
I’m going to invoke “the personal is the political” mantra
here to excuse my departure from my
avowed stance of being a-political.
Not only because I find that the elephant in the room is becoming uncomfortably intrusive; but because we are all, actually, shit-scared. But most people don't want to say it out loud.
Because right there, last Wednesday morning, was when
the political cast a huge dark cloud over my personal.
On Wednesday EVERYONE
, including the contestants, was at Stage One – total shock. On Tuesday people everywhere had that euphoric
moment on first awakening: - thinking it had all been a nightmare or that JR
wasn’t dead. They all experienced the same cold chill when they realised it
wasn’t a nightmare; or a game show. The
world had changed.
Now, five days later, people have, as people will,
begun to work out their own strategies for coping with this change. And American politics has quietly slipped from the
front page.
But I really don’t believe this is a grin-and-bear-it
situation; nor a pious reference to people getting the government they deserve;
nor is this one going to yield to the let-them-get-on-with-it and havva cuppa
school of thought. Because this time, the situation we’re discussing didn’t
even happen in our own country. Yet, in a very un-British way, we are going to have to learn that ‘Mind your
own business’ isn’t the panacea to cure all.
I should like to stand up and say that this election in that country is – through no connivance of my own – my business.
Already we’re
seeing people in different countries making it their business. Women marching for rights they’re no longer ‘asking’
for, but demanding; communities launching their own businesses co-operatively...people
have had enough of b.s. everywhere and 8/11 has galvanised many into action. So
many of the response to events in the USA have actually had positive effects
outside of that country. BUT...
The person who is the President-elect is not fit for
purpose.
That’s it. There is no doubt about it. Morally, temperamentally, historically,
unfit.
As I type those
words I understand that in the dystopian future we are all dreading, the very
fact that I wrote them could, conceivably, come back to bite me on the bum. Legally!
And I hate having to even wonder if it’s paranoia or prescience that makes me
think like that.
I don’t think I can stand back while all the things we’ve
worked for over so many centuries become debased. I don’t think I would be
capable of keeping quiet while women get wrapped up in tissue and put back in their boxes
again. I don’t want any girl born
into this world to have to normalise the things millions of us were told to
normalise when we were kids.
But we have come to the point with which SciFi writers
have been terrorising us for years: we have let one country have the power to
end life on this planet.
And instead of
respecting that point, we have allowed a
situation to develop where, by legal process, we have handed over the keys to
our continual sustainment or oblivion to an avowed man of violence; a man of
little understanding and even less knowledge; a man to whom honour is a quality
for losers. And, most disturbingly, to a man devoid of all empathy; nor ability
to think through the affects of his actions; or feel remorse:
I have no intention of turning my online presence into
a political hub, but neither am I ‘going to have to learn to live with it’. I
absolutely refuse.
I haven’t been
able to do much on Twitter these past
few days because I was too choked up with this burgeoning feeling of being
coerced into adopting what seems to be starting to be the default position,
i.e.: it’s happened. Nothing we can do. Learn to accept it.
Now I’ve finally grown a pair. And even if only a handful
of people ever read it, at least I’ve gone on record to show I will NOT accept. I refuse to go quietly
into that dark night. I shall rage and rage to stop the dying of the light.
I just won’t keep doing it on Twitter.
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