I
have been avidly following the Trump news as I traipse across Europe,
but there hasn’t seemed like any reason to comment. Everything Trump
requires holding two minds: on the one hand, his transgressions are
unprecedented and unacceptable, on the other, nothing changes. These
current allegations are unquestionably beyond the pale—to my reading, it
plainly qualifies as treason. But whatevs. Views differ; next on the
show, we go on another Cletus safari to find out whether farmers in
Kansas believe Joe Biden is guilty. That’s how life has been in the age
of Trump.
Today, though, I spent three or four hours reviewing detailed accounts of the Nazi invasion and occupation of Kraków at the MOCAK museum. In 1939, 25% of the city was Jewish, so it suffered a particular kind of horror. The details were raw and profound to experience—the had a lot of video—but most of us understand the broad contours.
Donald Trump was born in 1946. In order to have any experience of WWII, people need to be a decade older than he is. We are quickly passing out of the living memory of that war, its antecedents, and the mechanisms of fascism. That loss has been tremendous and we see it in the way Republicans now excuse or defend Trump.
They can afford to. It is their luxury to have always had a stable government. They have never had to choose between staying in a walled ghetto—a prison—or fleeing into the countryside with no money or possessions. They’ve never seen government officials walk into the university and round up professors and ship them off to concentration camps. (German official: “You shall be taken to a POW camp where you will be properly informed of your real situation. You will be taken immediately.”)
They’ve never had to worry that a loved one late from a trip to the store has been arrested on the way home. They’ve never had to wait in lines for hours to buy a loaf of bread. And on and on and on.
I don’t mean to equate Trump with the Reich here. Rather, I fear that as we have lost the memory of the horrors of the 20th century, it gives us a sense that nothing really bad will ever happen.
One of the most poignant parts of that installation was right at the start. Contemporaneous accounts described the day before Germany invaded. People went about their regular lives. It was a warm fall night and many were out in restaurants and pubs. They thought the Americans and Brits would save them. Bombs fell at 5am the next morning. (Most of the city was spared as Poland immediately surrendered it.)
I feel like we’re at one of those moments where the dial on our imagination doesn’t go as far as reality may. There’s nothing special about America. We’re not smarter than the Poles or more virtuous or more evolved. Democracies are hard work and they’re remarkably fragile. They require that we put our faith in those with whom we have profound disagreements. They break when we stop.
The Republican Party and its voters stand at a crossroads. If they choose Trump and his corruption, lies, demagoguery, and—especially—willingness to undermine elections to win, we don’t go back to normalcy. The consequences won’t happen as swiftly as war, but they will be irreversible.
Life will go on. No one promised us we’d always have a functional government. Most people don’t. They live their lives and the generations roll forward. But this is one of those moments where we could stop things. I don’t expect we will.
Today, though, I spent three or four hours reviewing detailed accounts of the Nazi invasion and occupation of Kraków at the MOCAK museum. In 1939, 25% of the city was Jewish, so it suffered a particular kind of horror. The details were raw and profound to experience—the had a lot of video—but most of us understand the broad contours.
Donald Trump was born in 1946. In order to have any experience of WWII, people need to be a decade older than he is. We are quickly passing out of the living memory of that war, its antecedents, and the mechanisms of fascism. That loss has been tremendous and we see it in the way Republicans now excuse or defend Trump.
They can afford to. It is their luxury to have always had a stable government. They have never had to choose between staying in a walled ghetto—a prison—or fleeing into the countryside with no money or possessions. They’ve never seen government officials walk into the university and round up professors and ship them off to concentration camps. (German official: “You shall be taken to a POW camp where you will be properly informed of your real situation. You will be taken immediately.”)
They’ve never had to worry that a loved one late from a trip to the store has been arrested on the way home. They’ve never had to wait in lines for hours to buy a loaf of bread. And on and on and on.
I don’t mean to equate Trump with the Reich here. Rather, I fear that as we have lost the memory of the horrors of the 20th century, it gives us a sense that nothing really bad will ever happen.
One of the most poignant parts of that installation was right at the start. Contemporaneous accounts described the day before Germany invaded. People went about their regular lives. It was a warm fall night and many were out in restaurants and pubs. They thought the Americans and Brits would save them. Bombs fell at 5am the next morning. (Most of the city was spared as Poland immediately surrendered it.)
I feel like we’re at one of those moments where the dial on our imagination doesn’t go as far as reality may. There’s nothing special about America. We’re not smarter than the Poles or more virtuous or more evolved. Democracies are hard work and they’re remarkably fragile. They require that we put our faith in those with whom we have profound disagreements. They break when we stop.
The Republican Party and its voters stand at a crossroads. If they choose Trump and his corruption, lies, demagoguery, and—especially—willingness to undermine elections to win, we don’t go back to normalcy. The consequences won’t happen as swiftly as war, but they will be irreversible.
Life will go on. No one promised us we’d always have a functional government. Most people don’t. They live their lives and the generations roll forward. But this is one of those moments where we could stop things. I don’t expect we will.
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