The Republican presidential front
runner Donald Trump is not a disease in the American body politic. He is its symptom, a festering sore finally so
obvious that even the disease’s deniers find denial impossible.
Trump has marched ahead of the
other GOP presidential candidates by out-fascisting them. He has been rivaled
only by the equally fascist torture lover Ben Carson. In a political party in
which fascism is fashionable, the most flagrant fascist is Il Duce.
Trump speaks approvingly of the Russian
habit of having journalists murdered. Proto-tyrants like Trump resent
constitutions and the rule of law as impediments to their will. Absolute power
must arbitrary. That’s what gets them hot.
For 15 years, since the stolen
election of 2000, I have endured sneers from people who pooh-poohed my
observation that the Republican Party was aimed straight at full-blown,
totalitarian fascism, complete with torture and summary execution. Where are
their “centrist” sneers now that insulting the disabled and torturing the
helpless are favorite GOP hobbies. Trump is, in that sense, the fulfillment of
the Republican dream.
It's so odd. Ever since I've been
aware of Trump, for decades now, I've recognized him as a dimwitted vulgarian
with a needy ego, the kind of person you feel a little sorry for because he
constantly embarrasses himself but is too unaware even to know that. What
astounds me is that his fans can't see something that is so glaringly obvious. Trump's
pathological insecurities are apparent, but only to relatively secure people. Donald Trump’s ego would eat the
entire world if it could, burp, and then remain hungry. Something so empty can
never be satisfied.
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| Above the Rose Parade on Jan. 1, 2016. |
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