I deviate from his supporters, is his inability to articulate a decent thought, which makes me wonder if he can have a decent thought. He craps all over the constitution (how any American puts up with that I can’t understand—talk about gun control and people wave the sacred parchment more dearly than they hold their children), is imperious in his disregard for hard won human freedoms, and challenged to understand simple logic, like not ingesting household disinfectants to fight the flu.

What does it mean? I struggle to attribute his every utterance to a simpleton’s mind. Is it too easy to say he’s a perpetual seven year old who’s entrusted with nuclear codes and the good, responsible management of American lives? Paraphrasing Théoden: How did it come to this?

I search for a meaningful answer, hoping at some point Mr. Trump acknowledges his shortcomings (we all have them—well, maybe not in the same degree) and grows up a bit. To admit a flaw, to say you were wrong—these are not evidence of weakness but rather a demonstration of human decency and the willingness to find strength in fault. Alas, Mr. Trump seems incapable of such a human expression, dooming himself to uselessness and the likelihood that once he’s kicked out of office (which he’ll have to be), he’ll be considered the worst, most ineffectual, ridiculous president we’ve ever had. And that includes Millard Fillmore.

Worse, he hires sycophants in brazen shows of camaraderie, insists on their absolute loyalty to any inanity he utters, then vilifies these “friends” of his when they deign to disagree. After all of the musical chairs, we have left the most egregious yes-men willing to deconstruct American policy and the ideals we have strived to achieve over centuries.

Harassment of LGBTQ+ individuals and more to the point, removing freedoms and protections they have died for, is revolting in the least. Who are they hurting? The world needs more love, not more hate. Get over it.

And to promote a fascist, internal police state over black lives signals a moral decrepitude that should have vanished from American life long ago. But it’s always there in some, hopefully the few, but anymore, it’s hard to say. #blacklivesmatter

When Trump announced his plan to send US troops into the states for crowd control, effectively suggesting the creation of a police state, every conservative, let only every single American should have clutched their constitution and vowed: We made a mistake. Never again.

Never again.

Stay Friendly and Healthy.

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