Our War on Donald Trump, With Feeling
Of course we feel it. Anyone with human feelings would. A call for submissions.
Everything is personal now, at least in my head, in my heart, in this space. I find myself avoiding the writing I need to do, simply because the pain is too much and I’m tired of feeling it. Yet I can’t let Donald Trump break me, as he has broken so many others. So I sit here today wondering what I could say that would make enough of a difference and will finally be worth the effort.
I’ve been here before. And I know I’m not alone.
Moments ago I looked out my window and saw that rainbow. I didn’t see it as a sign as much as a boost. Rainbows don’t last. They’re here and gone, and that’s part of their appeal. They grab us and for those few moments our hearts forget everything else and gladden at the sight. Is there anyone who doesn’t love a rainbow?
I can think of one. And now I’m back. Sick at heart and fumbling with my thoughts, mainly, I think, because I have to admit once again that terrible things are happening and as often and as hard as I’ve fought for my country in my own ways throughout these many years, I have no control—and never will.
Now multiply me by the many millions of Americans who feel the same way. Heartsick and helpless, we watch as our worlds, our culture, our lives are being ripped apart because one lone exceedingly worthless man has taken over in such a short time and in such a way we’re baffled to the point of rigidity. We can barely move.
Not so much because he did this but because he is allowed to do this. Because he is allowed to do anything he wants. That goes against anything I’ve ever believed about my government. With all its flaws, my government has always promised to stand strong against tyranny and fascism. It’s unfathomable that we would be fighting those battles from within, against an enemy that posed—and promised—clear threats even before an election that brought us once again to our knees.
The destruction of the East Wing of our White House has nearly broken me. It comes from having grown up in an era when symbolism embodied patriotism, when flags and monuments and maybe the entirety of the Washington governmental complex felt almost sacred. We clung to those things as eternal parts of our societal well-being. We treasured those permanent structures, believing that whatever happened as administrations moved in and moved out, they would remain solid, a tribute to our permanence as a society forever designed as a working, impenetrable democracy.
Millions of people visit them every year and if feels like a privilege to enter those hallowed halls, knowing they belong to the American people first and foremost. No administration can lay claim to them. We expect them to be revered and protected for all time, for all generations.
And now one man has in fact laid claim and has shown us all that he can destroy anything he chooses at will, with no real opposition from any leader in any capacity, when all it would have taken was a commanding ‘no’, with the law on their side.
And the pain of that knowledge is almost unbearable.
Whose country is this? We can’t stop asking that question. And we can’t stop chronicling. We need proof of who we are and what we did during this time. And how we felt.
Chronicling history is more than just recording actions and events. History comes alive when the storytellers bring in the human element. How did people feel during those times? How did it affect them personally? We latch onto the words that make us feel and then we build the history around them.
We have to feel in order to understand, but more important, we have to feel in order to keep those events alive. They’ll disappear without the right words forcing us to put names and faces and pain and triumph to dates and places.
This is what we must do, and if I do my small part I know I’m at least doing something. You can, too. You can share your feelings here, if you have nowhere else to go and you think you might find this space less intimidating. I invite you to send submissions for guest posts, which I’ll publish now and then, as I see fit.
Keep your essays around 500 words, if possible. Tell your stories your way but I’ll ask you to watch the language.
Unpublished work only, since the idea is to give you a platform you don’t already have. Make it as personal as you wish but centered around what we’ve talked about here—with the understanding that you’re reaching out to readers who need to feel included. Give them something to think about.
Send submissions to ramonagriggwriter at gmail dot com. Put “Submission” in the title. I can’t pay you and I’m sorry about that, but I can give you an outlet that has a reputation for being honest and open and friendly.
Submissions will be open for two weeks, ending on Friday, November 7.
Finally, I want to share with you all Rick Wilson’s beautiful piece on the destruction of the East Wing and what it means to Americans who care. We need more of this kind of writing. We need to feel we’re all a part of what’s real and important and that whatever we’re feeling is shared across our nation. We’re not alone. We’ll never be alone.
I’m here for the long haul, but I’m going to need your help. I need to build a large subscriber base in order to be seen and heard. If you can afford a $5 monthly subscription, I would be grateful. This effort takes time and money. If you can’t, or would prefer to remain on the free list, I completely understand. Please share any of my pieces with those who might want to join this essential community. We’re in this together. We’re building a community. Democracy Strong!