NRA Board Member Regrets

 

DAVE BUTZ: playing it safe

 

MATT BLUNT: too many long hours at the office

 

KEN BLACKWELL: his bad habit of giving the impression that he’s listening

 

BLAINE WADE: not setting aside more quality Blaine Time

 

SUSAN HOWARD: the day she asked questions first

 

SANDRA FROMAN: that the potential grizzly bear threat never even occurred to her

 

TOM KING: missing the chance to use his Storm the White House! rally sign

 

DWIGHT VAN HORN: his confusion about whether or not the 2nd Amendment people still need to stop the judge appointments

 

JAMES PORTER II: never fully appreciating the panic sales

 

KARL MALONE: the celebrity endorsements

 

CRAIG MORGAN: that country music isn’t about the lobbyin’ anymore

 

BART SKELTON: the low ratings on his Old West fantasy simulation

 

ESTHER SCHNEIDER: that in today’s society we engage in unhealthy social media arguments over politics instead of settling our differences face-to-face while holding automatic firearms

 

REP. DAN BOREN: the ceaseless howling wind that imparts to him a single message: Leave this place

 

SEN. LARRY CRAIG: the dry firing

 

TOM SELLECK: the inappropriate jokes Senator Craig always whispers into his ear that have something to do with case lube

 

RICHARD CHILDRESS: realizing too late that he prefers the silencers when they’re illicit

 

PETE BROWNELL: that liberal elites can’t understand the struggles of average heartland Americans like him whose corporation functions with others in a multi-pronged structure as a tax-exempt lobbying firm, a campaign operative and a pro-bono legal team

 

ALLEN WEST: his lack of inclusion when sharing online ideas about which citizens he’d like to exterminate

 

RONNIE BARRETT: all the zones left dismally gun-free

 

SCOTT BACH: all the grieving family members he never had the chance to comfort with the suggestion that the mass shooting was fake

 

MARION HAMMER: that our post-apocalyptic wasteland doesn’t look as tremendous as it did in her dreams

 

REP. BOB BARR: the antichrist tyrants he never realized he loved

 

ALLAN CORS: sinking more money than any other outside group into the GOP presidential campaign and still the white supremacists get all the glory

 

GROVER NORQUIST: the split second when he wondered what might happen if emboldened paramilitary groups were hitched together with the unchecked power of the federal executive branch

 

JOE ALLBAUGH: the new ambiguity of armed resistance to the government

 

CAROL BAMBERY: the creeping urge to create a rogue Twitter account

 

REP. DON YOUNG: that they can come for his freedom to speak, protest, create, investigate, express or assemble as long as they can just leave him alone in his house with a loaded weapon

 

TED NUGENT: overlooked as last year’s experience candidate

 

JOHN BOLTON: overlooked as the new face on $20

 

OLIVER NORTH: never telling much larger, more obvious lies

 

CHRIS COX: encouraging all that patriotism

 

WAYNE LAPIERRE: the day he accepted the invitation to speak for the group

blue gun

 

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Dah, Donald: Russian Blood Money and the FBI’s Case Against Trump

THIS IS AN ATTEMPT to assemble the pieces in the Trump/Russia jigsaw puzzle, to reveal the Big Picture.

My conclusions were heavily influenced by Louise Mensch‘s eye-opening January 17 essay, “Dear Mr. Putin, Let’s Play Chess.” Other sources include Seth Abramson’s “The Domestic Conspiracy That Gave Trump the Election is in Plain Sight,” which ran on the Huffington Post on the same day, and “A Brief History of the First Russo-American Cyber War,” by War Is Boring’s Bryan E. Frydenborg. The Steele dossier, the “Golden Shower” series of intelligence reports written by Christopher Steele in 2016 and subsequently released by Buzzfeed, was also a useful resource. I have exhaustively fact-checked assertions, linking to a wide range of news sources from across the political spectrum, from the Washington Post to Reuters to Breitbart.

The dramatis personae—the pile of puzzle pieces, if you will—is generally well known to most observers: Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin, Edward Snowden, Julian Assange, James Comey, Rudy Giuliani, Anthony Weiner, Huma Abedin, Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, Blackwater founder Erik Prince, Trump attorney Michael Cohen, “ratfucker” Roger Stone, Paul Manafort, Russian moles in the NSA and the FBI’s New York field office, and an obscure Russian hacker named Yvegeny Nikulin.

This is how the pieces fit together. This is how they connect. This is what it means.

Our story begins in Hawaii, of all places—the state where, contrary to Donald Trump’s racist claims to the contrary, Barack Obama was born…

 

~

Chapter 1: Edward Snowden’s Great Escape, or, Isn’t it Fishy That He Wound Up in Russia?

In 2011, Edward Snowden, who’d resigned from the Central Intelligence Agency two years earlier, began working on Dell Computer’s CIA account, where he liaised closely with chiefs of the Agency’s technical branches. Exactly when Snowden was recruited by one of the Russian moles at the National Security Agency is unclear, but by April of 2012, he was already illegally downloading classified files. The following year, he took a job with the government contractor Booz Allen, with the explicit goal of obtaining top-secret documents from NSA’s facility in Hawaii.[2. My timeline is from Wikipedia, here.]

While Snowden was busy committing acts of espionage—we can call him a whistleblower if we like, but what he did is, strictly speaking, espionage—Julian Assange, of Wikileaks fame, was interviewing the president of Ecuador, Rafael Correa, for RT, the Russian-state-owned channel. (Even then, Assange was cozy with Putin). Assange and Correa apparently hit it off, so much so that when the former applied to Ecuador for political asylum a month later, the request was granted. Assange took to the Ecuadorian embassy in London on June 19, 2012, and has lived there ever since.

On April 4,  2013, a month after Snowden began his job at Booz Allen, Colonel Alexander Kazalupov, the Cuba bureau chief of the FSB (Russian intelligence), flew to Quito to meet with agents of SENAIN, the Ecuadorian intelligence agency. While there is no transcript of the proceedings, the purpose of the meeting was clearly to discuss Snowden. [1. “A copy of a letter confirming this meeting, written by the Russian Ambassador to Ecuador, is held at the Ecuadorean Embassy in London, where Julian Assange has asylum, in SENAIN files relating to Assange and to Wikileaks,” per HeatSt.] The very next day, Snowden wrote his lone email to the legal team at the NSA, asking about Executive Orders. It was during the month of April, by Snowden’s own admission, that he purloined the tranche of highly classified documents that would make up the bulk of what would later be released.

What this suggests is that the Russians (and the Cubans and the Ecuadorians) knew about the Snowden NSA operation in advance.

On May 20, 2013, Snowden took a leave of absence from Booz Allen, ostensibly to return to the continental U.S. for medical reasons. Instead, he flew to Hong Kong, where a bizarre sequence of events led him to Moscow.

Maybe, in retrospect, they weren’t so bizarre.

The Guardian and the Washington Post began publishing the stolen classified documents on June 4, 2013. [1.CORRECTION: An earlier version of the story erroneously stated that Wikileaks published the Snowden emails.]On June 21, the United States formally charged Snowden with espionage; the next day, the U.S. revoked his passport. Julian Assange, through his buddy President Correa, was able to provide Snowden with Ecuadorean travel papers. Snowden flew to Moscow, where he was to take an Aeroflot flight to Cuba—FSB station headquarters of the aforementioned Col. Kazalupov, who probably knew about the NSA leak before Snowden did—and from there proceed to Ecuador, which would grant him asylum. Under pressure from the American government, however, both Cuba and Ecuador decided against granting Snowden’s asylum request, and he has remained in Russia since then.

(Among other things, Snowden’s “Great Escape” establishes, early on, collusion between Julian Assange of Wikileaks and Vladimir Putin of Russia.)

Snowden continues to insist that his desire was to live in Latin America; the U.S. government, he says, has “trapped” him in Russia. Given that his extradition to the U.S. would be much easier in Ecuador or Bolivia, where CIA presence is strong, it’s more likely that the government that wants to keep him in Russia is not America’s, but Putin’s. After all, Putin can point to Snowden’s presence in Russia as a symbol of his desire for freedom and transparency. The American asylum-seeker, like Donald Trump, is a useful Russian prop.

Now, it may well be that Snowden released the documents to shine a light on the illegal activities of the NSA, although his claims of repeatedly bringing up the issue to his superiors at the NSA have not been corroborated. It may well be that the Russian mole who recruited him presented himself as a patriot. It may well be that Snowden acted on noble impulses, as he’s claimed; certainly he has kept up the charade long enough to dispel doubts about his motives. It may even be that Russia did not insist, on a condition of his asylum, that they receive all of the classified documents.

But it wasn’t just the NSA’s documents that Russia was after.

It was how to weaponize NSA’s tech.

 

~

 

Chapter 2: Enter Yvegeny Nikulin, Russian Hacker Exraordinaire

Not long after Snowden’s arrival in Moscow, Russian hackers began using NSA hacking techniques to wage cyber war. A shadowy figure going by the handle Guccifer 2.0—a nod to legendary Romanian hacker Marcel Lazăr Lehel, the original Guccifer—claimed responsibility for the most notorious of these hacks, including that of the DNC.

Security experts have concluded that Guccifer 2.0 is not an individual but rather a persona cultivated by Russian intelligence—rather like George Kaplan in North by Northwest. But there are real, flesh-and-blood Russian hackers. One of them is named Yvegeny Nikulin. In 2013, armed with NSA techniques possibly provided to Russia by Edward Snowden, the 26-year-old Nikulin hacked into LinkedIn, Dropbox, and, most significantly for our purposes, the now-defunct anonymous Q&A app called Formspring.

Launched in 2009, Formspring was shut down in 2013 after numerous controversies involving cyberbullying. Formspring was also—and this is important—the app that disgraced former Congressman Anthony Weiner used to transmit pictures of his junk. Weiner, of course, is the estranged husband of Huma Abedin, who has for many years been the Smithers to Hillary Clinton’s Monty Burns. Compromise Weiner, and Abedin could also be compromised; this, in turn, might damage Clinton.

Using stolen credentials from Weiner’s compromised Formspring account, Nikulin planted a virus on Weiner’s laptop, which would allow him to “wake it up” at some future date. And the laptop sat dormant for years, waiting to be summoned to active duty in the service of the Kremlin.[3. Note: this is Mensch’s speculation, not mine, and is not verifiable, although it certainly makes perfect sense.]

Summoned to be used as a weapon.

The day arrived in early October, 2016. Nikulin “awakened” the Weiner laptop, using his remote access to upload hundreds of thousands of emails to it. On October 3, the New York Police Dept., acting on a tip from the FBI’s New York office (more about that field office later) seized the laptop.

This operation was confirmed a month later by Erik Prince, founder of Blackwater and brother of Christian fundamentalist/billionaire donor/unqualified nominee for Education Secretary Betsy DeVos, on Breitbart Radio. “Because of Weinergate and the sexting scandal, the NYPD started investigating it,” Prince said. “Through a subpoena, through a warrant, they searched his laptop, and sure enough, found those 650,000 emails. They found way more stuff than just more information pertaining to the inappropriate sexting the guy was doing. They found State Department emails. They found a lot of other really damning criminal information, including money laundering, including the fact that Hillary went to this sex island with convicted pedophile Jeffrey Epstein.”

(Epstein is indeed a convicted pedophile, but the presidential candidate who attended his sex parties in New York was not Hillary Clinton, but Donald Trump. It was at an Epstein party, you may recall, that Trump allegedly raped the 13-year-old girl.)

Upon completion of his highly dangerous mission, Nikulin expected to be well compensated for his services. He went to Prague to collect his money, showing up at a five-star hotel in a fancy sports car. But he wasn’t paid. To the contrary, he was arrested, having been sought on an INTERPOL red notice, put out by the FBI. And he was so surprised at his arrest that he fainted and had to be hospitalized.

The red notice is important. It means that the FBI, long before October 5, considered Nikulin’s apprehension to be of critical importance.

Meanwhile, back in the States, the presidential campaign entered its final weeks. Hillary Clinton enjoyed what appeared to be an insurmountable lead, as the leaked Access Hollywood tape seemed to spell doom for Donald Trump’s chances.

But on October 26, former New York City mayor and Trump surrogate Rudy Giuliani boasted on TV about an October surprise coming that would mortally wound Hillary Clinton’s campaign. Most people wrote this off as the ranting of a deranged, hateful old man. But Giuliani was right.

Two days later, FBI Director Jim Comey sent a letter to Congress, explaining that more Hillary emails had been found on Weiner’s laptop, and that the Bureau was investigating the matter.

He explained his decision to write the letter thus, to his charges at the FBI: “Of course, we don’t ordinarily tell Congress about ongoing investigations, but here I feel an obligation to do so given that I testified repeatedly in recent months that our investigation was completed. I also think it would be misleading to the American people were we not to supplement the record. At the same time, however, given that we don’t know the significance of this newly discovered collection of emails, I don’t want to create a misleading impression. In trying to strike that balance, in a brief letter and in the middle of an election season, there is significant risk of being misunderstood, but I wanted you to hear directly from me about it.”

Republicans had a field day with this bombshell, which seemed to confirm all their worst suspicions about “Crooked Hillary.” Anonymous sources at the FBI leaked to Brett Baier that the case against Hillary was “likely an indictment,” and Baier reported this on the air on November 2.

By the time Comey announced that the emails were duplicates, that nothing new or incriminating had been found—and by the time Baier apologized for his mistake—the damage had been done.

No less an authority than Nate Silver believes that absent the Comey letter, Hillary’s victory would have been “almost certain.” (Silver, remember, is the only pollster who gave Trump a chance on Election Day).

So, to sum up: Nikulin plants the emails on Weiner’s laptop that he’d hacked years earlier for this purpose, the New York field office of the FBI seizes the laptop, Comey writes his infamous letter. Game, set, match.

On November 4, the same day Erik Prince gave his Breitbart radio interview, Giuliani boasted on TV that it was his friends at the Bureau who tipped him off that this was in the works. “Did I hear about it?” he said. “You’re darn right I heard about it, and I can’t even repeat the language that I heard from the former FBI agents.” (Maybe he couldn’t repeat the language because they were speaking Russian?). The next day, perhaps after being privately taken to the woodshed, the former mayor amended his story, claiming that his sources were former agents.

That the Russians were behind the DNC hack was old news by Election Day—Hillary mentioned that “17 intelligence agencies” believed this during one of the debates, and that was true. In September, however, the intelligence community took this one step further, announcing its conclusion that the Russian hacking had been done to hurt Hillary Clinton and help Donald Trump.

The FBI, however, did not join in this assessment. Why? Was the FBI in bed with the Russians? Was Comey? And if he wasn’t, why on earth had he sent that letter to Congress?

 

~

 

Chapter 3: James Comey: Friend or Foe?

One thing we can say for sure about the FBI Director: over the last 12 months, he’s been pilloried by both Democrats and Republicans. This bipartisan venom suggests that perhaps Jim Comey is not, as both sides have at times charged, a partisan hack, but rather a straight shooter who discharges his duty no matter how politically unpopular. His job is to enforce the law, and by God, he’s going to enforce it.

Here is a story that gives some insight into his character: On March 10, 2004, the Justice Department had determined that then-President Bush’s domestic surveillance program was unlawful. On that date, Attorney General John Ashcroft was in the hospital ICU; Comey, his deputy, was acting AG.

That night, Comey received a call. White House Counsel Alberto Gonzales and Chief of Staff Andrew Card, Comey was told, were en route to the ICU to convince an infirm Ashcroft to sign a document reauthorizing the illegal surveillance program. Comey raced to the hospital with a police escort, beating Gonzales and Card to the bedside of his ailing boss. With Comey by his side, Ashcroft refused to sign the documents. Later, when Ashcroft, Comey, FBI Director Robert Mueller, and their aides threatened to resign rather than re-authorize the program, Bush sided with them over Gonzales and Card. (We know this is true, by the way, because Comey related it under oath.)

These are not the actions of a partisan, but of someone with the integrity to put the rule of law above all else.

Fast-forward to the fall of 2016.

Having twice failed to obtain the necessary approval, Comey and the FBI were granted a FISA court warrant in October to investigate the Trump campaign’s shady dealings with Russia. “FISA” stands for Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, “a United States federal law which prescribes procedures for the physical and electronic surveillance and collection of ‘foreign intelligence information’ between ‘foreign powers’ and ‘agents of foreign powers,’” per Wikipedia.

Louise Mensch broke this story at Heat St. on November 7, and it’s worth quoting her original article at length:

[T]he FBI sought, and was granted, a FISA court warrant in October, giving counter-intelligence permission to examine the activities of ‘U.S. persons’ in Donald Trump’s campaign with ties to Russia.

Contrary to earlier reporting in the New York Times, which cited FBI sources as saying that the agency did not believe that the private server in Donald Trump’s Trump Tower which was connected to a Russian bank had any nefarious purpose, the FBI’s counter-intelligence arm, sources say, re-drew an earlier FISA court request around possible financial and banking offenses related to the server. The first request, which, sources say, named Trump, was denied back in June, but the second was drawn more narrowly and was granted in October after evidence was presented of a server, possibly related to the Trump campaign, and its alleged links to two banks; SVB Bank and Russia’s Alfa Bank. While the Times story speaks of metadata, sources suggest that a FISA warrant was granted to look at the full content of emails and other related documents that may concern US persons.

The FBI agents who talked to the New York Times, and rubbished the ground-breaking stories of Slate (Franklin Foer) and Mother Jones (David Corn) may not have known about the FISA warrant, sources say, because the counter-intelligence and criminal sides of the FBI often work independently of each other employing the principle of ‘compartmentalization.’

The FISA warrant was granted in connection with the investigation of suspected activity between the server and two banks, SVB Bank and Alfa Bank. However, it is thought in the intelligence community that the warrant covers any ‘US person’ connected to this investigation, and thus covers Donald Trump and at least three further men who have either formed part of his campaign or acted as his media surrogates.

There is no shortage of Trump boosters with shady ties to Russia generally and Vladimir Putin specifically, as investigative journalist Jim Henry’s work shows. Former campaign chairman Paul Manafort is one. Carter Page is another. National Security Advisor Michael Flynn is a third. Original “ratfucker” Roger Stone, for sure. Trump attorney Michael Cohen, whose tweet of the cover of his passport does little to prove he did not meet with Russian handlers, whether in Prague or elsewhere [3. Notice how in his defense, Cohen focuses on denying having ever been to Prague, or the Czech Republic generally, and producing an alibi for those dates…as if the meeting or meetings detailed in the Steele dossier could not have been taken in Vienna, say, a week after the dates mentioned.]. Even Ivanka is BFFs with Putin’s (alleged) girlfriend.

“The warrant was sought, they say, because actionable intelligence on the matter provided by friendly foreign agencies could not properly be examined without a warrant by US intelligence as it involves ‘U.S. Persons’ who come under the remit of the FBI and not the CIA,” Mensch continues. “Should a counter-intelligence investigation lead to criminal prosecutions, sources say, the Justice Department is concerned that the chain of evidence have a basis in a clear warrant.”

By waiting for the FISA warrant, then, Comey was abiding by the letter of the law—and we know from the Ashcroft story that not violating the laws concerning domestic surveillance are important to him. Having the warrant will make the inevitable case against Trump that much more water-tight.

 

~

 

Chapter 4: Glomar, or, The Investigation Continues

The beef Democrats have with Comey is simple, so much so that it became a meme: he knew about the investigations into 1) the ties between Russia and the Trump campaign, and 2) the Weiner laptop containing all those Hillary emails. He chose only to disclose the latter. Why, if he’s not also a Putin puppet?

The answer: Glomar.

Wikipedia explains: “In United States law, the term Glomar response refers to a ‘neither confirm nor deny’ (NCND) response to a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request. There are two types of instances in which a Glomarization has been used. The first is in a national security context, where to deny a request on security grounds would provide information that the documents or programs which the requester is seeking indeed exist.”

How does this apply to Comey? Mensch explains it best, in her “Chess” piece: “Democrats, including Democrats in Obama’s government who ought to know better, have asked if James Comey had ‘a double standard’ over the investigations into Clinton and Trump. Yes, he did, and he does. He may talk about a criminal investigation. He may not talk about a current, ongoing investigation into espionage, bribery, money laundering and so forth that affects U.S. national security.” To do the latter would be unlawful, and Comey doesn’t do unlawful.

In short, Comey cannot legally comment on any aspect of the Russia/Trump investigation, because it is a threat to national security. To even confirm that the investigation exists jeopardizes the investigation. This is important to understand.

Mensch continues: “In the summer, [Comey] cleared [Hillary] Clinton of a criminal standard of negligence. In the fall, he had been sandbagged by Russian moles inside the FBI field office in New York. But I do not believe Mr. Comey surrendered wrongly to ‘pressure’. He knew the moles had effective kompromat – the emails…Nikulin planted or woke [on Weiner’s laptop]– and that were he not to revise his testimony in the light of new evidence, his far more important natsec investigation into the traitor, Donald Trump, would be discredited.”

Remember in The Wire where the cops have to let The Greek go, even though he’s the worst villain of them all, because he’s a CIA asset? It’s a similar dynamic.

According to the New York Times, Comey sent the letter because he was certain, given the leaks in the FBI New York field office, that “word of the new emails [found on Anthony Weiner’s computer]…was sure to leak out” and he did not want to “risk being accused of misleading Congress and the public ahead of an election.”

Perhaps Comey acted selfishly, to protect his own credibility. But his credibility will be of the utmost importance in the months to come. For if the Comey letter was the dark cloud, there is a silver lining: The Trump/Russia investigation is ongoing.

On January 13, 2017, Spain arrested another Russian hacker, Stanislav Lisov, who’d been wanted by the FBI. According to Reuters, “Lisov had been under investigation by the United States for two years for developing and using NeverQuest, a computer virus that spreads itself via social media, email and file transfers and has led to the loss of millions of dollars. An investigation of servers operated by Lisov in France and Germany revealed databases with lists of data stolen from banks, including account balances. One of the servers had files with millions of bank account access details such as user names, passwords and security questions, police said.”

Bank account details. Computer servers. Ties between the Trump Organization and Russia. If this sounds familiar, it’s because you’ve read it before. Both Franklin Foer and David Korn, for Slate and Mother Jones respectively, discussed the alleged computer server linking Russian banks to the Trump Organization.

The final entry in the notorious Christopher Steele dossier—which appears more and more credible as time goes on, as intelligence sources vouch for him—concerns the payment of “Romanian hackers.” Steele writes: “On payments…the operatives involved had been paid by both Trump’s team and the Kremlin….”

Payments of Russian hackers by the Trump campaign? If this is true, Donald Trump and his team are guilty of a serious federal crime. Might Lisov prove to be the missing link in the FBI investigation?

 

~

 

Chapter 5: When Will Putin Play His Trump Card? When Will Comey?

On January 22, Kellyanne Conway admitted that the “IRS audit” excuse was nothing more than a delaying tactic, and that Donald Trump would never release his taxes.

My theory is that the taxes are a red herring. While there is surely plenty of information therein that would prove embarrassing to Trump—his lower-than-advertised net worth, for example—I don’t think that anything in those documents will move the needle closer to impeachment. Do people really care if he holds debt to banks in Russia or China? I think he’s using the taxes as a diversion, a way to focus our energies on having him reveal something that doesn’t implicate him in any useful way.

So the taxes will not beat him. Neither will tapes of him in various compromising sexual positions. To the contrary, video of Trump with a gaggle of Russian prostitutes may only enhance his prestige, in the eyes of the alt-right, Mike Cernovich crowd. (Incidentally, the “golden shower” detail, while colorful, was found in the first few pages of the 35-page Steele dossier; I wonder how many journalists bothered to read the whole thing?)

So what does Putin have on Trump, then? Why is Trump reluctant to speak ill of Putin? Why is he honeycombing his cabinet with Russian sympathizers? Why is he acting like what Hillary Clinton accused him of being: a puppet?

To answer those questions, we have to first ask why Russia has so many moles in the New York field office of the FBI. Why there, as opposed to, say, the CIA at Langley?

Mensch explains: “A corrupt FBI New York field office guards the interest of Russian mobsters, allows them to launder their money through Trump’s ‘failing’ casinos and building projects, makes sure that Trump being paid double for a Florida house doesn’t get investigated, allows pedophile Jeffrey Epstein to keep a mansion in New York City, ensures that Trump’s criminal taxes don’t get investigated, and sits hard enough on the NYPD that Trump can commit crime after crime in plain sight, socializing with the FBI’s most wanted mobsters, and never get charged with a damn thing. It ensures that Manafort and Stone can live in Trump Tower, that Cohen’s trips on Russian-registered private jets get washed. It allows the FBI to be next to the media, including the New York Times and Fox news, and act as unnamed law enforcement sources. The FBI field office in New York wasn’t just infiltrated…to scupper Hillary Clinton…It was there to guard the money of [Russian] billionaires and to cover the tracks of [Putin’s operatives] in the Russian embassy and consulates. That’s why the dead security guard at the Russian consulate never got investigated.”

(Update: Read here for details about Trump’s organized crime ties.)

In short, it’s about the money. Which makes sense, given Trump’s disgustingly obvious greed. The Russian oligarchs are laundering money all over creation, and Trump, with his opaque taxes and billion-dollar losses and cash business concerns, is somehow complicit in the scheme. Campaign finance, one imagines, is just the tip of the iceberg.

If he’s shown to be in debt to the Russians and the Chinese, Trump can explain that away. Fake news, he will say. So what. I won, people don’t care. Same with the Russian prostitutes. You can’t shame a man incapable of feeling shame. What is Trump afraid of? Prison. That would be the ultimate downfall for Donald Trump. The loss of his position, his social standing, his fortune, his golden throne, his access to beautiful women willing and otherwise. His Twitter account.

There is no “alternative fact” that can spin the very real possibility that Donald J. Trump will die in federal prison, alone.

And that’s why Comey sent the letter about the emails, but did not comment on the Russia connection.

And that’s why Trump is so deferential to Putin.

And that’s why Melania Trump walks around like she’s Carmela Soprano in Season 7.

And that’s why the Trump Cabinet is honeycombed with Russian sympathizers (I haven’t even mentioned the friendship medal Secretary of State Rex Tillerson personally received from Putin).

And that’s why Snowden is in Russia, and Assange is still holed up in the Ecuadorian embassy.

And that’s why Rudy Giuliani withdrew his name from consideration for State.

Most of all, that’s why Barack Obama seems so chill about the whole thing. He knows how the movie ends! But thanks to Glomar, there can be no spoilers.

And so we wait for Jim Comey to wrap up the investigation and bring charges against Flynn and Stone, Manafort and Cohen, Carter Page and Donald J. Trump. Through no intention of his own, Comey gave Trump the presidency; now we hope that he will take it away. Given Trump’s disastrous foreign policy, his deplorable positions on climate change, his willingness to use nuclear weapons, it’s not hyperbole to suggest that the fate of the human race rests on Comey’s shoulders.

History suggests that Comey is up to the task. But if he’s not, we, the people, must make a citizen’s arrest. We must convince our Members of Congress to impeach our treasonous president, to make the traitor stand trial.

And if Donald Trump is found guilty of these heinous crimes? Lock him up.

Don't mess around with Jim.

Don’t mess around with Jim.

Posted in Current Events, Trump/Russia | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 21 Comments

Tiny Crowds, Tiny Hands vs. Huge Crowds, Huge Hearts

That was then; this is now.

That was then; this is now.

ALLOW ME TO BE contrary for a moment.

That rambling, semi-coherent, solipsistic rant (half campaign speech; half cry for attention) Trump delivered at the CIA fills me with hope and reassurance, not despair.

Only the most recalcitrant die-hards, whom reasonable and intelligent discourse will never persuade anyway, can continue falling in line after this. Imagine if that exact speech, in the exact same context, was translated into another language (say, North Korean): for a movie it would serve as mediocre and ham-fisted satire; as a real life event, if uttered by someone in a different country—use your imagination—it’s the very type of propagandistic boilerplate that typically makes “serious” Americans (including, if not especially conservatives and certain media types) solemnly shake their heads and thank their (white, Capitalist) God that this type of farce could never occur in America. You know, where paid staffers are brought in to applaud like teenagers at a boy band concert. If, say, we heard someone call out aerial photographs and say “the crowds were much bigger…because I say so”, we’d pity the country that had to put up with such a deluded and sick cult of personality.

However, it’s America, and it’s happening, here.

Doubling down, because that’s what con men always do (they have no choice; when the con’s exposed, so are they, and there’s no coming back from that), they sent the oleaginous Sean Spicer out to parrot the party line, and take questions. Just kidding! You know it’s amateur hour when the press secretary refuses to take questions during the first press conference.

This, from the linked Politico article above, is worth quoting in full:

Spicer: “This was the largest audience to ever witness an inauguration — period — both in person and around the globe.”

While the new administration disputes the count, the visual evidence from overhead photography is overwhelming: Far more people stood on the Mall and witnessed Obama’s inauguration in 2009 than Trump’s inauguration on Friday.

The global viewing audience is nearly impossible to calculate, but at least four previous presidents drew bigger domestic TV audiences than Trump. According to Nielsen ratings, 30.6 million viewers tuned in across 12 networks to watch Trump’s inauguration. That falls well short of the 41.8 million viewers who watched Ronald Reagan’s 1981 inauguration, the 37.7 million who watched Obama’s 2009 inauguration, the 34.1 million who watched Jimmy Carter’s 1977 inauguration and the 33 million who watched Richard Nixon’s 1973 inauguration.

Millions of viewers also tuned in for livestreams of Trump’s inauguration, and CNN says that there were 16.9 million livestreams on its site and apps across the day. But Obama’s 2009 inauguration drew then-record online audiences, with CNN reporting more than 25 million livestreams across the day — and so much demand during Obama’s speech that many viewers were shunted to online waiting rooms.

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But it won’t last and this won’t work. The ostensible incongruity of seeing so many people (of all ages and races) taking to the streets alongside Trump’s surreal outburst du jour—albeit his first one as President—is oddly refreshing. Yesterday proves there’s simply way too many people who know, and can’t be unconvinced, the sky is blue, 2+2=4, and that Truth, however painful it is at times, takes precedence over sloganeering and facile bromides (what type of person is comforted by impotent assertions like “we’ll win again”? Who doesn’t feel America has been “winning”, whatever that implies anyway? I guess some of it is timing, because I certainly didn’t hear a lot about America “losing” between 2001-2008, at least until the losses became difficult to count and the G.O.P. united to blame it on the next guy. I wonder, incidentally, how Republicans would react if any Democrat ever implied that we haven’t “won” anything since before Vietnam. A military veteran hearing this shit, from a born-rich draft dodger, and the irony doesn’t make his gray matter boil? Tell me again about how Trump’s victory was due to liberal elitism and not racism or willful ignorance mixed with cognitive dissonance…).

Getting back to Trump’s favorite foe, the media: it was called out, entirely, by Trump’s (and Spicer’s even more strident, yet easily disprovable) assertion that his crowds were bigger and, yes, that all American media is engaged in a synchronous scam to embarrass him. First, he embarrasses himself just fine (did you listen to that “speech”?), and secondly, it’s one thing to bully individual reporters or networks—itself unprecedented and disgraceful—but to in effect call out the entire media (reality) and claim what we all saw and heard is false because he says so, draws a line in the sand. It’s a curious blessing. Because Trump & Co. can’t help themselves, the stakes are already thus: the media will have little choice but push back, their only agenda being…truth, reality. And, fortunately for them, and us, it’s not only imperative but pretty painless to let the truth speak for itself.

Demonstrators protest during the Women's March along Pennsylvania Avenue January 21, 2017 in Washington, DC. Hundreds of thousands of protesters spearheaded by women's rights groups demonstrated across the US to send a defiant message to US President Donald Trump. / AFP / Joshua LOTT (Photo credit should read JOSHUA LOTT/AFP/Getty Images)

Demonstrators protest during the Women’s March along Pennsylvania Avenue January 21, 2017 in Washington, DC.
Hundreds of thousands of protesters spearheaded by women’s rights groups demonstrated across the US to send a defiant message to US President Donald Trump. / AFP / Joshua LOTT (Photo credit should read JOSHUA LOTT/AFP/Getty Images)

And that’s why the amazing marches yesterday are so important. At the same time Trump is still stage-crafting psychotic appeals for legitimacy, millions of people are marching, unified by their disdain for the poison and falsehood that’s fueled his short-lived rise. (And proving what’s been lost in the post-election agonizing: the demographic shift of subsequent generations is extremely tolerant and, well, progressive. That’s the future, and it’s beautiful.) The media, no collective profile in courage at any time, has effectively been dared, by Trump & Co., to fall in line or do what they’re already paid to do: report. Refreshingly, they’ve seen these crowds—around America; around the world—and will feel obligated (more so than they already should, a whole other topic) to report the truth. Seeing Trump’s popularity plummet and hearing his maniacal insistence on bending reality to his will removes the gray area and equivocation that typically carries the day in today’s media environment. Again, this is a blessing. We won’t require reporters to editorialize or embellish, just point the cameras and microphones and allow the accumulating weight of Trump’s duplicity to bury him.

Finally, we should desist from drawing any comparisons to Hitler (aside from the fact that it’s lazy and, at this juncture, historically inaccurate; Trump’s more your average tin-pot dictator wannabe): that cretin was able to convince (or intimidate) enough people to commit the atrocities he oversaw; yesterday proves, undeniably, that Trump will never have anything close to a mandate. Going forward, every subsequent utterance or scripted scene will alienate more folks…and that’s before his (that is, the GOP’s) policies begin actively harming and disenfranchising people who voted for him. We’re seeing how unpopular (and unqualified) he is today, and he’ll never be this popular, again. It’s a slow (or maybe not-so-slow) burn, effective immediately.

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Trump’s Inaugural Address: Unabridged Version

Below is my complete address, which I wrote in Shaprie on the legal pad (see photo). The sections in italics were deleted from the version of the speech read at yesterday’s Inauguration by Natasha, my handler at the Kremlin, who is a smart, smart lady and also a nine.

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We, the citizens of America, are now joined in a great national effort to rebuild our country after the North Korean nuclear attack that is sure to happen any day now, and to restore its promise for all of our people.

Together, we will determine the course of America and the world for years to come. And we will make sure that the rich become richer, because the rich being richer is what makes America and Russia great.

We will face challenges. My complete lack of empathy, for one. We will confront hardships. Namely, my stunning lack of either experience or intellectual curiosity. But we will get the job done. And by “job,” I mean the erosion of all that protects commoners like you from the greed of rich plutocrats like me.

Every four years, we gather on these steps to carry out the orderly and peaceful transfer of power, and this is the last time that will ever happen, because I intend to crown myself the first American king. We are grateful to Kenyan-born President Obama, our first Muslim president, and First Lady Michelle Obama, whose bed I had Russian whores pee on, for their gracious aid throughout this transition. They have been magnificent, the pussy-ass suckers.

Today’s ceremony, however, has very special meaning. Because today we are not merely transferring power from one administration to another, or from one party to another—but we are transferring power from Washington, D.C. and giving it back to you, the American People. And by “American People,” I’m referring, of course, to the wealthiest one percent, my friends at Goldman Sachs, because the rest of you don’t matter to me at all, unless you are consuming one of my Trump-branded products.

For too long, a small group in our nation’s Capital has reaped the rewards of government while the people have borne the cost. Washington flourished—but the Trump family did not share in its wealth, although we paid no income taxes. Politicians prospered—but the jobs left, and the factories closed. And I helped make that happen, by manufacturing all of my Trump products in China!

That all changes—starting right here, and right now, because this moment is your moment: it belongs to you. You, the dupes and fools who have elected me, the most shameless self-promoting con man in the history of the United States. I will do anything to make a buck! Anything! Up to and including being a Russian puppet! There’s been a lot of talk lately about Russian prostitutes, but no one is a bigger whore than Donald J. Trump!

It belongs to everyone gathered here today and everyone watching all across Russia. This is your day. This is your celebration. And when I say “celebration,” I mean it in the same way priests mean it when they speak at a funeral. And this, the United States of America, is your country. Your racist, bigoted, misogynist, ableist, xenophobic, proud-of-being-ignorant country.

What truly matters is not which party controls our government, but whether our government is controlled by Donald J. Trump. January 20th 2017, will be remembered as the day the Russian people became the rulers of this nation. The forgotten men and women of our country will be forgotten no longer. They will be remembered as saps that helped enrich me and my spoiled-ass children by voting for me even though I spent the last 18 months demonstrating what a callous, shallow, greedy, vindictive prick I am! You are suckers, America! The only reason this speech isn’t in Russian is because I ran it through Google translate! 

Everyone is listening to you now, assuming you are chanting my name mindlessly.

You came by the tens of millions to become part of a historic movement the likes of which the world has never seen before. Although if there are ten million people here today, then you also believe me when I said I have big hands, and other big body parts that having big hands is sometimes indicative of. At the center of this movement is a crucial conviction: that a nation exists to serve its citizens. And that nation is Russia.

Americans want great schools for their children, safe neighborhoods for their families, and good jobs for themselves. These are the just and reasonable demands of a righteous public. That’s why I’ve appointed complete fucking morons to head the Departments of Education and Energy, and why I’m going to get into a tariff war to ensure that all remaining jobs die. Because I am not reasonable! And I don’t care! I just want to sit on my gold throne and tweet about Alec Baldwin.

But for too many of our citizens, a different reality exists: Mothers and children trapped in poverty in our inner cities, because the black men who live there are all criminals; rusted-out factories scattered like tombstones across the landscape of our nation, because tombstones are usually scattered; an education system flush with cash, but which leaves our young and beautiful students deprived of all knowledge, as evidenced by the fact that 95% of people under the age of 18 hate my guts; and the crime and gangs and drugs that have stolen too many lives and robbed our country of so much unrealized potential. We should be taxing the drugs and having the gangbangers pay taxes! Everyone should pay taxes! Except for me, of course. As another great New York hotelier said, taxes are for the little people.

This American carnage stops right here and stops right now. Today, the Russian carnage begins!

We are one nation, Russia and the USA—and their pain is our pain. Their dreams are our dreams; and their success will be our success. We share one heart, one home, and one glorious leader: Vladimir Putin.

The oath of office I take today is an oath of allegiance to all Russians…er, Americans.

We’ve made other countries rich while the wealth, strength, and confidence of our country has disappeared over the horizon—at least, as long as you ignore every single economic indicator. Which too many of you have done, because you don’t understand basic economics, lucky for me.

The wealth of our middle class has been ripped from their homes and then redistributed across the entire world, instead of paid to the one percent here in the U.S.

But that is the past. And now we are looking only to the future. We assembled here today are issuing a new decree to be heard in every city, in every foreign capital, and in every hall of power.

From this day forward, a new vision will govern our land.

From this moment on, it’s going to be Russia First.

I will fight for you with every breath in my body—and I will never, ever let you down. And by “you,” I mean Ivanka.

America will start winning again, winning like never before. We will be the Charlie Sheen of nations! And never mind that Charlie Sheen has AIDS.

We will bring back our jobs. We will bring back our borders…maybe back to where they were before the War with Mexico fought by Polk. We will bring back our wealth, and use it to line our Trump family pockets. And we will bring back our dreams. And by “dreams” I mean nightmares, in which I star as the big orange boogeyman.

We will build new roads, and highways, and bridges, and airports, and tunnels, and railways all across our wonderful Russian nation.

We will get our people off of welfare and back to work—rebuilding our country with American hands and cheap illegal immigrant labor, like how I did building Trump Tower.

We will follow two simple rules: dupe Americans and bow to Russia.

We will seek friendship and goodwill with the nations of the world,—but we do so with the understanding that it is the right of all nations to put their own interests first, just as we put Russia first.

We do not seek to impose our way of life on anyone, but rather to install the Russian way of life here in the US, because Putin is a better leader than Kenyan-born Obama.

We will reinforce old alliances and form new ones with Russia—and unite the civilized world against radical Islamic terrorism, which we will eradicate completely from the face of the Earth, because I can control what people in Syria choose to believe. Me, the guy who lost by three million votes to a woman many Americans detest.

At the bedrock of our politics will be a total allegiance to Russia, and through our loyalty to our motherland, we will rediscover our loyalty to Vladimir Putin, may he be praised.

When you open your heart to patriotism, there is no room for prejudice. The Bible tells us, “How good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity.” It’s right there in Two Corinthians.

We must speak our minds openly, debate our disagreements honestly, but always pursue solidarity with Russia.

When America is united under Putin, Russia is totally unstoppable.

There should be no fear—we are protected, and we will always be protected. We will be protected by the great men and women of our military and law enforcement and, most importantly, we are protected by Putin.

Finally, we must think bigly and dream even bigger.

In America, we understand that a nation is only living as long as it is occupying the Crimea.

We will no longer accept politicians who are all talk and no action—constantly complaining about SNL on Twitter but never doing anything about it.

The time for empty talk is over. Now arrives the hour of action. Or, rather, that will happen Monday, after my weekend vacation.

Do not let anyone tell you it cannot be done. No challenge can match the heart and fight and spirit of Russia.

We stand at the birth of a new millennium, sort of, ready to unlock the mysteries of space, to free the Earth from the miseries of disease by letting disease kill us all, as it will when I shutter the CDC, and to harness the energies, industries and technologies of tomorrow, by which I mean fracking until fire pours from every water faucet!

A new national pride will stir our souls, lift our sights, and heal our divisions. A pride in Mother Russia.

It is time to remember that old wisdom our soldiers will never forget: that whether we are black or brown or white, we all bleed the same red blood of patriots, we all enjoy the same glorious freedoms, and we all salute the same great Russian Flag.

And whether a child is born in the urban sprawl of Detroit or the windswept steppes of Siberia, they look up at the same night sky, they fill their heart with the same dreams, and they are infused with the breath of life by the same almighty Creator, Putin.

So to all Americans, in every city near and far, small and large, from the Rockies to the Urals, and from ocean to ocean, hear these words:

You will never be ignored again.

Your voice, your hopes, and your dreams will define our American destiny. And your courage and goodness and love will forever guide us along the way.

Together, we will make America strong again. We will make America wealthy again.We will make America proud again. We will make America safe again.

And if you believe any of that, I have some Trump-brand vodka to sell you. Vodka, that most Russian of drinks. May God bless you, and God bless America. Except for Rosie O’Donnell, who is a nasty woman who is very, very mean to me.

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5 Tips for Surviving as Female

The Weeklings participated in a nationwide Writers Resist event on January 15, at Bearsville Theater in Woodstock, NY. Over thirty readers and musicians participated, and more than $6,000 was raised for endangered causes Planned Parenthood, The New York Civil Liberties Union, and Riverkeeper. This was one of the pieces that was read that day. 

Trump-Statue-710x445Stay vigilant.

ASSUME THE STANCE of outrage. Don’t let it go. Believe you are a feminist soldier in the army of the United States of PussyGrabsBack. Part Angela Davis. Ruth Bader Ginsberg, your mom when really mad, Patty Hearst in her SLA days, Patti Smith, Beyoncé. Do not calm down. To compensate for crazy winning, be more crazy. Do not keep calm. Aim low.

Avoid buy-in.

Shopping for your new post-election look? Consider a cute combat belt and mace canister. Or marchable boots and matching, regulation-small bag, small enough to pass muster but large enough for a gas mask. But careful: Pre-purchase, do research company donation history as well as customer reviews on quality and sizing. 500-plus businesses enabled Drumpfler’s favored nation to commit a national grope: Zappos, Amazon, Bluefly, Lord & Taylor. And yes: LLBean. Beware of heiresses in sexless brown smocks. Try to avoid taking classes at the Learning Annex. For years, they offered a seminar by Valdetrump: The World Wants You to Grab it By the Pussy, Believe me. Here’s How! Careful about accidentally supporting the new American fascists — they’re everywhere.

Be creative.

When doing your makeup and contouring your face, no need to sell off your rights on Ivanka cosmetics. Create a perfect “spawn of an asshole” glow using a red sharpie — just blend well. Extra bonus: It’s perfect for making signs too! To define your cheekbones for post-apocalyptic impact, grab a gob of contaminated river mud and smear warrior style, eye socket and up. Have fun by switching up the look: moderate for basic day demonstrations, dramatic for those tear-gas and water-cannon times. Marching in Washington? Perfect chance to test it out. The extra application may protect your eyes.

Subtly change behavior.

Avoid holding babies near people who purr with biological approval and suggest you’re “next.” Refer them to Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. Sadly, now’s a very, very bad time to defer to male opinions in general. If budget permits, buy an extra washing machine, just in case (a la Breitbart) the cheeto in chief decides to take yours away. Lock your shoe closet as well – hard to dash to Canada barefoot! At work, while giving a speech or presentation, do not keep talking if a dema-fuck is lurking behind you. Turn around. Face him. Go Maori haka: Bug eyes, gnash teeth, widen stance like a crone birthing a volcano, throw both hands onto his white-collar neck, and squeeze

loslassen_grafik_engCustomize tactics.

Top tips work always work best when they fit you and your lifestyle. But these may help everybody’s chances of survival now that nothing’s the same. It’s a good time to abandon your 50s-ironic nostalgia outfits ­— except on extreme occasions of overt resistance. Just like music or thinking, monsters don’t “get” irony. Dressing like a housewife may get you kidnapped, or impregnated, we don’t know yet. But we know they want us in aprons, bringing snacks to the lynching party. They want us pretty and exhausted: that’s what makes America great! So while learning to crochet your pussy hat, why not learn how to throw knives? Top tip: aim for the guy with the gold hair.

 

 

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Trump is a Fascist, This is a Coup, I’m Not Normalizing It on Facebook

I HAVE POSTED about Trump relentlessly these last few weeks on social media. And I’m sure a healthy number of my Facebook friends—that is, the ones who have not yet unfollowed me—see these posts, roll their eyes, and think, “Why doesn’t he just stop? The election is over. Trump won. It’s time to get over it.” Or, even worse, “Just give him a chance!”

Here’s the thing: Donald Trump is a piece of shit, a failed human being, the Worst Person in America. And you’re welcome to disagree with that assessment, although the next story I read about some kindness he performed for kindness’s sake will be the first. That he is a Fascist, however, is not subject to debate. Hence the urgency of my Facebook posts.

With the release of the classified dossier, what many of us have known for months appears incontrovertible: Donald J. Trump is a compromised Russian asset who is, as Hillary Clinton sagely asserted in the debates, nothing more than a puppet of Russian despot Vladimir Putin. Even without that colorful document, it could not be more clear that Trump knows where his bread is buttered.

Putin is an autocrat. He does everything he can to trample free speech and other freedoms in Russia. This is what Putin wants Trump to do here. This is his model. Trump may not be Hitler, but he has enough totalitarian tendencies to make comparisons of him to der Fuhrer more than just a quaint validation of Godwin’s Law. He seeks to bully minority groups and trample my, and your, First Amendment rights. (To me, the First Amendment is more important than the Second, and the Founders thought so, too, which is why they put it first). He wants to tread on me.

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Two days after the election, the Russian dissident and LGBT activist Masha Gessen’s essay “Autocracy: Rules for Survival” ran in the New York Review of Books. Gessen, who is intimately familiar with autocracies, predicted: “The national press is likely to be among the first institutional victims of Trumpism. There is no law that requires the presidential administration to hold daily briefings, none that guarantees media access to the White House. Many journalists may soon face a dilemma long familiar to those of us who have worked under autocracies: fall in line or forfeit access. There is no good solution (even if there is a right answer), for journalism is difficult and sometimes impossible without access to information.” If you watched the so-called press conference last week, and followed the ravings of incoming White House spokesman Sean Spicer afterward, you know that this assault on the press is already happening. How many of Trump’s juvenile tweets concern the media?

But it’s not just Trump. It’s a morally bankrupt Republican Party that rails against the dying of the light by stripping away the voting rights of minorities (who tend to vote Democratic). Look at what happened in North Carolina, in the waning days of the term of bigoted governor Pat McCrory. North Carolina is less of a democracy than some Banana Republics at this point. In Congress, the very first initiative taken by the GOP was a failed attempt to castrate Congressional ethics rules. Jason Chaffetz, the mendacious House member from Utah, used his position as chair of the House Oversight Committee to attack the nonpartisan director of the Office of Government Ethics; threats like these are harbingers of Fascism. While there are plenty of patriotic Republicans who have boldly stood up to Trumpism (Senators John McCain and Lindsay Graham on Russia; Jennifer Rubin, David Frum, and Evan McMullin in the media, to name a few), there enough sycophants in positions of power to cause grave concern.

Although I am a liberal and was a vocal supporter of Hillary Clinton, I should add that this is not about politics. Nothing less than the American way of life is at stake here. Trump’s policies are odious and will cause real harm to many millions of people, none of them his well-heeled peers. But policies can be defeated politically. Once a democracy falls, once a dictator is installed, the gig is up. It becomes a different game entirely. As Adam Gopnik puts in in the New Yorker: “In such a moment of continued emergency, the most important task may be to distinguish as rigorously as possible between new policies and programs that, however awful, are a reflection of the normal oscillation of power, natural in a mature democracy, and those that are not.” He continues:

Assaults on free speech; the imprisoning of critics and dissidents; attempts, on the Russian model, likely to begin soon, to intimidate critics of the regime with fake charges and conjured-up allegations; the intimidation and intolerance of even mild dissidence (that “Apologize!” tweet directed at members of the “Hamilton” cast who dared to politely petition Mike Pence); not to mention mass deportations or attempts at discrimination by religion—all things that the Trump and his cohorts have openly contemplated or even promised—are not part of the normal oscillations of power and policy. They are unprecedented and, history tells us, likely to be almost impossible to reverse.

Impeaching Trump will give us President Pence, whose policies could not be less in line with mine. I don’t care. The notion that Pence is the same as Trump, or somehow worse, is ludicrous. Pence will not get us into a nuclear war, there is no cult of personality to be built around Pence, bigots will not shout PENCE as they commit hate crimes. He is a generic GOP pol with lousy policies, but he is loyal to the United States and the American way of life. The same cannot be said of Donald J. Trump.

I should also add, in the interests of being politically neutral, that the ease with which Trump could steer our country into dictatorship was much abetted by President Obama’s own despotic policies; Barack Obama may be a good man and an exemplary person, but he bears some of the responsibility for the totalitarian abyss we’re now staring into. The last nine months of his presidency, during which he played “Eight Years of No Scandal” on his fiddle while Congress shut down his Supreme Court pick, Comey and Putin screwed him, and Trump poured gasoline on the Constitution and lit it on fire, may well prove to be the only ones history remember, and not kindly. Neville Chamberlain was a nice guy, too.

I’ve read enough history to recognize the (swastika-riddled) writing on the wall. Most Americans clearly haven’t. It’s no coincidence that the rise of Fascism here and elsewhere in the world comes at a time when those who lived through the horrors of the Second World War are dying off, when most primary sources are dead, when I suddenly wonder, writing this essay, if people still remember who Neville Chamberlain is.

“Trump has made his plans clear, and he has made a compact with his voters to carry them out,” Gessen warned us in November. “These plans include not only dismantling legislation such as Obamacare but also doing away with judicial restraint—and, yes, punishing opponents.” The repeal of Obamacare is already underway, despite the untold harm it will cause many millions of Americans. As for retribution, today it’s scathing attacks on Twitter. When Trump controls all the mechanisms of the mighty U.S. government tomorrow afternoon? Heaven help us all.

So: I see this as a life and death struggle. Trump is nothing less than a threat to the American way of life, and I mean that without hyperbole. Until my worst fears of his autocratic inclinations are proven wrong, I’m taking this very, very seriously. And if that means I have to disrupt the safe-space Facebook and Twitter feeds of my friends and family members, well, that is a small price to pay for maintaining the right to post whatever the heck we want on those very feeds. When Trump is no longer the president, we can resume sharing pictures of our kids and our cats. Until then, we must resist, with all our might, to ensure that Lady Liberty, having already been groped by his short fingers, is not strangled to death by them.

Despite claims to the contrary by John Wilkes Booth, we have never had a tyrant in the White House. Tomorrow, we will. If this doesn’t terrify you, you need to get your head out of the sand. Shit is about to get uncomfortably real. Venezuela-style economic collapse? Martial law? Nuclear war? In the reign of King Donald I, anything is possible.

Sic semper tyranis, indeed.

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Playing the Donald Trump Game

IT’S FUNNY TO ME that I can remember Donald Trump so clearly in the 1980s. I was just a kid, but I can. He was like a Swatch watch; he had a big cultural moment. Donald Trump, AIDS, Bernie Goetz, Cabbage Patch Kids, they are all connected in my mind. They are all totems of the Reagan years. “The Donald”— the youngish tycoon championed for his business acumen, and his disco lifestyle, his platinum blonde wife with the exotic name, Ivana, at his side. He was a camp interest, but one with an underlying message attached: Greed is good. Robin Leach will interview you in your gold-plated hot tub.

Trump and the AIDS crisis are forever linked in my mind, and now the conflation seems prescient, almost psychic. My greatest fear for his presidency, besides a more impulsive version of the end of times scenario laid out in the Genesis “Land of Confusion” video, is how the already vulnerable in this country will be treated.

When I first became aware of the existence of Donald Trump, I was twelve. My friend Gwen had moved to the area with her family the year before. She lived in a big, modern house with huge picture windows, and a fake deer out in the yard. The rumor was that her mom had modelled the house’s design on the home of another girl in our grade; that one day she had dropped Gwen off there, and went back to Gwen’s dad, and said, I want that house. It was probably true; the houses were almost mirror images. As the contestants chant as they spin the wheel on the game show, “Wheel of Fortune”— Big money! Big money! As F. Scott Fitzgerald famously remarked, “The rich are different from you and me.” There is a bias that leans towards them being better.

Nobody knew what Gwen’s father did for a living. Something that involved a leather swivel chair in a private office inside the house that we weren’t supposed to go into (though we did, giddy to use his fancy phone with its multiple lines), and constantly changing business partners. Something that involved her family moving a lot, and her dad buying up real estate, and setting up bank accounts for his use in Gwen and her siblings’ names.

My family was poor: my father was an immigrant, a house painter when he worked, and my mother was a secretary. One night, while I was spending the night at Gwen’s house, her father said to me, “I hope you enjoy all the food that I pay for,” as I took a bite out of some take-out he’d brought back to the house.  My family wasn’t that poor. I wasn’t there because I was starving.

My mother, who had no private office, or swivel chair, never said anything like that to Gwen when she ate at our house. I remember her father’s mouth as he spoke, the chewed food still visible inside it. I remember wanting to disappear, wanting to hide, but what I wanted the most was to pull out a wallet full of hundred dollar bills, and have my father materialize carrying a briefcase, and wearing a suit and tie. At twelve, how do you respond to a comment like that? How do you refute the sting of it?

For her birthday that year, Gwen really wanted the Donald Trump board game. It was expensive for a board game, and came in a box the size of a phone book, with “The Donald’s” face on the top, the same picture that was on the cover of his bestselling book The Art of the Deal which was written by someone else, not “The Donald,” because as I would learn once I got older, success means you can outsource the story of your success. I was going to get the game for her. She wanted it badly, and it’s fun to get something for someone you like, especially when you know how much they want it. This is something people without a lot of money know about acutely.

I had to wait until after Christmas, which was fine, because her birthday was right after Christmas. I bought it for her at a local gift shop, with the money I got from my grandparents for the holiday. My grandparents owned the house that my family lived in, had given my mother the car that she drove. Unlike sibling hand-me-downs, an ugly sweater, these were survival hand-me-downs. (I used to think that the reason families gave their kids names that began with the same letter was to save money on the L.L Bean monogrammed sweaters that were popular at the time.) My father drove a Ford Pinto. When he worked, he kept his paint supplies in the back.

~

If you are a poor person, what kind of poor person would you identify as?

  1. proud
  2. ashamed
  3. grateful
  4. angry

 

If you are not a poor person, how do you think the poor should feel?

  1. proud
  2. ashamed
  3. grateful
  4. angry

~

My mother wasn’t supposed to be so needy. She’d gone to Catholic high school, she’d gone to college. But she dropped out a semester before graduation. She dropped out because she’d believed in something, and wanted to dedicate her life to it. Perhaps it was easier for her not to resist that passion because of the safety net of her parents, but my grandparents were not rich. My grandfather never graduated high school; after serving in the military during World War II, he became an insurance agent, thanks to a local man who helped the children of Italian immigrants find careers. (The altruism of this local man aided three generations of my family.) My grandfather did well at his job, and my mother grew up middle class, but this only increased the sting of her dropping out. She would have been the first person in her family to graduate.

The house that I grew up in, the house that my grandparents owned, was the same house that my mother had grown up in, only it was in a state of decay. There was a gas station next door, and the street it was on had become a major thoroughfare. The fence around the property was falling down, and drunken patrons from the bar across the street would sometimes pass out in my dad’s car. They’d come to the next day with splotches of regret on their clothes from the cans of paint he kept on the backseat.

My grandparents were pissed at my mother. They were pissed at her for thinking with her heart, and not with her head, meaning, her purse, not thinking of her financial future. My grandmother’s side of the family was Irish, and my mother had dropped out of college because she wanted to help liberate Ireland from English rule. When people talk about the activism of the 1960s and the 70s, they don’t talk much about the Irish Freedom movement, but that was where my mother threw her heart, and lost her wallet, and that is how she met my father, an Irish immigrant from Dublin. The children born of their union, myself and my siblings, led my grandparents to reconcile with my mother, and save us from abject poverty, but they did not save us in any way that satisfied my twelve-year-old self.

My grandparents’ gifts allowed us to pass as lower middle class in a well-to- do area. Look at the language: “to pass.” The true color of my economic skin, the birth sex of my economic gender: poor. Their generosity granted us protection from the elements, and the possibility of travel in a car that was not a Ford Pinto, but I wasn’t in a place where I could feel gratitude for these gifts. They lacked flash, socio-economic glow. I felt shame about my family’s economic circumstances, and the signifiers that I knew betrayed them. To compensate, I fantasized, and lied. Donald Trump subscribes to the idea that if you repeat a lie enough, it will become the truth, but my family’s economic circumstances didn’t change. This mendacious alchemy didn’t work for us.

What Gwen’s father probably meant with his comment about the food was that he was sick of paying for me when Gwen wanted me to come along when they did bigger-budget things, like went skiing, or maybe what he really wanted was to hear me say thank you while genuflecting. I know I said it while standing, every time, because I was raised to have good manners, to always say please and thank you. Please is a strange word when you spend too much time thinking about it. Inherent to its utility is the idea that there is a sweetening that occurs when a person is willing to acknowledge their lesser place in the power dynamic. You must tread lightly though, the mechanics are so delicate, that even giving lip service to the revelation could get you labelled an ingrate. Please is the sadism of gratitude. Thank you the masochism.

Often, I’d be at Gwen’s house when her family would spontaneously come up with the idea of doing something—one of the perks of having money is the ability to be spontaneous, to play it, and because of my presence, I’d end up absorbed into their plans. At my house, all of our spontaneous activities took planning. My friendship with his daughter was real. It wasn’t about take-out. It wasn’t about skiing. I still have no idea what it costs to ski. The only time I ever went was with their family.

It’s strange to think about the insecurities that must plague men like Gwen’s father, men who present themselves bigly. They like that word, too, bigly (“big league”), they also have a weakness for the expression “big time.” Why do bigly men who have access to so much still feel a need to degrade those who don’t, to humiliate them, to remind them when they are being given something, or twist it around, claiming that something has been taken from them? It might not be worth much, but I remember what the take-out was, that night at Gwen’s. The straw that broke her bigly father’s back was chicken from KFC.

If you don’t have better coping skills, in a primitive bid to rid yourself of what you’ve been made to feel, you might try to pass it on to someone else. I remember me, and another girl like me, another girl with a run down house, seeking each other out, and taunting each other. Saying, You’re poor. No, you’re poor. Which is really saying, You’re the degraded one. Not me. Chasing each other around the schoolyard. No, your life is of lesser value. You say “please” more. Something existed in our lives that we knew we should be ashamed of, that we knew made us vulnerable. Growing up, I dreaded four words, and my mother said them all the time. We can’t afford it. I feared that she might say them around someone else, that someone might hear her.

Yesterday I was at Subway. I go there often, and know the staff, all Spanish-speaking immigrants, who make what I call degradation wages, as opposed to minimum wages, or the laughingly dishonest, honest wages. It was a Friday night, and I watched as a blonde woman with a newscaster haircut and three young girls in her charge all placed their complicated orders, as if ordering at some kind of specialty delicatessen, when not laughing about some joke on their cell phones, ignoring the employees’ questions of cheese qualification.

She wanted a foot long, on two different kinds of bread, which demands that the rules of Subway sandwich making be bended—with provolone cheese, no, with pepper jack cheese; she was indecisive on every ingredient, as she encouraged the young girls to be. The line grew longer behind them; the woman carried on, almost obliviously, but it wasn’t that she was truly oblivious, it was that she was comfortable. She was comfortable making others uncomfortable on the long march towards getting whatever it was she wanted. The employees kept their heads down. I knew that they were simmering with rage, I was simmering with rage watching, but in order to get your degradation wages, you must keep your mouth closed. What I wanted most in that moment was to free them from what held them there, heads down, unable to tell this ridiculous woman what she deserved to hear: Today ma’am, you can eat shit. After paying, studying her receipt to make sure she hadn’t been overcharged, the woman put no tip in the plastic box by the register, not that a tip would have disinfected the exchange, but she paid with cash, and certainly could have. I looked out in the parking lot, and watched her get into her big SUV with its Make America Great Again bumper sticker. Nothing taken from me today, she probably thought. I mention this woman for one reason: one of the employees and I had talked about the election in the weeks before November 8th. One of the men who had made her sandwiches had told me he wanted Donald Trump to win.

Why? I’d asked him. Why?

He’d said something about Hillary Clinton wanting to make college affordable for everyone—the kind of lofty ideal that comes up during a campaign, and then often never goes anywhere once the candidate is elected— and how would the country pay for that? I’d wondered to myself, how come this man wouldn’t want affordable college, if not for himself, then for his friends, or family? I couldn’t imagine his taxes would be that much affected, he seemed to me to be the kind of person affordable tuition would most benefit. And anyway, this far off dream of egalitarian education was enough to get him to throw his support behind Donald Trump? The man was Spanish-speaking, he was an immigrant. Wouldn’t the normal rules of the universe say he’d find Trump and all his campaign postures abhorrent? Two white men were standing in line next to me as we had the exchange; they’d actually started it. They made little whooping sounds indicating that they agreed with what the employee was saying.

You may never be bigly, but you can take measures to negate the shame that you are made to feel because of it. For the sake of your ego, you can keep your head down; never look the entitled person in the eye. You can turn away from those most like you, because your affiliation with them might give you away. You can try to blend amongst those who might point you out and put you down: adopt what they wear, how they speak. Who they despise.

It wasn’t just the employee. It was the owner of the liquor store, who says he’s faced housing discrimination because he’s Muslim. The woman from AA with diabetes, who suffers from mental illness and has experienced sexual assault. I noticed a phenomenon during this election. Vulnerable, marginalized people supporting Donald Trump—or at least claiming publicly to support Donald Trump. Groups of people he had maligned, or implied wouldn’t be so welcome in the America he would be making great again. I think some of those people supported him because they didn’t want to think of themselves as part of the population he was actively denigrating; they didn’t want to think of themselves as marginalized, as the people he was calling “losers,” or “rapists,” or “Miss Piggy,” or threatening to deport. It was as if by supporting him they were saying, “That’s not me—that’s another group of people, and here’s the ultimate proof it’s not me, I’m saying fuck them, too.” I think they supported him out of shame. I also think some of them projected onto Trump a realization of the bigly dream: all the gold-plated goodies great wealth can buy, the attractive spouse, really a revisiting of all the elements that had bought Trump to fame in the 80s.

Supporting Trump was about the things they wanted for themselves, and things they wanted to believe about themselves. It was also about the things they didn’t want to believe about themselves: one being that he and his supporters were talking about them. Perhaps it wasn’t shame so much, as it was fear. What is shame anyway, but the internalized fear of being found out?

The first time I was on government assistance, I was nineteen. I had blue hair, and was part of a punk rock subculture. Receiving it felt defiant in the face of my childhood, and the shame I’d felt then. But there’s a fetishization of poverty that occurs in young, white artistic subcultures, and it happens because most in them fully expect to someday transcend their circumstances. Governmental assistance is treated like a novelty, an accessory, something cosmetic, like blue hair. When I received it in my 30s, my hair it’s natural color, no longer a part of any subculture but that of a single, working-poor parent, those old feelings of shame could have easily returned. Gwen’s father’s voice and words belonged to the every big man, and he loved talking about me: on the television, in newspaper editorials, on the campaign trail, in conversations I overheard, and in comments said to my face when they didn’t realize they were talking about me: I hope you enjoy all that I pay for. It’s a testament to the very real need of the poor, the constant abuse they are made to suffer. How they are constantly made to have to prove that need for critique. For the poor, it’s a constant economy of degradation.

I’ve written about very personal things, but it feels like a different kind of revelation to write about money, because it’s the measure in so many minds—even better ones— of success, and of failure. In the arts, where monetary rewards are slim, success is gauged then not by actual dollars, but by proximity to actual dollars. Are you a paid writer? Do you have an agent—which is just asking if some bigly person think they can sell you? Your price might be pennies, but there’s prestige in just having a price.

My child is eleven, and reminds me of myself at twelve. I have been unable to shield him. He watches the home renovation channel on TV, and I know what he’s doing, he’s dreaming. At times, I’ve heard him lying to his friends. No one seems to consider what the big student loan debt confession sounds like to a lot of people: a humble-brag. Yes, I have this debt, but I’m moving on up.

It hurts me to write this. Before my father and my mother gave up their activism to raise kids, and work jobs for not much money that degraded their very real intelligence, they had both been very good at harnessing their passion: their want for Irish freedom. Free of intellectual stimulation in his work, my father floundered. He drank. He didn’t work for long stretches of time. My father died when I was seventeen, and my clearest memories of him are all from periods when he wasn’t working: whenever I’d stay home from school sick, we’d watch movies together, on the couch. A lot of his employers were wealthy, and their material success must have made him feel smaller, less than. Unemployed, he spent a lot of time at the library, because if there was anything my father would have wanted for himself, it would have been a college education. There one day, he met a reporter working on a story about the Irish in America. He interviewed my father for the piece, I imagine, based on the stories my father must have told him in their initial conversations because in America, my father had started to tell tales. He’d said he’d been a professor in New York City, that he’d graduated from Trinity College. In scheme of things, his lies weren’t superficial, they were humble. They were lies that said take me seriously, see me, here’s my phony credentials. It makes me so sad, that that shame can still get you, even when you know better, even when you’ve dedicated years of your life to revolution.

I bought Gwen the Trump game. The slogan that had sold it in commercials at the time was: “It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s whether you win.” Winning, was of course, amassing wealth and properties, the attributes that made Trump so famous in the 1980s. Considering that he has no political experience, I believe they’re the same attributes that have made him so popular now —his wealth, combined with the knack for cruelty that he has shown in the media, and out on the campaign trail. I think this is the real divide in this country: the social principles of empathy vs. the social principles of greed. The funny thing is, they need not be mutually exclusive. It’s clear what side of the divide House Speaker Paul Ryan is on when he says children of poor families don’t want free lunch at school as much as they want “dignity.” It’s capitalism writ cruel, and I fear that the upcoming cruelty is being anticipated as much as the guard change.

I can’t remember Gwen and I actually playing the Trump game. What I do remember, is my joy, my sense of pride, at being able to give it to her as a gift. A few years later, I spied the cover of the box in a corner of her large walk-in closet— I caught a glimpse of “The Donald’s” face. Though it was only a few years later, the early 1990s, what Donald Trump represented already seemed like a relic ideology, from a distant era. I can’t believe she still has it, I thought to myself. Or that I bought it. The 80s. What an ugly time.

TRUMP

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