Excerpts from familial emails.
12/11
BEFORE THE ELECTION
Mid-September, “Obama dispatched [Lisa] Monaco, FBI Director James B. Comey and Homeland Security Director Jeh Johnson to make the pitch for a ‘show of solidarity and bipartisan unity’ against Russian interference in the election.” —WashPost, story then scrubbed for particularities and replaced with blander version (about voting machine worry, discounting intelligence agencies’ consensus about Russian subversion of the Clinton campaign).
That plea, to the “Gang of 12” in a fancy shmancy block-em-out room, was a bipartisan public announcement of the truth: Russia—with all the paraphernalia of the authoritarian state, purposed by Putin, thug liar murderer, toward this end—now is operating here to make Trump President of your country.
A foreign government is interfering in our election to make their candidate head of our country.
The truth, and a simple plea from Obama: The American people should know the truth before they vote. You—you Gang of 12—must tell them, must speak out bipartisanly, because that is the only way the truth will be believed. (I’d add: only way the truth will not, maybe, be treated as fake news. Or, worse, as the New York Times treated it: not worth our trouble to let the American people know. Not when we can serenely define Russia’s aim just “voter confusion” and be done with the messy hard truth.)
What happened to the truth?
Mitch McConnell cockblocked it. And furthermore, he made this threat: If Obama himself let out the truth, as unambiguously asserted with unambiguous proof by all American intelligence agencies, McConnell would proceed to call Obama out as a political maneuverer and shame him as using fakery to elect Hillary Clinton.
The threat was perfect. Had Obama said anything beyond what we heard, from public assertions allowable from spy folk, it would have been worse than not speaking the Whole Truth.
Because the Whole Truth would have become fodder for trump believers, and a Conspiracy from the White House to tweet, and new fun for Alex Jones and Hannity . . . and probably upped the vote count from ignorance-loving employed white-boyish hoards . . .
Yeah, I will continue to call them . . . the white-boyish hoards longing to be free . . . from us girls blacks queers trannies untrumpish-poor.
See how not letting the country know, bipartisanly so the country believes, is TRAITOROUS?
As are all Trump’s picks—intending to stop the vote of all who matter (to me, not the white-boyish ilk, who vote for rights instead of to be rich, “I wanna be like Trump”: fuck pity, when they think only of Self, and their Self demands extinguishment, preferably placidly or at least without anguish most public, of all our Selves);
Banish the federal minimum wage, banish social security, banish medicaid, banish health care lesun you can pay in full, banish clean air, banish clean water, banish public schools, banish human rights girls’ rights black rights queer rights trannie rights hell just banish all human forms of non-whiteboyishness BANISH BANISH BANISH
12/12
Vomitous clips of Mitch today, ready to proclaim his hatred of Russkies now that it don’t matter—and his readiness to ahem investigate, long as it’s done in Repub chaired committees, readiness is all, now that his feebleminded puppet is In. Mitch makes hypocrisy look as ugly as it is.
xxx
Touted soiree Into Trump Country: I caught the first moments of Bernie Sanders sitting in his Aftermath chair, Chris Hayes in his Aftermath chair, and after 8 minutes I could bear them no longer.
Bernie Sanders swears that no Trump voter was racist or sexist.
Teevee talker demurs, when he the fuzzball offers the meaning of Political Correctness as something to do with foreign trade. Talker and fuzzball and audience listen politely when a white guy proposes that Trump’s white male supremacist screeds were “to open a dialogue,” and he for one appreciated the opportunity.
xxx
I felt bad, about my namecalling (deserved by 8 minutes, who doesn’t have EIGHT MINUTES of worse-than-self?) of Bernie and Chris. So I went and watched the goddamn thing so I could tell myself NO, they’re not. Because I do think I owe gratitude to Bernie, for the platform, it mattered (to me, I know to others too), and he did work—quietly, out of the lights, some jeers as to where’s He? while he did go at it and at it hard—and Chris? Well he’s Nation conservative: I’ll always admit that. And for any enlargements, of soul or view, I wouldn’t go there, of a lazy eve and out of longing for a human voice. But for the daily stories of politics, he’s been good enuf to make me like him. And fuckit too—I just have a sense he’s not a shit. Sitting there in his glassed off unhearing unseeing unvoiced about the election taking place before his eyes — and he’s consigned to, “ya know, the rest of world” as Rachel the putative Friend called it. Having made sure, I’m sure, that’s where he was. Behind glass as if behind bars: I felt bad.
So I’m sorry I said what I did…
There was a girl, Muslim girl, with a head scarf, Chris talked to her she talked to him. But it took me away for o half-hour o more to how much she looked like Mary Magdalene and Mary, in so many paintings I loved. The scarves round the head—they’re all over Christianity—how can people run and rip, as if only Muslim women in America this day have worn them. Go look at your own altars.
It was the most peculiar sensation of lovely Muslim and Christian women centuries apart from mother selves.
The girl, I must add, was extraordinarily pretty in that way that draws me — life and kindness and sweet, emanating from her Magdalene Muslim face.
There was a real Mary Magdalene Moser in the audience. Would somebody not me just slap the horrible mean creep?
It wasn’t much of a show: them’s kind words.
god help my country and good night.