Coming of Age

I came of political age in New England during the Nixon debacle, a hard and bitter time for this country. I was surrounded by like-minded friends who were enraged and appalled by the man and his gang of thugs and once they were finally driven out, disbarred or imprisoned, I rejoiced while my mother wept. I kept my faith and never imagined such a time could come again. I suspect I thought that complacency and a vote every two or four years would be enough to sustain me. Certainly I expected that corruption had been put in its place and that the country had learned a valuable lesson. And then it was 2016.

These days I wake each morning surprised we're not at war. The corruption I thought we would never see the like of again has become pathological and the president we elected drives and sustains it. The freedoms we claim to treasure are slipping through our fingers.  The backward drive to undo years of progress is in full swing.

They even have a clever name for it: Post Election Stress Syndrome.

Before Nixon, I was too young to be an activist. Afterward I was too busy. But between then and now, I came to believe all those in power were - or would come to be – corrupt at best, toxic at worst. The business of politics didn't concern or affect me much and when I did think about it, it was like thinking about dirt. I saw no decency in it and hoped it would wash off.

It doesn't.