We’re just over the halfway point of the year. Now this year, 2020 has been much on our minds because it will give us, we trust, on November 3rd, the long awaited presidential election. Assuming that Trump doesn’t succeed with his efforts to sabotage the election in his own favor, mainly by lowering the numbers of anti-Trump eligible voters, President Trump will turn into Mr. Trump from one day to the next.
And Mr. Trump will become the most favored target of any number of state attorney Generals and prosecutors, all in line to pursue Mr. Trump for any number of corruption charges , not the least of which being the charge of treating the United States government as his own private playground subject to no laws or limits other than those of his own invention.
Now I have a number of WordPress blogs, 8 of them altogether, of which 6 are kept hidden. The other two, Quatrevingtans and My-Journal, are not hidden, are public. The latter two are the principal carriers of my own thoughts, along with the thoughts of a multitude of others who probably like me are out of school, but still my teachers.
My blogs contain my own thoughts which are and have been for most of my adult life, the “things,” mostly the words, that I hold most dear. There are countless ideas contained therein, hundreds, thousands, of the ideas of others, with frequently a few of my own. Although I might ask how many of us has ever had an idea that has not been usually better expressed by others, probably many others at another and earlier, or much earlier time?
There are many men and women whom I admire, for their words which are usually within my reach, but also for their actions not so much within my reach. There are a large number of these individuals and I won’t try now to list them, but there are a few at the top of my list, two of these being Hannah Arendt whom I call the teller of truths so terribly needed in this untruth time of Donald Trump and his enablers, and Nelson Mandela no less a truth teller but also throughout his life a man of action.
Mandela was arrested and imprisoned in 1962, and subsequently sentenced to life imprisonment for conspiring to overthrow the state. He went on to serve 27 years in prison on Robben Island, Pollsmoor and Victor Verster Prisons.
Hannah Arendt orn into a German-Jewish family, Hannah was forced to leave Germany in 1933 and first lived in Paris for the next eight years, before moving to New York. To learn more go toRichard Bernstein. “Why read Hannah Arendt Now?”
Number two on my list is Nelson Mandela who lived his whole life, in South Africa, almost by himself making the country that had been an area home to 10 or more tribes, in the process. Now he is admired throughout the world, no less than M LK and Mahatma Ghandi, admired as a man of action, an anti-apartheid revolutionary, a political leader and philanthropist, and who served , following his release from Robbin Island, as President of South Africa from 1994 to 1999.
And what about this person, Angela Merkel, a truth teller and woman of action, also another person whom I greatly admire,
Angela Dorothea Merkel is a German politician who has been Chancellor of Germany since 2005. She served as the Leader of the Christian Democratic Union from 2000 to 2018. She has been widely described as the de facto leader of the European Union and the most powerful woman in the world.
What I remember about Chancellor Merkel is her decision, alone of the Western democracies, including the United States, to keep country’s borders open thereby allowing some 1 million+ mostly Syrian refugees to freely enter Germany.
A mmigrant takes a photo with Angela Markel outside a refugee camp in Berlin in September 2015.
Was she right to do so? I would say yes, much as we have been right to allow millions of migrants and refugees to freely enter our country. Old countries, like Germany and now ourselves are always in need of new people with new ideas. We also need leaders like Angela Merkel but in my life time there have been far too few. There have been Nelson Mandela and Angela Merkel.
This is a life-changing election that will determine America’s future for a very long time. Character is on the ballot. Compassion is on the ballot. Decency, science, democracy. They are all on the ballot.
The fact is that none of those three things should be on a ballot. We should not have to vote ourselves decent. We should not have to subject scientific truth to a plebiscite. We should never have even the slimmest chance to vote down democracy. But here T are. And here we stay, for two more months, at least.
Charlie of course is Charles P. Pierce who writes occasional pieces for Esquire Magazine (I’m familiar with about one a week, but there may be more.) This week’s piece is particularly interesting (well, last week’s too). It begins with Patrick Henry’s of Give me Liberty or Death. “I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!” (a quotation attributed to Patrick Henry from a speech he made to the Second Virginia Convention on March 23, 1775, in Richmond, Virginia.) It was at the very least a call to arms against the armies of the King. Something had to be done and right away.
Charlie then juxtaposes Henry’s words and action in 1775 with Barack Obama’s speech on Day 3 of the Democratic Convention. Once again our Constitutional government as Obama makes clear was teetering on the brink, perhaps more seriously than ever before, and now, right now in the words of President Obama something had to be done. There followed a “something”on Day 4, the last day of the Democratic Convention. This was Joe Biden’s acceptance speech that in its essence might be considered a translation of Henry’s “give me liberty or give me death.” Then the tyrant was the English King, George III, now the would be tyrant is Donald Trump.
There are things that go right by. We don’t record them if we see them, which we most often do not.. But in too many instances the things that go right by are close to what I am. to what we are, to what you are. Does that mean we’re leaving parts of us behind all the time? Well yes, everybody is.
What do I do about them now, the parts destined to be left behind? Some of them, a tiny number of them given the huge numbers of them, I collect them, small part of me that I hold onto, and I’ve always done that. These parts of me are of course my lived experiences. The major difference between now and earlier times in my life is that we have gone digital. That at once allows me to collect many more of the things that do go by, in my case ideas and images, articles and recordings, many more than I ever could in my hard copy life of long ago.
But of course I collect very few of those that are there, of the books published hardly any as evidenced by the few recently published books now on my shelves . If there were not so much happening all the time about us wouldn’t we constantly be trying to write our own histories of at least the wee little bit that we know best.
But for the most part we cannot do that. There is just too much happening, and the little we’re aware of ourselves is still too much. Yes, life is far too overwhelming. What do we do?
Some of us will readily abandon any attempt to make order of what amounts to chaos and simply drop out. Others, more courageous perhaps, will still try to stay on top of what is happening, knowing all the time that they can’t.
How about what’s happening just today? What if I were off the top of my head, to list just a first few of the things that are happening to us and about us?
* There are the tragic movements of peoples, some 70 million of those who have abandoned their own homes to go where, wherever there is a road or way, meaning where there is an opening for themselves. Of these there are fewer and fewer who succeed in reaching their destinations as we erect walls and other obstacles in their paths. We find them today in their millions in temporary/permanent refugee camps.
* There is the devastation of our planet earth, a devastation among other things amounting to extinctions of millions of plant and animal species, (why? well often to enable a relatively few of us, along with one president, to go on stuffing ourselves “à volonté” with burgers and cokes and our cars with gasoline).
* There are the schools that were meant to occupy the children while setting the parents free. But while setting the parents free the schools did little to free the children themselves to become what they were meant to be, such being the real end of all education. As if this could be accomplished over some 12 years of listening to a teacher in a classroom. Yes, the public schools while they did free the parents made it that the majority of the children, following their for the most part asted years in school, had to begin again, in most cases ironically having to go back to school in order this time around to learn something useful.
* Thee are the principal ways of amusing ourselves, our own bread and circuses, at best these being our school and professional athletic competitions, and perhaps at worst and much more prevalent, these being the sex and violence laden products of the film and television industries, really now the same thing.
* And today of course there is our little black death or Covid-19 pandemic that is currently dropping us, homo sapiens, much like we drop the musca domestica or fly, both without rhyme or reason.
And my list could go and on. And I haven’t even mentioned what would be for me the most important item on my list, the rise of authoritarian and fascistic movements throughout the nations of the world, that which is threatening to destroy, (yes, even in America if our president were to have his way) the West’s greatest achievement up until now, liberal democracy.
Each of these subject areas or stories that I mention in the previous post could be told by our own historians in hundreds, thousands of different ways, while always leaving much more still to be said. For as I would say the information available to us today online may be infinite and the historians among us who would describe what is happening would have to at least consider the infinite quantity of material available to them, without ever being able to take into account more than a tiny fraction of what’s our there. So what does the historian do? They write their own histories, and they compete with the hundreds of others writing no less their own histories often of the same controversy or war time battle for the reader’s attention.
Imagine now the existence of thousands of world voyagers much like Herodotus, writing about what they are observing in their travels. You don’t have to imagine it for it is happening right now. Why the New York Times and so many of the other Fake News publications do this every day. They have amazing writers and reporters that go out there into the world, much like Herodotus, to come back and tell us what they’ve seen. And I never tire of reading them, for reading them there is always more to learn about the world, more I did not know.
Imagine a thousand or more individuals with the intelligence and sensitivity of Thucydides looking closely at our own wars, giving us full descriptions of what happened, and more important what was going on underneath the surface disagreements and battles. Herodotus and Thucydides where are you now? Well you may very well be here with us but in multiple copies, and that’s good.
And I haven’t even mentioned Homer. But I’m sure he’s here too, somewhere. When you have thousands of us looking about us and writing about what we see it’s inevitable that there will be some of them who will have as much to tell us about our world, more actually, than the ancients, when there were only a very few, writing, about their own compared to ours, tiny world. Because today’s historians, and perhaps poets also, will have read the ancients and incorporated the ancient wisdom into their own works. Or something like that… I often think that we live in the best of times, assuming that we will have a decent guy as our president in January of 2021.
Now in the era of Donald Trump and Covid-19 life does also seem to be impossible, almost as if time were standing still. And in particular all the Trump twitter about restoring the past, making America great again, moving full speed ahead as Trump likes to say, if that were ever to happen, that would be the height of standing still, no movement at all. Trump doesn’t understand that In this country it’s never been about going back, always about lessening present inequalities, shoring up present inadequacies, addressing if not correcting some of the country’s flaws and deficiencies and only then moving incrementally on.
In Hong Kong life seems to be at a stand still, where it’s been, it seems, forever. The neighboring Chinese authorities do from time to time get anxious about all this freedom so close to their imprisoned millions and decide within the freedom of their own freedom what to do about the freedom of others, usually taking it away.
But there’s nothing new here, is there? In Hong Kong Life Has Always Been Impossible and now with the coming of Donald Trump and his lying, servile minions (aka Republican Senators) life here also is becoming no less impossible.
“Take care tonight/ Things might not look like this tomorrow.”
Last year, in July, a month after the protests over an extradition bill began in Hong Kong, I renewed the lease on my flat. For the first time since I turned 18, I would be living in the same apartment for more than two years. It felt like an accomplishment, like I was a real adult.
My place is almost 300 square feet, and it has a view of trees and steps, which is such an improvement from my last flat that sometimes just looking out the window makes me emotional. I ordered a cheap Ikea carpet and put up old posters. I started buying vinyl records and physical books again. I could be here for a while. It began to feel like home.
There are so many reasons Hong Kong is not a particularly habitable city, so many reasons you might want to leave, even without the Chinese Communist Party threatening to throw dissidents in jail.
Windowless apartments, subdivided flats, bunk beds. If you have children, your choice is either to send them to local schools, where they face an unforgiving education system, or international schools, which can cost as much as $13,000 a year. The high rents or archaic land regulations and bureaucracy can force out anyone trying to run an independent space for music, art and expression. Rates of depression have recently reached a 10-year high, but quality mental health care is too expensive for ordinary people.
I am 27 now, and when I was younger, I desperately wanted to leave Hong Kong. I grew up in a neighborhood that, at the time, felt like a cultural backwater. There were no bookstores, no art, no record shops. I attended a conservative Christian school and never really fit in. I went to concerts alone. I wrote fan fiction and spent all my time on Tumblr.
I thought I wanted to go to school in London or New York, where I’d finally find “my people.” The longest I’ve ever managed to be away from the city was four months, for an exchange semester in Scotland. I never really ended up going anywhere.
But that was OK, because eventually I did find my people. I met community activists and other young creative types who showed me an alternative way of living in Hong Kong. I became a regular at the cha chaan tengdiners in my neighborhood, where I’d be given a second bowl of soup at dinner once the staff found out that I didn’t live with my family. There were local musicians whose shows I’d never miss. In university, I began going to protests.
The poet Maggie Smith writes, “Any decent realtor,/ walking you through a real shithole,/ chirps on/ about good bones: This place could be beautiful,/ right? You could make this place beautiful.”
There is an annual march on July 1, the anniversary of the British “handover” of Hong Kong to the Chinese, and soon I took it for granted that about this time every year, I would be marching through the streets in the sticky heat. I belonged, and I was proud to be here and not anywhere else. Hong Kong was still unforgiving, but we could expand the space for what is possible here.
This year, on the evening of June 30, the condolences started coming in. Earlier that day, China had passed the new national security law, which took effect within hours. The sky had cracked with a coral sunset that seeped into the horizon like a warning.
Friends living abroad sent me texts: I’m so sorry, hope you’re OK, thinking of you. Restaurants started peeling protest stickers off their glass windows. Some writers I know have been trying to scrub their work from the internet and deleting their chat records. The law is broad and gives China new ways to punish protesters and silence dissent.
Former classmates are discussing immigration plans or getting married, so that if they need to, they can flee with their partners. Others are figuring out how to renew their British National Overseas passports, the documents issued to Hong Kongers born before 1997, which could allow them to stay in Britain for five years.
Before the new law made the chant “Liberate Hong Kong, revolution of our times” possibly illegal, my favorite place to hear it was at tiny music clubs, “livehouses” that stink of beer and sweat at the end of the night. After the encores, the last guitar note still reverberating, someone would yell the first half of the slogan, and others would answer in unison. At the end of December, I celebrated New Year’s Eve at a small pro-protest cafe where a friend played the unofficial protest anthem, “Glory to Hong Kong,” and everyone sang along.
After six months of street protests and police violence, we were all exhausted, but it still felt like we were on the cusp of change.
I was 10 when the Hong Kong government tried to introduce a national security law in 2003, and it was quickly withdrawn after half a million people took to the streets in protest. That proposal was a sword that hung over us for nearly two decades, a threat to what Hong Kongers hold most dear — a culture of protest, the rule of law, freedom. We’ve been fighting for “freedom,” that abstract concept, for so long, with no idea of what losing it would look like. It was delivered with devastating speed — the whole process took less than two months — in the form of a 66-article piece of legislation that we had no say in. Hong Kongers, academics and overseas commentators say this is the endgame, that after this law, Hong Kong will be “dead.”
But I don’t really know what that means. Seven and a half million people still live here. On July 1, some protesters unfurled a banner with an obscenely worded message professing love for Hong Kong, and soon that phrase became a hashtag. The subtext is that we might not have a place to love anymore. I have a law degree, and I am a former reporter, so I am conditioned to have an almost religious belief that legal processes are fair, that the annual protests penciled into the calendar are allowed to take place. That version of Hong Kong is now a relic.
But not everything has disappeared. The bookshop near my flat posted a message on social media: “Life goes on, resist fear.” A reporter I know tweeted, “I’ll just try my best to pretend this law doesn’t exist, keep calm, and carry on.”
I don’t want to downplay how terrifying the national security law is. People were arrested under that law on the first day, some of them just for carrying a flag bearing suddenly “outlawed” slogans. Courts can deny bail and hold secret trials. No one knows how to navigate this new reality.
Yet people are already coming up with cheeky, humorous ways of circumventing the new rules, resisting the temptation to be too obedient and give in to the chilling effect. We will continue to find defiance in unexpected places.
Over the past week, I have read report after report about how there would be an exodus of Hong Kongers from the city after the law was passed. But leaving is not an option for the young people who don’t already have British or B.N.O. passports or whose families don’t have the means to send them abroad to study.
Ahkok Wong, a musician-social activist I know, actually moved back to Hong Kong recently, telling me, “I think it’s an important time to be here.” Life in Hong Kong has always been about demanding the impossible, trying to make seeds blossom in cement, he says.
After the law went into effect on July 1, I tried to write. But what I wanted was to walk around the city, and then go to the seaside where the breeze reeks of salt and summer, where couples make out and uncles jog near the pallets unloaded from cargo ships at the Western District pier. To see the city through the eyes of someone who’s just moved here and think, “I want to stay here forever.”
I used to see leaving as abandonment, but the cost of staying could now potentially be life imprisonment. When Nathan Law announced that he had left the city, I thought about the last time I saw him, a month ago, canvassing for an upcoming election at Hill Road. I wish I had stayed longer to thank him for trying to make this city more habitable. Four years ago, when elections still seemed to matter, I had voted for him, to make him the youngest legislator ever elected in Hong Kong, before he was disqualified. There will be new forms of resistance, here or elsewhere, and I know he will be a part of them.
I remember the night before July 1, it seemed like all my friends were posting the same song on social media, a cover by the Hong Kong band My Little Airport. It goes, “Take care tonight/ Things might not look like this tomorrow.” In between the verses, there is an archival recording of Chris Patten, the last British governor of Hong Kong, saying, “Now Hong Kong people are to run Hong Kong, that is the promise and that is the unshakable destiny.”
That promise has been broken, but this is not the end. We will continue to make a home out of an imperfect place. To wipe down the mold, repaint the walls. One day we could be forcibly evicted, or this could all burn to the ground. But for now, we’re still here. Maybe we can still try to make this place beautiful.
There are things that go right for me, things that could have gone right for me. There were things that were somehow meant to be. But I have almost never stopped for them. And if it does happen that I do stop I leave behind almost no record of them, of my experience with them. These things were for the most part beginnings, things I did start but never finished. And in fact my life is made up much more of beginnings than of ends
We begin things in life, oh don’t we, oh how much the things we begin do we ever bring to a satisfactory end? At the moment I can’t think of even one, not a great time for me is it, for where I am today is old age.
In far too many cases too many things pass me by, I don’t stop for them, but mostly they don’t stop for me. These things, as I now realize represent, all the things I might have been. For we are not, most of us at all what we could of been, are we?
What then does that make us? Frustrated, dissatisfied not to have gone down our bucket list and finished. This frustration and dissatisfaction, especially in times of state and national elections, leads us on looking for someone who will promise us a greatness we have never known for ourselves. We haven’t lost that dream, to make something of ourselves, and alone that is why we admire so much those who unlike us do start and finish things. I think of all those mathematicians, musicians, athletes, artists, scientists… and the few of them I have known. And by the nature of things there can never be more than a few of them at the top .
Now this fact alone, that there are only a few at the top, lays bare the underlying inequalities among us and is probably more to be blamed that racism, bigotry, authoritarianism, etc. for the inequalities that we observe among us. Whereas we are learning painfully what to do about racism and authoritarianism we really have no idea what to do about the gifts and talents that are so poorly distributed among us, separating the few inexorably from the many.
But reading over what I’ve just written, while correcting the typos, or better in my case, les fautes de frappe because of my age, I think about what I wanted to write about in my 88th year. For that’s more or less the real subject of my blog. I do have a blog which I call My Journal, but as things go, as you start things, much as I started My Journal, you very quickly find yourself paying little or no attention to your first idea for writing and you end up writing another blog much the same as my earlier Quatrevingtans.
So back to where I was going with this blog before I started writing. What I find hardest to live with at my age of 88 are not my considerably diminished powers of seeing, hearing, and tasting, perhaps less, feeling and touching (what have I left out? well smelling, which was never a big part of my life anyway). I find hardest to live with the fact that when my life is over (it’s over already in respect to the people who measure this kind of thing) and I don’t remember the name of these people, as I don’t remember the names of the flowering plants in our front yard here in Tampa, Florida. So another power I’m losing, the memory of proper names. If you don’t think this is a serious handicap try living without being able while speaking to recall this or that proper name on which your entire story or argument is probably based.
Also, there is (and this is what I really wanted to write about, but now I ‘ll have to put it off to the next time) the fact that when my life has ended there will be almost nothing that remains of me. Certainly no more beginnings, although I am still learning a few words of Arabic from my wife, as well as learning by heart the “Bénissez nous seigneur, bénissez ce repas,,” that we say at table in admiration of the Catholic family members giving thanks at the table in Blue Bloods.
I’m not just talking about the thousands of books, papers, those things all of which made up during my now long life a good part of me, perhaps the best part.
From where I’m sitting at my desk in front of my recently purchased Apple 27 inch display I look across at some of my book shelves (there are shelves of books, and there always have been in all of our rooms and all of our houses and apartments over the years, and from here I see my math library, from here most of what I see are my many versions of the calculus because there really was a time when I really wanted to learn the calculus and didn’t hesitate to buy one edition after the other, beginning of course with For Dummies.
Now my blog is not at all commercial. On the contrary it has no purpose beyond my own personal wishes and dreams. But there may be a reader out there who might want to purchase my math library, or my Russian library, or my biological sciences, in particular evolution library? Many excellent books in all three collections. And there are other collections too, corresponding to moments, to years in my life, The Greek years, the Great Books years, the Italian and Spanish, and German years…
But there were three very special moments in my learning years, not moments in school but personal times when I sensed almost from first encountering them their special importance, and not just to me. These encounters, with the calculus, the Russian language, and evolution, were made probably too late for me to obtain a kind of fluency in any one of the three, without which they will or have already died.
And now in my life the three of them are hanging by threads close to disappearing even before I do myself. You might be saying, why just these three? No good answer to your question. Calculus is important, as is evolution, as are foreign languages, but so are any number of other subject matters. But a good part of my own life has been taken up by these three, at least in respect to time spent and purchases made…
The better worlds once imagined have never been realized, whether it be those of 18th. century France, 19th century Russia, or 20th century United States. But still the consensus today is that things are getting better. If nothing else in proof of this there is Bill Gates’ favorite book, Enlightenment Now, or The Case for Reason, Science, Humanism, and Progress by Steven Pinker.
But there is also the fact, not in favor of this conclusion, that we have an ignorant, lying buffoon as president of the United States. Things are getting better? Well maybe after November 3rd of this year when the president is ejected by the people.
However, we, that is humanity, has clearly progressed, Pinker is right. But not just because there are more of us, more Homo Sapiens, on the earth than ever before. Rather because we understand better our own role on this earth which is two fold, to protect the earth, and to protect yes ourselves, but more important those most in need of our help. One might even say that man’s principal role on the earth. is not just to feed himself, but to feed the hungry (wasn’t this what Jesus Christ tried to tell us, his message being now mostly lost in the machinations and prevarications of the millions of Evangelicals and their ilk). And if we have made progress it’s because, in spite of the Evangelicals, more and more of us realize that’s why we’re here.
We are called the exceptional nation. What does that mean? Maybe something like this? To what other nation on earth have those most in need, those who still want a better life, run in such numbers? The so-called successes of other nations have always been counted in terms of great men and women. While that too our successes have always been counted by the numbers of people who have come here looking for a better life. That’s why it”s us, first among the world’s nations, who have been labeled the nation of immigrants.
Now wouldn’t you think that this being our greatness we would seek to preserve it? But no, today, and on any number of past occasions, our government authorities would by a wall yes, “Build that Wall!” but much more often and more insidious by administrative actions, by rule after rule, until finally the refugee has had enough of our land and turns about and goes back. “Home”? that which was no more when he left, weeks, months and years before. And the rational for the actions of our immigration officers in every case if always the same, that immigrants, the refugees, of whom we are told that there are 70 million of them today, will by coming here take our wealth, our jobs, and destroy us a nation. Whereas the immigrants themselves have shown us over and over again they bring with them new wealth, new jobs and most of all a new ability to build where there was nothing before.
If you want to understand what I mean by a wall of rules read Rachel Morris’ article (really the modern history of immigration to our country) in the Huffington Post of July 18th. It’s a long article, and will take some time to read, but more than worth it. Here below from the article are her final words:
Back in 1924, Johnson-Reed’s (who would bring to an end the Jewish flight to our country from Hitler’s Germany) supporters never anticipated the Holocaust, and yet they expanded its horrors. We don’t know where our own future is headed, but we live in a time of metastasizing instability. Last year, the United Nations’ official tally of refugees passed 70 million, the highest since World War II. Mass migrations, whether because of violence or inequality or environmental calamity or some murky blend of factors that don’t conveniently fit existing laws, are the reality and challenge of our era. There aren’t any easy solutions. But already, what started as a series of small, obscure administrative changes is resulting in unthinkable cruelty. If left to continue, it will, in every sense, redefine what it means to be American.
There are a couple (probably many more) expressions emerging from the Coronavirus pandemic presently spiking in most states of the United States that I greatly appreciate, these two being, one, social distancing and two, herd immunity. I’ve probably never used either expression up until now but I’m sure I will in the future. They so well summarize two well entrenched, if not until now well recognized, characteristics of our lives.
For example, we’ve always avoided for whatever reason close contact with others, usually those a bit different from ourselves, that being a kind of social distancing (before Dr. Fauci), and we’re constantly benefiting from the other, that being herd immunity, or being somehow protected by the numbers of others about us who are immune to this or that bug or disease. In important respects social distancing and herd immunity are in some respects opposite solutions to successfully combatting the virus.
Based on the U.S. response since February, we’re still likely to see the virus spread to the point of becoming endemic. That would mean it is with us indefinitely, and the current pandemic would end when we reach levels of “herd immunity.”
This being traditionally defined as the threshold at which enough people in a group have immune protection so the virus can no longer cause huge spikes in disease.
But a coronavirus vaccine is still far off, and last month, Anthony Fauci, th head of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, said that, because of a “general anti-science, anti-authority, anti-vaccine feeling,” the U.S. is “unlikely” to achieve herd immunity even after a vaccine is available.
The concept of herd immunity comes from vaccination policy, in which it’s used to calculate the number of people who need to be vaccinated in order to ensure the safety of the population.
All well and good. Cool terms social distancing and herd immunity. In the few words that follow I’m not able to restrain myself.
When Anthony Fauci said “because of a “general anti-science, anti-authority, anti-vaccine feeling,” the U.S. is unlikely…” What he really meant, or means is because of Donald Trump, who doesn’t read, doesn’t know the history of our country, let alone the world, doesn’t respect the discoveries of modern science, who is someone who listens only to himself, and who is still for another four months or so, alas! our president.
Of what are perhaps our two most important allies in the war against the virus, distancing and herd immunity, Trump has done nothing to make them more effective. Has even sought to undo them. Almost from the beginning when both Covid-19 infections and deaths were growing at exponential rates Trump pushed constantly to get people back to work and back to school, that is undo social distancing, almost as if the virus wasn’t there. And of course the numbers of new infections spiked.
And when achieving herd immunity depends of testing everybody and making the appropriate measurements Trump did nothing on the Federal level, to bring this about, where joint efforts might have had a chance to succeed. And what was he doing, playing golf. With the result that we now see.
Charles Sykes (at the Bulwark) spoke of “a revelation” that he has experienced, courtesy of Trump. “The heart of politics is not about the policy,” he told me. “It’s about the values. I can disagree with you on eight out of 10 issues, but if you’re an honorable, honest, empathetic human being, we can do business.” Trump is none of those things. Joe Biden is most or all of them — and will get Sykes’s vote in November.
But real conversation happily is still possible among us, that which Donald Trump is not capable of. I take the following example of a real conversation from Dostoevsky’s The Possessed. You might say, in the manner of Charles Sykes, that if you are an honorable, honest, empathetic human being, you can have a real conversation. Our President can’t. And for four years I’ve missed it, our country’s president as a man talking with men. He’s not a man, and there are no men about him, only sycophants pulling his strings and leading him on.
Varvara Petrovna: Listen, Stepan Trofimovitch, of course I’m ignorant compared with you on all learned subjects, but as I was travelling here I thought a great deal about you. I’ve come to one conclusion.”
Stepan Trofimovitch: “What conclusion?”
VP: ”That you and I are not the wisest people in the world, but that there are people wiser than we are.”
SP: “Witty and apt. If there are people wiser than we are, then there are people more right than we are, and we may be mistaken, you mean? Mais, ma bonne amie, granted that I may make a mistake, yet have I not the common, human, eternal, supreme right of freedom of conscience? I have the right not to be bigoted or superstitious if I don’t wish to, and for that I shall naturally be hated by certain persons to the end of time. Et puis, comme on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison, and as I thoroughly agree with that…”
VP:“What, what did you say?”
SP: I said, on trouve toujours plus de moines que de raison, and as I thoroughly…”
VP: “I’m sure that’s not your saying. You must have taken it from somewhere.”
SP” “It was Pascal said that.”
VP: “Just as I thought…it’s not your own. Why don’t you ever say anything like that yourself, so shortly and to the point, instead of dragging things out to such a length?