Outrageous Outrage

Frankly, we did win the election, and we will be back in office by August. There’s no way we didn’t win Georgia! And they are finding thousands of votes. Thousands of votes in New Hampshire! The votes—there were so many fraudulent votes. Everybody knows it. The rigged election was the biggest fraud ever.

So says Lord Butternuts. It’s one of his core beliefs. If the so-called facts don’t support my victory, then the facts must be wrong. We can make up our own facts, because there are alternative facts.

It would have been so easy if Little Loser Brad just found the 11,780 votes like I asked. I mean, give me a break, fellas.

Some very special people walked down to the Capitol on January 6. They were very special. I call them very special people. The fake media call it an insurrection. Some people say it was Antifa. Maybe it was Antifa.

Loser Mike could have done the right thing. All he had to do—and we win the election! All he had to do was send it back to the states to recertify. Because the people are angry. You know it. Everyone knows it! It was a totally rigged election. So you have to send it back. But Mike didn’t come through.

There are a lot of angry people. The real people. I call them patriots. The real people. But Loser Mike didn’t come through for us. And it’s so sad. He didn’t do the one simple thing to save our country. So sad. You’re sworn to uphold our Constitution. You have to be strong. You have to show strength.

There are some great Republicans who are willing to fight for our country, but there are too many weak Republicans. It’s incredible. I call them weak Republicans. But you know? We will vote them out. Vote them out. The weak Republicans.

The great ones, The Devoted Ones, you might call them Devoted Ones. The ones who show strength, because you’ve got to protect our election integrity. Because it’s under assault. It’s outrageous!

The Devoted Ones must stand up for election integrity. We can’t let the Democrats get away with election fraud. Stop them from tearing down our Constitution. The Devoted Ones, you have to stand up for our great country and make our great country great again.

The Devoted Ones, the real Republicans. Because there’s so much fraud. We can’t allow it to happen again. An now the Democrat Party—those people want to engage in a totally fake partisan witch-hunt phony investigation of a so-called insurrection. About what happened when some incredible patriots. Everybody knows what happened. Good people showed extraordinary love for this country, this amazing country, by walking down, to the Capitol. It was beautiful. And I love them. Special people. It’s love. Amazing love.

Now they want to federalize our elections, and we are not going to let that happen, let me tell you. As long as the Democrats are in power, and it never should have been allowed to happen. Now they want to let Crazy Stacey dictate and take the elections away from the states. It’s unconstitutional, and it’s not going to stand. We won’t let them rig the elections again. The Devoted Ones will see to that.

And we will not allow them to mandate—some people want to mandate what’s happening in our schools. They want to require our schools to teach children to be ashamed to be White. Little children in Kindergarten and First Grade. And that’s not right. We know it and you know it. That’s not how we love our country. We won’t let them do that to our children.

Because we are the chosen one. And we say watch out for 2022. Something very big is going to happen in 2022. That’s when we take back our country. Because it was stolen by rigged elections. But we are rounding the turn. All the fake media know it, but they aren’t reporting it. They are weak and they are scared. They want to pretend it isn’t happening, but we know better. We know it’s big. And it is going to happen and it will be—it’s going to be the biggest thing that anyone has ever seen before.

[This is, obviously, a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is pure coincidence.]

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Obvious Truth

When I was in high school and even before, well over fifty years ago now, I understood that Black people (we innocently used the term “Negroes” back then) had—or should have—equal rights in America. I don’t remember being taught to believe that, but somehow during my childhood it had become for me an obvious truth.

Race was not a topic of conversation around our dinner table. Teachers didn’t talk much about racial equality that I remember, but the racially derogatory “n” word was in circulation in the hallways and on the playgrounds.

I remember stumbling over the meaning of the terms of the civil rights era: “integration” and “desegregation.” I didn’t comprehend the concepts around issues that were abstractions in my small world of White privilege. I believed I had no “problem” with Black people but likely that was because I saw so few Black people in my world. Of course, I was aware that Black people lived in another part of town, but I didn’t think to question why they weren’t next door.

The number of Blacks who were classmates of mine could be counted on the fingers of one hand. I suppose I believed it was their choice. If parents wanted to send their kids to my school, they were perfectly free to do so. I didn’t wonder why they didn’t—or couldn’t—make that choice.

I did not know then that my paternal and maternal grandparents had at one time entertained themselves with membership in the Ku Klux Klan. In the rural Midwest heartland where they lived, it was the thing to do in the mid-1920s, now a full century ago. My parents didn’t talk about that part of their past, and yet their transition to adulthood must have included rejection of their parents’ racial and anti-immigrant fears and prejudices.

In 1960, my parents took me and my brother to a sermon by Martin Luther King. I didn’t understand the sermon, but I knew this was an important occasion in my life, and I knew that King was a man whom I should respect. When, eight years later, he was assassinated, I experienced his murder as an American tragedy, as a terrible wrong committed by bad people motivated by racial hatred.

I also remember television images of white police in Birmingham using dogs and water cannons to terrorize civil rights demonstrators. That was in 1963. The March on Washington was that summer. I remember that my parents talked about the March, but they ultimately chose not to go. Were they afraid we might get injured? Arrested? Maybe making the arrangements to go was simply too much trouble. But maybe the thought of a gathering of so many Black people made them a little uncomfortable.

I don’t know what I believed about race in those days. I knew our nation had suffered a Civil War over slavery. I knew that Abe Lincoln was a great president because he freed the slaves and paid with his life, but “slaves” and “slavery” were terms of America’s past. The present I didn’t understand.

I believed that the cause of civil rights was a just cause and that those who carried the banner of civil rights were on the right side of history and would ultimately prevail. It was only a matter of time.

I was too naïve and too ignorant to focus on the issue of race. Besides, I became distracted by the Vietnam War, the 1967 Summer of Love and dawning of the Age of Aquarius, and the seductive wonders of marijuana and sex. I was hung up on myself, occupied with the process of separation from my parents, a process which I managed to make more difficult than it needed to be. It was difficult for me to work out what there was for me rebel against.

These fifty years have been a long time, but the years failed to erase the scars of the 60s. All the promise of that era remains unfulfilled—its “golden living dreams of visions” unreal.

The ideology of White supremacy remains with us in a multitude of forms, enabled by today’s so-called “social” media and fertilized by the doublespeak that America needs to be made “great again.” Democracy itself is under attack by people who fear racial justice while denying the truth of their own White privilege. It has come to this: that we should need a growing list of law enforcement Black homicides—that is, killings of unarmed Black people by police officers—to “awaken” us to the idea that Black lives matter.

It more than saddens me that my generation has not solved the problem of race prejudice. Why haven’t we done better in these fifty years? I think about the legacy we will leave and wonder if we might have one last chance to make a difference. Will racial injustices, revealed in a new light, be recognized and rejected so that our democracy can begin to repair the damage? Let racial equality become a more widespread obvious truth, and my generation can leave a more hopeful legacy.

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