“Go back to Ben Franklin—his descriptions about how the Iroquois Nations lived and worked together. Compare that to America today. I think that, when you look at veterans coming out of the wars, they’re more and more just slapped in the face by that isolation, and they’re used to something better. They think it’s P.T.S.D.—which it can be—but it’s really about alienation. If you lose any sense of being part of something bigger, then why should you care about your fellow-man?”
“the battle that will need to be waged in the long term is not between an elite-led politics of facts versus a populist politics of feeling. It is between those still committed to public knowledge and public argument and those who profit from the ongoing disintegration of those things.”
It is something magical, to be able to peer inside of your mother’s tummy to see your perfectly forming outline shimmering in sepia.
The technician pressed the little ultrasound knob harder and harder, jiggling it around impatiently atop you, to try and get you to turn, as if she were trying to entice a fish, but you shrank away into the depths, as if you knew you were being looked at. She slowly took the measure of each and every one of your bones, and we could see your little feet and hands flailing, lit like candescent bulbs. You liked curling around yourself and kept turned towards your mother’s spine. We could see your brain, the flow of blood through your developing veins. We could see and hear the fluttering of your heart, still split into halves. The technician kept making your mother turn from side, to side, and back again, to try and see you in profile.
You were still sort of amphibian, a primeval force swimming in the darkness, your segmented spine twisting like a little stem.
But then, finally, there was your face, already singular, universally human, projected as an image before your mother and father and a weary technician, holding hands in this little room on the 10th floor on the east side of Manhattan.
It struck me then that I too am developing, shedding my vestigial self-involvement to become a father. I will be your father. This is no longer a thought, a hope, a fear. This is what will be. My soul grows towards the moment when I will see your face in the light of the sun, and hold you and speak to you and call your name.
“A couple of years ago, reporting from San Francisco, I noted an erosion of public meaning which seemed to getting in the way of civic progress. A key cause, I suggested at the time, was technology’s filtering effects—the way that, as we lived more of our lives in a personal bespoke, we lost touch with the common ground, and the common language, that made meaningful public work possible. Perhaps filtering effects are at play, but nothing I’ve seen since has changed my mind. The most dangerous intellectual spectre today seems not to be lack of information but the absence of a common information sphere in which to share it across boundaries of belief.”
Like most rational people, I really didn’t think someone so clearly unfit for public office as Donald Trump could ever be elected as US president. But as of right now, it looks he has, and the electorate has spoken. What I wrote in an earlier post during the height of election frenzy, comparing Trump to a chaos monkey, has become painfully relevant.
Progressives like me in enclaves like NYC have a misguided sense of what many Americans are feeling, thinking, and experiencing. But our system is designed such that all those people have some degree of power when it comes to exercising their right to vote. And they did.
Hence, Trump. We now must live with the consequences of that vote and come to terms with our electorate. Unless we decide that our Union no longer is fit.
So the chaos begins. Can our constitutional system of checks and balances withstand Trump’s impulsive decision-making?
Will we be able to update our constitutional system to control for the sort of faction we’re witnessing occur, the very faction that our representative democracy was designed to be a bulwark against?