Donald Trump. (photo: Mark Seliger)
A
Mother Confronts the Wounded Ego of the Century
By Frida Berrigan,
TomDispatch
13 April 16
There
had never been a “concession” statement like it. It was short, to the
point, and in addition to the usual accusations of “lyin’” leveled at Ted Cruz,
compared his victorious measures to the ruse the Greeks used to destroy Troy,
accused him of outright illegal acts, as well as election thievery, and claimed
that even the label “puppet” was too kind by half. Here’s how that 157-word
release began -- and I know at this point you won’t be shocked to learn that
I’m quoting from the statement the Trump campaign put out after The Donald was
stomped in Wisconsin: “Donald J. Trump withstood the onslaught of the
establishment yet again. Lyin' Ted Cruz had the Governor of Wisconsin, many
conservative talk radio show hosts, and the entire party apparatus behind him.
Not only was he propelled by the anti-Trump Super PAC's spending countless
millions of dollars on false advertising against Mr. Trump, but he was
coordinating with his own Super PACs (which is illegal) who totally control
him. Ted Cruz is worse than a puppet -- he is a Trojan horse, being used by the
party bosses attempting to steal the nomination from Mr. Trump.”
Admittedly,
the full statement lacked
words like “vampire,” “pimp,” and “zombie,” but in its relative restraint the
Trump campaign was undoubtedly reserving its fire for any election losses still
to come on the road to the Big Smash-Up (that used to be called “the Republican
convention”). It’s also true that, despite the expectations of New
Yorker satirist Andy Borowitz, Trump has not yet filed a suit against
the state of Wisconsin and its voters for his loss there. But if you
think we can make it through this “election” season without
recourse to the experts (and by that I naturally mean expert satirists, humorists, and cartoonists), then you
truly are a -- in the Trumpian tradition of insult -- mad person or, actually,
a zombie! Not having a satirist, cartoonist, or humorist in sight,TomDispatch
has gone in another direction today in trying to grasp the essence of what
we’re watching and make a little sense of it. Thanks to TomDispatch regular Frida Berrigan, it’s turning to a
different set of experts who know something special about the boundaries of the
All-Absorbing Self and others: children. So sit back in that swing, give
yourself a push, and listen up.
-Tom
Engelhardt, TomDispatch
Make
Trump Great Again!
Taking The Donald to Toddler Town
Taking The Donald to Toddler Town
So
far, I’ve dealt with Donald Trump’s bid for the White House as performance art:
a clever, full-body, self-marketing scheme in the fashion of actor Joaquin
Phoenix restyling himself as a hip hop artist to promote his mockumentary I’m Still Here. You
remember that odd media moment from a few years back, right? When the handsome
star of the Johnny Cash biopic Walk The Line grew
a huge beard and rapped incoherently on David Letterman? I can’t be the only
one, can I?
So I
keep waiting for the Trump-presidential-run punch line. I mean, what is
his endless campaign that’s conquered America’s and even the world’s attention
24/7 really selling: the new Trumptopian private community on the Moon (or
in Burma)?
Still,
after all these months -- can it truly be nearly a year and not
an eon or two? -- I guess I finally have to accept that he’s really running
for president and I have to figure out how to explain Donald
Trump to my kids. At nine, three, and two, they may be the only
Americans left who aren’t in the know when it comes to The Donald -- and,
believe me, I have no illusions. This is going to be tough! After all, he makes
me scream at the screen, which leads my kids to wonder not about him but about
their mom. It goes without saying (which is undoubtedly why I’m saying it) that
he’s the antithesis of everything I believe in. Why are you not surprised by
this? I’m way left of Bernie Sanders. I don’t usually admit it in public, but
I’m probably going to vote for Green Party presidential candidate Jill
Stein. She talks about deep system change and a human-centered
economy, and that’s the kind of talk I like.
Please
note that, in good Mom fashion, so far I’ve used only “I statements” and I’m
always polite (when not screaming at that screen). Come to think of it, I
pretty much only argue about politics with other people who read the New
York Times with a highlighter in one hand, their indignation in
reserve, and a pad of paper ready to make notes for their next rational (yet
withering) letter to the editor that won’t be published.
So,
it's no surprise that Donald Trump pushes all my buttons, even a few I hadn’t
noticed that I had, which is why I’ve tried to relegate him to the National Enquirer end of the
media-political spectrum. But now that the Enquirer is breaking stories of
“political import” in the era of The Donald and he’s even more of a household
name than ever, it’s time to reconcile with reality. It’s time to accept that,
even though (or do I mean because?) he’s racist and sexist, blustering and
entitled, full of lies and blames and hates, he’s a Republican presidential
candidate of consequence. I know, I know -- I’m the last person in the United
States to do this, but bear with me.
And
even if he doesn’t win (please, GOD, yes!), who can deny that this election
says something sad, troubling, and important, if not -- in the Trumpian
tradition -- unbearably self-important, about our country? I imagine a
President Trump and I immediately want to move my whole family to the other
side of his big, fat, future “beautiful” wall on the
border with Mexico.
All of
this means that maybe trying to explain The Donald Phenomenon to my kids is a
lost cause from the start. I’ll just get screechy and irrational and
nine-year-old Rosena will go into preteen mode and roll her eyes, while
three-year-old Seamus will say: "Mom, why are you pullin' on your hair and
cryin'?" As I’m reading about Trump, however -- and like all
Americans these days, to read is to Trump and to view is to Trump, so I’m
totally Trumped -- I’ve been thinking lately that maybe I have the whole thing
upside down. It’s not that I should teach my kids about him, but that my
kids could teach him a thing or two about how to be a good person. They could
make him great again! Maybe what we need to do is take Donald Trump back
to toddler town.
“Mine”
Is a Chilling Word
“Mine,
Madeline! It's mine.” The kids are both pulling on Olaf’s arms. The tiny,
hug-loving snowman from Frozen is stretched between them, and
Seamus is technically correct: Olaf was a Christmas present from his big sister Rosena.
I am, however, trying to teach them the concept of “ours” and sharing and
taking turns as well. If it isn’t something they can share -- like books --
they can at least trade off, so that both Seamus and his younger sister have a
chance to enjoy the object of affection exclusively for a few minutes.
The
objects in our house -- except for the high-tech, expensive, and dangerous ones
(which are MINE) -- belong to all of us and should be used and enjoyed
responsibly by all of us. That’s how we officially operate. My mother, an
activist in her own right, always told my brother, sister, and me that
"mine is a chilling word." Isn't that a great line? I don’t use it a
lot, because the kids get sidetracked by what chilling means.
It’s
no surprise that they are only partway there in moments that really matter like
that dispute over Olaf, but Seamus is savvy enough to recognize that deploying
the word “ours” when Madeline (the house baby at 2) says “mine” is
a good way of getting my attention and some kind of interventionary help
against his little sister. Madeline just learned the word “everybody’s”
as in “This ball is everybody’s.” It’s mighty cute, even if it does sometimes
still stand in for “mine.” And we keep trying.
Trump
obviously stopped trying a long time ago, or was never taught to begin with. He
has a “mine” problem. Maybe it's because he was brought up with a silver knife
in his mouth. Maybe his father told him
“You are a king” and taught him to be a “killer” in childhood, business, and
life. Who knows? His father is the “Old Man Trump,” the grim landlord that folk
troubadour Woody Guthrie wrote and sang about
(after signing a lease for one of his apartments): “I suppose/ Old Man Trump
knows/ Just how much/ Racial hate/ He stirred up/ In the bloodpot of human
hearts.” (In the 1970s, young Donald Trump and his family were compelled to
provide the New York Urban League with a listing of every open apartment in
their vast New York City holdings of 14,000 apartments after being sued
for racial discrimination by
the Justice Department.)
As a
kid, Trump was sent off to military school, which he
memorably claimed was harder than real military service. In assessing himself
in the best possible light (something he’s never stopped doing quite publicly
in these last months, giving the world a unique lesson in self-love), he told
biographer Michael D’Antonio with pride (I think), “When I look at myself in
the first grade and I look at myself now, I’m basically the same.”
In a
way, don’t you think that sums up the problem on hand? America First! Make
America Great Again! Me! Mine! Build the Wall! Keep Out the Muslims! Aren’t
these the grown-up equivalent of first-grade slogans and sentiments? Maybe
Trump never got to be a real toddler and so did not grow into a real man (no
matter what he thinks of his “hands”).
After
all, real toddlers play. If their parents aren’t helicoptering in too much,
they run headlong into the world with joyous abandon. And every scrape and bump
teaches them a lesson not just about their capabilities, but about their
limitations, all our limitations. They’re always reaching, always trying,
always pushing themselves forward. From this play and the interactions and
striving that comes with it they learn about natural consequences, including
such simple lessons as be nice to others and they’re likely to be nice to you,
share with others and they’re likely to do the same. Here, for instance, is a
simple lesson of everyday life that doesn’t need to be taught: holding on tight
to a ball is not as much fun as playing catch. (But if you never learn to let
go to begin with...?)
I love
watching my kids on the playground and work hard not to helicopter in or -- the
opposite effect that adds up to more or less the same thing -- disappear into
my phone or the crossword puzzle. And what amazes me is that they’re so
outgoing and ready to connect with anyone who comes along.
“What’s
your name?” Seamus greets each new kid. “Wanna play pirates?” -- or lions, or
wolves, or princesses, depending on his mood. And then he races off,
confident that the other kid is running alongside him, ready to play. Madeline
laughs and climbs to the top of the highest thing she can scale. “No help,
mama. No help. Me do it!!” she calls, proudly, 10 feet off the ground. “Me
big.”
And
it’s true, she is Huge, so much bigger than Trump because she and Seamus don’t
have that overwhelming urge to build walls, or call others names, or demean or
demonize.
Listening
is an Act of Love (Pay Attention, Donald!)
I
almost feel sorry for Trump, given what I know of his upbringing. He pulls on
my heartstrings a little, because a man so programmed to grab for every
headline and steal every show and say whatever he can to keep the hot lights of
the media on him undoubtedly wasn't listened to as a kid.
Listening
is an act of love; that's what I tell my own kids (even though the steely-saucy
New Yorker still buried in this 42-year-old mother of toddlers rolls her eyes
big time every time I say it). If listening is an act of love,
then it’s a good bet that long ago Donald Trump lost out big time.
Our
children’s librarian told me that it takes a toddler five seconds to hear,
absorb, and respond to a question or direction you give them. Five seconds is a
long time in toddler town. In those seconds, I try to imagine my words working
their way through a labyrinth of puzzles and curiosities as they hone in on the
mental heartlands of my children. But here’s the question I ask myself: Why do
I think of Trump while waiting for my “wash your hands” directive to radio down
to my child’s brain? Why do I feel terrible for him? Maybe because the volume
and pitch of his bombast exists in direct correlation to some ancient childhood
feeling of wanting to be heard by those giants looming over him and not knowing
how to make that happen.
We
Have Nothing to Fear But…
Kids
are scared of all sorts of things. Seamus and Madeline are afraid of the dark,
of monsters, of superheroes gone bad, and -- most of all -- of kale salad.
(Their big sister Rosena harbors this particular dread, too.) Their fears are,
of course, largely imaginary (kale salad aside). So try explaining the very
real terror pressing at the heart of the Republican Party establishment now
that their punishing no-government-is-good-government credo (except when it
comes to our giant military and the most oppressive powers of the national
security state, those giant tax breaks for the rich, and those giant prisons
for the poor, black, and brown) has taken root in the ultimate anti-candidate,
the bad boy with the world's most talked about hairdo (the blonde bouffant with
its own Twitter handle -- "I'm on top of
the man who is on top of the world. Follow me, people").
Trump’s
loss in Wisconsin may be good news for Republicans terrified of him and his
family moving into the White House. In a recent poll, a third of
Wisconsin Republicans said that they were scared of what Trump would do as
president. (Many of them assumedly voted for Ted Cruz, a man so preternaturally
scary that even the King of Scary -- Stephen King -- is
scared of him, and that is scary!)
Fear
is an evolutionary tool embedded in our minds to keep our bodies from doing
dangerous and reckless things. How do toddlers conquer their fears, real and
imaginary? Fear slows down their minds a little, taps into their inner
executive, and helps them do a cost-benefit analysis of the risky behavior
they’re considering. Then they screw up their courage, rush into the dark
room, flip on the light, and grab the cookies, their little hearts beating like
conga drums. The Fear of Trump should serve a similar function for Republicans.
The problem is: Ted Cruz is not a cookie!
Toddlers
have so much to teach Donald Trump as a person and as a presidential candidate,
but deep down I don’t want him to learn such Toddler Town lessons because that
just might make him implosion proof and canny enough to sweep into the
Republican convention, get that nomination, and take the general election.
And
then I would have a motherly problem of the first order: how to explain
President Trump to Rosena, Seamus, and Madeline!
C 2015 Reader Supported News
Donations can be sent
to the Baltimore Nonviolence Center, 325 E. 25th St., Baltimore, MD
21218. Ph: 410-323-1607; Email: mobuszewski [at] verizon.net. Go to http://baltimorenonviolencecenter.blogspot.com/
"The master class
has always declared the wars; the subject class has always fought the battles.
The master class has had all to gain and nothing to lose, while the subject
class has had nothing to gain and everything to lose--especially their
lives." Eugene Victor Debs
No comments:
Post a Comment