Month: January 2018

What’s To Fear,Trump Or His “Base?”

It’s some years now since I read modern versions of what hell must be like. They replaced burning coals and fiery furnaces with compulsory viewing of day time television. After only seven days confined to sick bay, I can now confirm that terrifying picture of being locked forever in room and forced to watch the daytime tube.

In fairness to other countries, I should add my judgment is based on American television in general and CNN “the most trusted name in news” in particular. I hastily note “most trusted” is their judgment, not mine.

There was a time when I could have believed the claim; a time when I looked to CNN to take me to the far corners of the world to tell me in a balanced voice what was going on. But then came Trump, bellicose Donald the clown, whom CNN believed might prove some light entertainment during a presidential election campaign and then vanish in flash of redneck rhetoric on voting day.

The loudmouthed Trump crisscrossed the United States shouting a never-ending litany of corruption charges against everyone not wearing a Trump button. His early rivals were long-time Republicans and the Party struggled to decide which member it would bless as its presidential standard bearer. They laughed at Trump’s wildness, shuddered over his coarse language and hints of racism – until they were overwhelmed by the rookie slogan slinger.

When the votes were counted in the presidential election Trump trailed in the popular vote by close to three million, but won the all-important Electoral College vote and the presidency. And the Republican establishment, which had tried to keep at arm’s length during the campaign, suddenly became Trump lovers and defenders.

The rest of the USA went into shock and CNN girded its loins to do battle to save democracy, with Wolf Blitzer’s Situation Room front and centre. It was staffed with well-groomed male and female reporters or commentators whose sole duty appeared to be to praise the work of other journalists, especially those revealing another Trump unreality outburst.

It has not gone unnoticed that CNN rarely breaks hard news stories. Instead it brings viewers the latest revelations of miscues, false boasts or just plain blather as reported in The Washington Post, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal or any other news outlet living up to old standards of journalism.

CNN assembled teams and then set out to prove what Trump had reportedly said was “offensive” or “insulting” to all Americans; would be “rejected” by all Americans; and would leave the collective nation bowing its head in shame. And, it would cause the Republican Party untold grief as its established Congressmen and Senators tried to explain away the latest Trump diatribe against third world nations.

As I watched “the most trusted name in news” try to assemble a “sky is falling” scenario, one calm voice drew attention. Jeffrey Toobin – writer for The New Yorker, lawyer, political analyst – was part of Blitzer’s panel but was being interviewed via remote connections. He quietly reminded Wolf that not all Americans will be appalled by Trumps latest scurrilous remarks on poorer world countries. He suggested they remember Trump’s base voters listened to similar or worse comments throughout the presidential campaign, supported him then and still support him now.

Blitzer seemed a little startled by Toobin’s reminder that there are millions of Americans who love Trump’s wild promises, his riches, his life style, his racist comments, his half-assed praise for the KKK, his thinly veiled contempt for non-whites. Toobin said he doesn’t think Trump’s latest derogatory remarks about less than rich nations “will cause him a lot of grief.”

Blitzer wondered out loud “are we blowing this out of proportion?” but only briefly. Being too fascinated to change channels, I continue to watch as Blitzer departs and Erin Burnett enters. Burnett is a beautiful virago with a great voice often ruined by staccato delivery, known to have a sharp mind and tongue and to not take challenge lightly.

She promises to bring me up to date on reaction to the Donald’s latest trumpeting. She doesn’t. Different panel of talking heads, different voices. Same theme, same phrases. Same ever wider publicity for the man who thrives on it and his 35-40 per cent “base” of voters who think the latest critical twist of their slogan from “Make America Great Again” to “make America white again” is a good idea.

And that is more scary than President Trump at his careless, unthinking worst.

Birthday Bust But Friendship Triumph

Well, I didn’t exactly finish the run for my 94th birthday finish line with a blazing burst of speed.I broke the tape stumbling forward with a headache from hell, a nose gushing to shame Niagara, rapid fire sneezing and a cough to rattle the walls of the Berwick Royal Oak Retirement Community.

Well trained by a paramedic son in what to do when contagious head colds strike overnight, I retired from the track, locked the stable door and settled in isolation to battle the unwelcome birthday burden with old world remedies – plus a few recommended by modern non-medics. It took six days and a diet of prescription drugs, endless bowls of chicken soup, cups of Bovril and a steady supply of hot meals to my door to bring the unwelcome bugs under control.

It was not a battle fought alone – although in typical male self-pity, on day one I was whimpering this would be the first personal sickness scrap I had ever fought alone. Over the past 9.4 decades there had always been a mother, wife, lover or close friend to supply the edible and mental nourishment required by the stricken.

My fears, for that is what they were – fears this was going to be a lonely fight – were quickly dispelled. On December 27 my mailbox was filled to overflowing with greetings from old friends and colleagues, many now scattered around the world and busy with their own lives but not too busy to remember me. It was quite a lift to the spirit.

Even greater were the phone calls from other residents in this “retirement community” who had noticed me missing from meals or my regular table in the Café where coffee and a read of morning newspapers has become a familiar routine. They wanted to know if I had everything required, and one most gracious lady politely listed half a dozen items missing from my modest medical kit. “I’ll leave them in bag on your room door,” she said, “with copies of the morning newspapers.” I asked for a bill. “No bill,” she said, “it’s just something we do for each other.”

Male “neighbours” were equally kind and focused on my needs. First words over the phone were “Hear you’re under the weather; how’s your supply of single malt?” Practical like-mind friends with ancient remedies to kill or cure.

And then, the never to be forgotten phone calls from treasured friends fighting their own health battles, but caring enough to make a daily call “just to see if you are okay.” Family and friends touching base to reassure me as I stumble into 2018 and my 95th year that:

“When you walk through a storm,
Hold your head up high
And don’t be afraid of the dark.

“At the end of a storm
There’s a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of a lark
“Walk on through the wind
Walk on through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown

“Walk on, walk on
With hope in your heart
And you’ll never walk alone, you’ll never walk alone.”

Saying THANK YOU MY FRIENDS is quite inadequate even in shouted capitals.