Politics is but the whetstone against which a man’s value is honed and polished to an edge, the gleam of which catches the eye of the acolyte, pulling them to him, curious but unquestioning, as a magpie to a shard of broken glass.     (Anon.)

 Partway through a novel set in 1860’s New Zealand and chronicling life in a coastal gold rush town, the author introduces a distinction between ‘frontier justice’ and the more ‘civilized’ version we like to celebrate as common law. The population of the time is a heterogeneous mix of Brits, Asians, indigenous, and all points in between. The value systems reflect an uncomfortable balance between that of the expeditious, opportunistic and the ‘refined’ — happy to take advantage but reserving the right to access ‘due process’. In short, not so very different from life and times 150 years on. 

As the wheels of the contemporary judiciary grind on, invited forth by candidates from all the usual suspects, I was struck this week at the ready willingness of both stripes (Red and Blue, as it were) to at once be smitten by the law’s censure and yet take shelter in its billowing robes. 

Little boy Blue that I am, it continues to be cause for a fist pump, when an $83 million ‘wrist slap’ is issued, and a period is placed at the end of a sentence of years of frustration for E. Jean Caroll, the decision bringing with it some semblance of closure. And then. . . as if it had left an ‘i’ undotted, said judiciary tacked on a $350 million sequel, penalty for a bit (well, quite a bit) of book-doctoring. 

Elation fades as court rulings shift from a candidate barred for his part in presumed acts of insurrection . . . to these self-same arguments read as an affront to democracy, disenfranchising the electorate to their right to root for whomever they please — however, weird that choice might be. It’s hard to keep up! And so January 6, 2021 fades to 2022, 2023, now 2024. The nuances of what the founding fathers ‘meant’ when they framed the Constitution or the wisdom of an 1868 amendment when it added its margin notes (‘no person. . .’), continue to be debated. And the skirts continue to enfold — as the court motions pile up and the delays (due process?) spool out. 

Equally, doing what I do for a living (i.e., pronouncing on cognitive function), it was hard not to be troubled by Special Counsel Robert Hur’s summary description of Joe Biden as ‘an elderly man with a poor memory’ (no personalization here!). This mouthpiece for that same judiciary was now dissing the white hat in the piece. Bit too much gratuitous editorializing on Mr. Hur’s part. Nevertheless, and while I absolutely take issue with his credentialing to essentially ‘diagnose’ Sleepy Joe, his comments did put the political shoe firmly on the other foot — time for the Dems to cry foul.

And so the tennis match continues. Ad-in, ad-out — and back to deuce. Each waiting for the other to stumble — sadly all too common an occurrence with this pair. Then clapping hands, briefly celebrating, before calling Pelosi Haley or crossing up Mexico and Egypt. Just two old dudes polishing that edge (or what’s left of it) and, in the process making the case for mandatory retirement — or at least a nice, full battery of tests as the price of admission to this event

I happened to catch a recent video clip of the GOP front runner doing his now all too familiar thing in preparation for yet another virtual primary acclamation — New Hampshire, if anyone’s still keeping score. And was put in mind of another’s lament:

. . . a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. (Macbeth, V, v)

Seems the ‘poor player’ is still banging on about the ‘mental test’ that he ‘aced’. His stellar result is now cited as further confirmation that his 77 year old intellect continues  superior to that of ‘Sleepy Joe’ (at the advanced age of 81). The current iteration of said ‘reassurance’ notes that SJ couldn’t have gotten past the first three questions (as the queries get progressively harder??); but that the PP (poor player) was happily presented with ‘3,293 times four, divide by 3’, noting that there’s ‘plenty of tough stuff’ — way beyond the apparent ken of SJ (but presumably well within his). 

Allowing that questions 2 and 3 consist of copying a picture of a cube and drawing a clock face displaying ten past eleven, we are indeed in deep water if SJ is unable to clear this bar — but are wildly reassured that the Donald can (clear the bar). The contrived math problem, sadly is purely a figment of DJT’s imagination (Confabulation: the act of producing false memories about events). 

Evidently, it has long since been accepted as read that truth, facts really don’t matter. There is no longer the need to count the lies, reinventions, denials, distortions — they are simply irrelevant. The compulsion to disprove, to catch the prevaricator in his lies has, at least in some very significant segments of the voting public, simply vanished. No necessity to rationalize. It’s all part of ‘the man’. After all, water into wine, healing leprosy, and that trick with the loaves and fishes are all part of the accepted tool kit — and, according to some very committed Trumpsters, DJT is sidling up to a similar status. (‘Chosen by God’ according to a straight-faced Iowan).

Young Julia, the apple of Winston’s eye (yes, I’m still ‘banging on’ about 1984) is described as ‘often ready to accept the official mythology, simply because the difference between truth and falsehood did not seem important. . .’, her summary comment being ‘Who cares? One knows the news is all lies anyway’. (Book II, v). Hmm. 

More currently and with the release of ‘Matrix Resurrections’ (yep, number four and a quarter century after the original), a decidedly older Neo is well, resurrected. . . and is still sorting through the fact and fiction of his planet. Channeling Winston, Keanu Reeves tries to explain the conceit on which the movies are based to the thirteen year old daughter of a friend: 

‘Well there’s this guy who’s in a kind of virtual world. And he finds out that there’s a real world, and he’s really questioning what’s real and what’s not real. And he really wants to know what’s real.’ 

Her response: ‘Why. . ? ‘ and questioned further, ‘No!’ in answer to ‘don’t you care if it’s real?’ Pretty much sums it up! 

And so here we are. Bereft of curiosity, disinterested in critical thinking, bored with research, and, quite literally, accepting of the ‘party line’. Virtual, smirtual . . . all the same — simply ask Julia; or, for that matter any adolescent (or the equivalent!). So just close your eyes, click the heels of those ruby slippers sharply together and repeat after me: ‘There’s no truth like Donald’s’. And there you’ll be . . . right back in Kansas, along with a base of true believers. 

In the spirit of ‘newspeak’, I thought I’d celebrate the semisesquicentennial of the publishing of 1984 by re-reading the book (again for the first time) — another of those dusty greats from the college library bookshelf. As cautionary tales go, it seemed to be a timely moment — poised, as we are (in the collective, North American sense) on the eve of the US primaries; and what looks to be a bit of a septuagenerian gunfight at the less-than-O.K. corral. In short, lots of noise, no real victory for anyone, and very few shots hitting any target of much worth.

George Orwell is back in vogue these days . . .1984 shot up the bestseller charts, and the trail doesn’t just go cold there. Soon joining it at the top were 1984’s old dystopian buddies, Brave New World and It Can’t Happen Here; in the meantime, sales of The Handmaid’s Tale were up 30 percent in 2016. (Yvonne Shiau, Electric Lit, July 26, 2017).

Bear in mine, of course, that the quote hails from the era six short months following the squeaker that saw DJT in the photo finish that was the 2016 elections — and the (presumed) beginning of autocracy in America. Not surprisingly, one might expect a scramble to revisit volumes purporting to describe events similar to those that seemed to be unfolding in a very real world. What better way to push thoughts to the margins of mind . . . than by reading worse case scenarios! The ‘This is an unbelievable turn of events. But it could be worse’ mindset! Just have a look at Lewis, Atwood, Huxley, or Orwell. Now I feel better. Just fiction, just some disenfranchised misanthrope ruminating about stuff that’s more sci-fi than fact, more fantasy than reality. Denial’s a beautiful thing.

Not too far into the drab tale of Winston Smith’s life, Orwell describes his protagonist’s ‘work’ in the Ministry of Truth’s Records Department, one of many charged with the task of rewriting history — to ensure consistency with a ‘version’ that suited a political end:

This process of continuous alteration was applied .  . .to every kind of literature or documentation which might conceivably hold any political or ideological significance. Day by day and almost minute by minute the past was brought up to date. In this way every prediction made by the Party could be shown by documentary evidence to have been correct. Nor was any item of news, or any expression of opinion, which conflicted with the needs of the moment, ever allowed to remain on record. All history was a palimpsest, scraped clean and reinscribed exactly as often as was necessary. (Part I, Ch. 4)

And later, as he explores a pawn shop:

Books, also, were recalled and rewritten again and again, and were invariably reissued without any admission that any alteration had been made. . .The hunting-down and destruction of books had been done with the same thoroughness . . . (that) it was very unlikely that there existed anywhere in Oceania a copy of a book printed earlier than 1960. (Part I, Ch. 8)

Ah, yes!  But what’s that expression: truth is stranger than fiction. Is it just an echo in the room or did I just hear Kellyanne Conway defending Sean Spicer’s inaugural press conference as a citation of ‘alternative facts’. Or perhaps Jan. 6, 2021 having reverted to ‘legitimate political discourse’. Or better:  ‘You know, if you didn’t know the TV footage was a video from January the 6th, you would actually think it was a normal tourist visit.’ Thanks for that, Andrew (Clyde), I’ll get in touch with the Truth Ministry shortly and let them know we have a candidate for Winston’s job. And who needs all those big, empty buildings (libraries, I think they used to be called) when two or three shelves should be lots to house the ‘approved reading material’ left in some states. Hmm — fiction, I wonder? Huxley’s, Atwood’s, or Orwell’s dark and feared (but prescient) guesses at what the events of their respective times might look like . . . if given freer rein?

Particularly unnerving is Sinclair Lewis’ 1935 novel, It Can’t Happen Here. The Wikipedia plot summary pretty much makes the point: 

The novel describes the rise of (insert autocrat of your choice), a demagogue who is elected President of the United States, after fomenting fear and promising drastic economic and social reforms while promoting a return to patriotism and “traditional” values. After his election, _________ takes complete control of the government via self-coup and imposes totalitarian rule with the help of a ruthless paramilitary force. (It Can’t Happen Here, n.d.)

More reality echoes: Maga, self-coup (election denial/fraud), totalitarian rule (‘I’d only be a dictator for day one), paramilitary force (Proud Boys and Oathkeepers). Just another ‘misanthropic’ novelist trading on the rise of fascism (in the run up to WWII). Or. . .

And then along came Rachel Maddow’s Prequel. Subtitled An American Fight Against Fascism, it chronicles the period roughly commencing the mid 1920’s through the McCarthy era. This time it’s not fiction — but an essentially and largely below the radar (or at least not taken seriously) account of how close the US came to a reality that Lewis fictionalized. Maddow tells the tale of a half century of ‘bullet dodging’ (in a near-literal sense) in a most readable and characteristic story-telling fashion. She describes the deep divisions, politically, ideologically, that existed during those fifty odd years — with profoundly unsettling parallels to 2024. 

If not inclined to read the 400 or so pages of her book, I ran across a talk she gave recently (Chicago Humanities Festival) that bridges the factual events (with a minimum of opinion) reported in Prequel with the current state of democracy. An hour or so’s listen is sufficient to understand the ‘why now’ publication of the book. And a timely head’s up as we stare down the barrel of the ‘gun fight’ about to unfold. (Spoiler alert: vote suppression, scapegoating, endorsement of violence, disinformation — the four ‘pillars’ of a wobbly system).