It's a difficult thing watching your country pull itself to pieces.
Watching neighbors post signs in support of bullies and lies. Hearing politicians - local, state and federal - shuck and jive to avoid taking either responsibility or a meaningful stance. Hearing friends and colleagues offer half-baked defenses of atrocities. Browsing professional media sites like LinkedIn where everyone seems to live in a rose-colored world, going about business as usual, deaf and blind to the suffering of "the least of these."
When did the emotional state of the comfortable bubble over into spite and hate? Who convinced the middle class that the most needy in their communities were stealing from them? How does one square basic decency with the violence inflicted on unarmed people? When will the supporters of this movement come to understand that the actions they cheer on will one day turn against them and cause them to suffer not at the hands of their enemies but at the hands of those with whom they have aligned themselves?
This problem didn't stem from one man. He isn't the cause of this movement, despite wishing he was. He is merely the captain of this rat-filled ship and the rats are ready at a moment's notice to vie for command once he falls. These people didn't spawn from nowhere, or solely from the isolation of midnight gaming culture, or solely from a generation raised on social media. There is always a boil threatening to fester within any country, within any culture, during any era. An undercurrent of bigotry and hate, and it is most dangerous when the controlling powers dare to think they can foster and use if for their own purposes. When did we allow our boil to burst so violently and putrescently that it now threatens all the progress made over the course of 250 years?
I think back to the people I knew in school and I wonder whether they've really changed. How intolerant were they back then? How jealous of anyone who had something they didn't? How intolerant was I? Could they simply not cope with the demand for a more empathetic society, or was it unreasonable to expect a generation born at the ascendancy of the Civil Rights movement to so easily free themselves of the bigotries of their parents and grandparents? From birth to eighteen, I spent hours at a time in the presence of my grandfather. I loved him dearly and I know he loved me. He was many things to many people, but he also was unashamedly racist. The words that fell from his mouth as he sat on his front porch watching his lilywhite neighborhood become multi-cultural were beyond inappropriate even then. Would it be such a mystery if I had adopted his attitude towards people of color after so much exposure to it? I suppose not.
Right now, in January of 2026, we are stuck in a death spiral both figurative and literal. Consequences are avoided by those who richly deserve them. Blame is assigned to the defenseless and innocent. People are gunned down in the street by poorly trained, power tripping little men with the blessing of the temp employee in the White House who regularly ignores both the letter and spirit of the law. It can sometimes feel like hope is lost.
But times have been darker than this. I can hope for a future in which my children and theirs won't be ashamed of their government. A time when they can trust in the honor and kindness not only of individuals but also of institutions. A time when monopolies are broken and we are not the playthings of the ultrawealthy. The first big step in that direction will come with the eventual demise of the cult leader and the power vacuum left in his wake. The rats might rise to take control of the ship once he's gone, but few cults manage to change leadership without suffering rifts, fractures and petty infighting. This is the future of a GOP that allowed its fringe element to take it over. It's already begun.
So I wait anxiously for the start of that chaotic process and for the world to begin to forget the stain of a selfish, insecure, shallow man that caused it so much grief. I look forward to the reckoning that will come to those who supported him or, worse, were in a position to stop him but shirked their responsibility. I look forward to the day we no longer have to hear his name. In the words of Marshall Thibido from the great John Wayne film The Shootist: "The day they lay you away, what I do on your grave won't pass for flowers."
It might not be the kindest sentiment, but I never claimed to be perfect.
