On Surviving One Crisis Only to Enter Another
Practical wisdom for the spiritually alarmed
It is always darkest before the dawn – assuming dawn.
In February, 2008, out of the blue, during a routine colonoscopy, I was diagnosed with colorectal cancer. Jane and I were to be married four months later. I asked my doctor if I’d live till the wedding. “I won’t know,” he said, “until I operate. And I’m operating tomorrow.”
The operation and subsequent therapy scotched the disease. I looked dandy at our wedding, having lost lots of weight. The best years of my life unrolled before me like a golden road, on which I’m strolling still, dazed by my luck.
America has received its dire diagnosis. Does any sane observer think we’re on the right track? Even friends who voted for the Nameless One – yes, I have a couple – lament how “things worked out,” though they defend their choice. (“Mea culpa” are two words almost impossible to pronounce.) We’re shocked and shamed how swiftly we’ve tumbled from our ideals. Are we moving toward kleptocracy, plutocracy, oligarchy, or tyranny? It hardly matters. Our beautiful idea of democracy is gasping on the ropes.
The question before each of us is how best to be in this daunting hour. Even if we’re goners, we must live until we die, and most of us during this awful interval wish to conduct ourselves with grace. Sentenced to death seventeen years ago, I felt like squirreling myself in a hole. Instead, I deceived all but my family about my condition and beamed on my wedding day as if I hadn’t a care.
Tempting as it may be to rail, wail, flail, finger-point, it’s unseemly and unhelpful, so no dice. Survival is not a partisan concern. What shipwrecked our ship of state is irrelevant if we all drown. Rescuing our democracy must be the first concern of the majority. Each of us plays a part. The better we play our part, the better our chance of pulling through. Once we salvage the state we can resume hating each other, which Americans delight in.
I coach myself.
First, we must not flinch. Six months ago, we might have assured ourselves, “America’s indestructible.” No longer. Denial may work in Egypt but not here. We’re in trouble and soon enough, everyone will know it, even those oft discussed “low information voters,” who form the Nameless One’s “base.”
Next, we must talk to one another. I may not wish to socialize with everyone who shares my life-raft, but so what if we all drown? First things first. Nothing stokes patriotism like a barbarian invasion. That the barbarians emerged from within makes our predicament more, not less scary.
Next, we must keep fit. An enfeebled soldier can’t fight. That means maintaining both one’s physical and mental strength. I, for example, am subject to debilitating depression. Such misery’s a luxury I can’t afford if I’m to remain deployable. I must buck myself up, bark myself into line, at least till a quieter hour.
Then (the hardest part) we must use our heads. In the blur of battle, it can be hard to see what’s happening. The attack plan of the Nameless One and his fellow plotters was to wreck our democracy fast, “flood the zone,” so that so many things were collapsing simultaneously citizens wouldn’t know where to focus. While inept at governing, in this they’ve been successful. I counsel myself to concentrate on one question only: Will we have midterm elections in eighteen months, where the votes are fairly counted? If yes, we the people may yet save ourselves. If not, farewell to the shining city on the hill.
PS Yesterday, as it happens, was Jane’s and my wedding anniversary. Thank you, thank you, my love.
Happy Anniversary!