Turbulence Before Landing: There's a Dense Cloud of Ists !
In the past few weeks, I've had the distinct feeling that something is unfolding across America as the midterms approach.
For those who choose to wear red baseball caps, it's a bit like being on an aeroplane on final approach when it hits unexpected turbulence; the seatbelt sign lights up, the flight attendants strap in a little too quickly, and there's a collective intake of breath from passengers who, until thirty seconds ago, were perfectly content with their complimentary pretzels.
The Republicans, I feel, and I certainly hope I'm right, are losing. There's a definite whiff of panic in the air, the kind you can smell from several time zones away.
Trump, the all-seeing, all-knowing messiah of MAGA, is dispensing endorsements the way confetti is tossed at a Mar-a-Lago wedding: extravagantly, indiscriminately, and with total confidence that gravity is optional. The trouble is, the confetti keeps blowing away in the wind. It turns out that when the guy throwing it starts to look less like a kingmaker and more like a man shouting at a parade that has already turned the corner.
The question now is what rhetoric to deploy at the rallies. When he's not dozing off mid-sentence, a look I can only describe as "statesman meets Sunday afternoon on the sofa", the message, when awake, is that all Democrats are communists. And then, if that wasn’t enough, he throws in a little extra seasoning,
Marxists. !!
Honestly, I wish they'd settle on one insult and stick to it. Fascists, communists, Marxists, socialists, the list goes on so long you start to wonder if there's a Scrabble bag involved. Pick an ideology and stick to it. It's really not that hard.
After two hours of spewing isms into a sea of red hats, it's back on his jet, or, if it's close, in the back of the local catering truck, to the gilded Oval Office for a cozy chat with Kim Jong-un, his "beautiful friend".
Hang on, isn't he a hardcore communist? Last time I looked, I would definitely say he was, and a Marxist to boot. Also, he’s not the nicest of statesmen, having starved a couple of million of his own citizens to death. If that wasn’t enough, he obliterated his uncle with an anti-aircraft gun at close range!
Once the love chat with his beautiful friend from the Hermit Kingdom was over, the Commander in Chief (wow, that’s scary) was on the phone barking instructions at his Secretary of War, dear Pete. I mean, nothing says "de-escalation" quite like renaming the Department of Defense after the thing it's supposed to prevent.
The call was to tell his lapdog to withdraw from joint defense exercises with South Korea and to send another carrier group steaming towards the Strait of Hormuz.
Why, you ask?
Apparently, he asked the South Koreans for help with his little invasion project in the Middle East, and they, being a sovereign nation with sound judgment, said no. Aggrieved, Trumpy promptly took his toys and went home, or rather, took his very large, very expensive toy and sent it two oceans away, announcing that the South Koreans could jolly well handle their own defense from here on in.
This, mind you, was directed at a country sitting approximately one Hermit Kingdom away from a dictator with a nuclear arsenal that would make Putin blush.
So let's recap: communism and Marxism are an existential threat to the Republic when it's wearing a Democratic Party lapel pin, but it’s perfectly manageable, charming, even "beautiful", when it's in possession of the full set of nuclear launch codes.
It would seem there's room in Trump's heart for the odd communist after all, provided he brings his own missiles and asks for nothing in return. I don't know how this scenario plays out in Ohio's diners. I genuinely don't.
But from row 34, seat A, watching the seatbelt sign flash and the drinks trolley skitter down the aisle, it does rather feel as if the plane is losing altitude faster than the flight plan suggested, and the man in the cockpit keeps insisting, over the intercom, through a mouthful of something, that everything is fine.
Actually, lots of people tell him it’s better than fine. It’s the best landing anyone has ever seen. Tremendous. Oh, and by the way, does anyone know if Kim's free for dinner?
Buckle up. We're not down yet.
Paul v Walters is the author of several novels and an anthology of short stories and is fortunate enough to live on the island of Bali. His latest work, RITUAL, was recently launched at the Ubud International Readers and Writers Festival.
