• The Writer

The New World

The rain feels the same. The coffee tastes the same. The clothes on my back still warm me. Yet something feels different. The sinking feeling that one of the worst of humanity now has all the power that has accreted to the Executive. The power of assassination, of drones, of nuclear weapons,  of contempt for women, of fear of the other. Is this what America is? Is this man the representative of the American ID? He certainly looks like the epitome of a kind of unreconstructed hominid. But the crowds of women yesterday seem to represent another kind of America. An inclusive one, that talks of love and difference, of joy and hope. Perhaps the next four year can be used to bypass the Executive Office. Time to vote. Time to get active. Time to do the boring but essential work of democracy. The letter writing, the meeting, the questioning and the holding the system to account. If not now then never. If not this President then we will be crowning his children in years to come. We will watch America turn into a corporate monarchy and wonder at the pliance of the people as they accepted it, like a frog slowly being boiled in a pot of well seasoned water. America has never been what it says it is. There has always been a chasm between it's aspiration and it's grubby everyday. Time to build a bridge between the two.

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