Drifting Too Far From Shore

I feel we are seeing the first stirrings of a call to action from those who would destroy my country. I hope—really hope—I’m wrong. There’s another seemingly inexplicable action by a police officer caught on video. The entire county is outraged. Then those outraged the most justifiably fall into the traditional trap of acting in such a manner that their actions can be equated by bigots as equal to, or greater than, the damage done by the police officer. Riots fall on the shoulders of the just and the unjust. The unjust know exactly what to do. The just stand and cry out for justice.

As the nation “turns its weary” eyes for leadership, there is none, only a trumpet sound for more violence. An event that greater Americans would have used to promote healing is becoming another cudgel in the hands of those who want to divide and anger us more.

I found years ago that apologies at a time like this are hollow. The only means of obtaining understanding derives from actions previously taken. All the “I’m with you” claims in the world cannot take you back to show support when it was needed before now and wasn’t there.

The darkness grows, and I wonder what path I will take when forced to choose. I don’t think I will join the Legions of Hate, although they may well be poised to prevail. I have no good feeling toward them. I have no hate toward them, either. Good people throughout history have succumbed to their darker angels. It won’t stop. They will always be there, but I don't have to choose to join them.

Indeed, if I tried to cross over that historical bridge, the leaders of the victorious party would have a name for me as did the Nazis for those who “came late to the party.” They called them Märzveilchen – "March Violets." They were the ones who joined the NSDAP after the Reichstag elections of March 1933. Generally, the "March Violets" were assumed to join the Party for opportunistic reasons only, and were held in contempt by the Old Fighters, also called Märzgefallene or "March casualties."

Mitch McConnell would see through me in a millisecond.

I hope I will have the courage to fight. It would be easy to sit it out. I’m older than those in the higher-priority groups: the immigrants, minorities, teachers, scientists, same-sexed, and mainline Christians. I do have one characteristic that could help when the assault-rifle folks come. I’m what you might call a “liberal with guns,” and I don’t necessarily fear or respect those who, as Ernest Hemingway described them, get an erection from the feel of holster leather on their thighs. Besides, I’m a better shot than most of them. I profited both from growing up in rural Arkansas and, later, from countless hours of practice with unlimited free ammunition.

If I were religious, therefore, I would pray for the courage to fight. As it stands, I’ll have to talk myself into it. Our president is helping me do just that.

Late at night I feel a little bad that I’ve had a full life when there are so many who haven’t and won't. I feel genuine sorrow for those who will succumb to the purveyors of hate. But then, I didn’t vote for the bastards.