I wrote this in August. The numbers have grown much worse, and we are now in another, possibly more brutal wave.

Fall and All

One out of every 55 people living in the United States has tested positive for COVID-19. More than 6 million in all. 183,000 dead. At least. Experts think it’s higher. // Aug. 31. I imagine William Carlos Williams in his car. On a rural road in North Jersey. The “contagious hospital” in the distance as the flora awakens among the dry and dead remains of the previous year. // I think of the roads here. Fifty miles south. Lined now with houses and stores and empty storefronts. An economy battered by COVID. // On a podcast, the panel discusses Williams’ poem. The imagery. The opening line seems disconnected, they say. Is disconnected from the poem in most readings. // “By the road to the contagious hospital,” Williams writes, before detailing a “scene of life’s rebirth.” This road “the speaker refers to casually as if he’s traveled it often” leads to “a hospital that only a few years earlier would have been filled with victims of the 1918 flu pandemic that killed 675,000 Americans.” // Williams. A doctor. Pediatrician. General practitioner. Was on the front lines then. “We doctors were making up to sixty calls a day. Several of us were knocked out, one of the younger of us died, others caught the thing, and we hadn’t a thing that was effective in checking that potent poison that was sweeping the world.” // I’ve read this poem hundreds of times. Read that opening line over and over. Not fully getting it. Now, I can’t help but reread this poem with a COVID eye. Infections spreading. Death counts rising. // Photo on the Times’ website: “Medics with the Houston Fire Department prepared to transport a patient with coronavirus symptoms to a hospital in Houston earlier this month.” // I want so bad to see the “stark dignity of / entrance” as a “profound change,” as an awakening. But summer ends as it began. With distance and masks. // The sunflowers in our yard droop from the weight of existence. Do they know? Evictions loom for many. Millions out of work. Tempers run hot. It is a grim world. // Yesterday, we drove home from a friend’s in the dark. Past the police station. Past dormant construction sites. // Across from us at a light, diners sat outside under striped umbrellas. “We haven’t gone to dinner yet for our anniversary,” I say to my wife. She nods. We don’t make plans. // “They enter the new world naked,” Williams writes of the new growth pushing up from under the “dead, brown leaves” and “leafless vines.” This is the world today. Even at summer’s end. The shoots rising, “uncertain of all / save that they enter.” And “All about them / the cold, familiar wind.”

A Facebook friend ends a post with “Heil Biden,” apparently as a joke. It came at the end of a rant about voter fraud and the latest conspiracy about a van in Georgia. I’ve tried to be open-minded about the extremes of political rhetoric — well, mostly — and I understand that I have used the word pro to-fascist to refer to Trump and the word coup to describe his efforts to overturn a legitimate electoral result. I’ve even written a political speech that is a mashup of Trump and Hitler speeches that is terrifying to me in its seamlessness. I think I’m on solid ground with these criticisms, but I am willing to acknowledge that I may have engaged in some hyperbole.

I think “Heil Biden” crosses a line, especially when there is no evidence of the kind of cult of personality that surrounds Trump surrounding Biden, or that Biden would manifest the kind of strongman tendencies Trump has exhibited over the last four years.

I find myself growing increasingly tired of all of this. I am tired of baseless conspiracies and the marshaling of fiction and falsehood as supposed factual data in support of the insupportable. I am tired of people who define freedom as not wearing masks, and who accuse those of us who do of being sheeple or unthinking drones. I am tired of personality cults and the not-so-subtle equating of Trump with nation and the attacks on those who voted against him as being illegal voters, illegitimate voters, somehow less American or not American.

This is not about policy differences. I am willing to debate those and have friends who call themselves conservative with whom I do so. Our discussions are based on an agreed reality, even if our interpretations and personal philosophies take us in different directions.

This is not about civility, either. I find that word distasteful in a political context because it implies forced bipartisanship and compromise without taking into account what is being compromised.

This is about a darkness that has settled upon us, a willed ignorance and superstition. We’ve replaced logic and debate with name calling and conspiracy, nuance with hardened lines. This descent started in the late-1950s, with John Bircherism and the growth of Goldwater and then Reagan conservatism, accelerated with the conspiracies pushed by the right during the Clinton years and just kept growing worse and more dangerous.

The presidency of George W. Bush, with its claims that it no longer had to abide by a verifiable reality and that it could create its own through pure might, brought this thinking into full flower. During the Obama years, the right became fully unhinged, making the conspiracies of the Clinton years seem trifling, and helping create the conditions that catapulted Trump into the presidency.

Jason Stanley, author of How Fascism Works, told Vox in 2018 that “Fascist politics” is “about identifying enemies, appealing to the in-group (usually the majority group), and smashing truth and replacing it with power.” The goal of this politics is to

get people to disassociate from reality. You get them to sign on to this fantasy version of reality, usually a nationalist narrative about the decline of the country and the need for a strong leader to return it to greatness, and from then on their anchor isn’t the world around them — it’s the leader.

This has been the Trump modus operandi. The Trump years have been marked by attacks on the press, on academia, on science — those institutions responsible for understanding reality and giving each of us the tools for its interpretation. These attacks were levied alongside a claim similar to the Bush team’s: Reality is what Trump decides. If he claims voter fraud, then there must be voter fraud. If he calls COVID a hoax or Chinese plot, then that is what it is and the wearing of masks, the restrictions put in place, the guidelines designed to mitigate risk and limit the number of people who get infected and die are meaningless.

This fracturing of reality has left us unable to respond to a virus that infected more than 14 million Americans with a death toll fast approaching 300,000. Simple preventative measures like wearing masks, keep out distance, and staying home have been transformed into cultural symbols that indicate weakness and fear. The strong do not wear masks. The strong eat indoors. The strong go to church and participate in mass rallies for a man who lost election but continues to raise money and continues to command a kind of personal loyalty unlike anything we’ve seen in American history.

This explains the persistence of claims like one made by several friends on Facebook — and reported on by the conservative propaganda site Newsmax (https://www.newsmax.com/politics/brian-kemp-signature-audit-verification/2020/12/04/id/1000018/) — that a video shows votes being counted after the deadline without monitors present. It explains the statistical acrobatics being performed, the sheer volume of lies and distortions being pushed not just by those close to Trump but by his legions of supporters. And it bodes ill for democracy going forward.

The reality community knows that Biden won fairly convincingly, garnering more than 80 million votes and winning by nearly 7 million. He won more than 300 electoral votes and has since had several recounts and lawsuits go his way. And yet, phrases like “illegal votes” and “Stop the Steal” continue to a clarion call among Trumpists.

Here is Newt Gingrich, former speaker of the House of Representatives, last week, tweeting

Newt Gingrich @newtgingrich

The more data comes out on vote anomalies that clearly are not legitimate the more it looks like 2020 may be the biggest Presidential theft since Adams and Clay robbed Andrew Jackson in 1824. State legislatures should demand recounts

November 27th 2020

24,538 Retweets82,168 Likes

that the 2020 vote “may be the biggest Presidential theft since Adams and Clay robbed Andrew Jackson I. 1824.”

South Carolina Sen. Lindsay Graham has attempted to get Georgia to toss out votes, while Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell has refused to acknowledge Trump’s defeat. The easy response is to portray this as a desperate, Hail Mary pass by politicians hoping to keep their party in power. Perhaps it is.

But it also plays to the crowd and fans the flames of distrust on the right. About 70% of Republicans polled the week after the election “do not believe the presidential election was ‘free and fair’”; among those who questioned the vote’s fairness, “78% thought mail-in ballots spurred extensive voter fraud, while 72% believed ballot tampering occurred.”

Two weeks later, the Morning Consult reported a similar result: Just three in 10 Republicans “say the results in Michigan, Georgia, and Pennsylvania — each of which has now certified the election — are reliable. A similarly low share of GOP voters say the overall election was free and fair.” The Morning Consult surveyed 1,996 registered voters nationwide between Nov. 20 and Nov. 23, and released the results on Nov. 24.

This is not a fringe belief. If we extrapolate the numbers, we are looking at 50 million voters who do not believe Biden won fairly, most of whom also believe he didn’t win and remain loyal to the wannabe strongman who currently holds office. These fraud claims have a racial — let’s be blunt, racist — component. They focus almost solely upon urban areas, making the claim that cities with large Black populations are rife with fraud. The racism plays to a belief among Trump’s most loyal base that Black and brown voters are not legitimately American, which makes their votes illegitimate, as well. Hence, the phrase “illegal votes.”

And if Biden won these votes, he therefore cannot be a legitimate president. This belief is, itself, illegitimate. It’s a lie. But it’s rooted in the soil like a weed, and it will spread and crowd out the truth. So while Trump’s coup did not succeed in keeping him in office, it is succeeding in keeping the poison of Trumpism alive. We can expect more “Heil Biden” nonsense, more conspiracies, more attacks on truth and the press, more effort at distorting reality, and more attempts to nakedly grab for power.

In six and a half weeks, Joe Biden will become president. Kamala Harris will become vice president. The tenure of Trump and Vice President Mike Pence will be over. But the damage caused by their four years of lies and verbal attacks on opponents will continue. You can be on it.

The latest installment:

A Facebook friend posts about her father: He’s in the ICU. He’s on a ventilator, “Fighting to fucking breathe.” // He’s a restaurant worker. Undocumented. In the U.S., in New Jersey, since the late ‘80s. Worked. Raised kids. His daughter’s a lawyer. Undocumented, too, but has DACA. Travelled here with her parents when she was 2. Busted ass to get through school. // She’s exhausted. Resigned. Hopeful. “Wear your fucking masks,” she says. “Quarantine if you need to, to protect others.” // CDC says, stay at home. Says wear a mask. He couldn’t. Immigrants can’t. They pay taxes, but get no help. No aid. No benefits. // According to the NIH, the undocumented “are at increased risk” of COVID because they have to work. Can’t stay at home. They are “essential.” // He “protected himself to the maximum,” she writes. But he had to work. Needed an income. “He insisted on working even though his employer wasn’t complying as needed” with COVID protocols. He caught the virus at work. // Now, he’s hospitalized. Now, he can’t work. Now, there is no income. And no help from the government. It has nothing to offer. Shouldn’t offer anything, That’s what they say. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s illegal. A crime’s a crime. // The argument is always the same. Built on narrow definitions. Crime. Punishment. Legal. Illegal. // The “Law is Law,” I’ve been told. Capitalized, as if “the Law” is infallible. As if we treat all laws as equal. As if all are always treated equally under the law. // The unauthorized immigrant has been placed beyond the law. He works. Pays taxes. Makes the economy go. Gets nothing in return. Gets sick. // His daughter waits and prays for him to recover. “My dad and I need to make many more memories together,” she says. “I’m confident he will.”

I posted this on Facebook yesterday, after seeing some posts from others that downplayed the impact that COVID is having. My sister, Sandy, tested positive over the Thanksgiving holiday, and her husband Chuck awaits results, though it is clear his test will come back positive, as well. It’s a scary moment for our family, and I got angry at the naysayers.

Here’s my original post:

I know people with COVID. I have family with COVID (my sister, Sandy and her husband Chuck). I know people who have lost loved ones to COVID. There are 13.5 million Americans who have or have had it, one of every 24 Americans. Nearly 270,000 have died, a figure that does not take into account those who died from it but were never tested, and does not account for those who avoided medical care because COVID-overrun hospitals could not provide regular care. This pandemic is real and dangerous. It spreads like few things we’ve seen. Still, too many are not taking it seriously.

Responses varied. Some were supportive, but several were from the doubters. Trust in god, they said. Or variations of “it’s no big deal.” Those responses caused me to write a new diary post:

Life must go on, she says. We are not afraid. As if this is about fear. As if precautions are a test of bravery. // He questions the impact on hospitals. Says it’s only true if you watch CNN. // A 99.8% survival rate, she says. A 99.99999% rate, he says. Exaggeration. More than 2% who’ve contracted COVID have died, 20 times the rate of the flu. // Let’s not push hysteria, he says, but 13.5 million Americans have or have had it. One in 24 Americans. My sister Sandy has it. Her husband Chuck, too. // A friend says she still has trouble with her lungs months later. She lost her father to the virus. Nearly 270,000 have died. In 10 months. And the numbers are ratcheting up. // We face a “grim reckoning,” The New York Times writes, “an appalling milestone: more than one million new coronavirus cases every week.” We “now must endure a critical period of transition.” Face the likely surge. Half a million to three-quarters of a million total deaths by Spring. Even with a vaccine imminent. // “The next three months are going to be just horrible,” a doctor tells the Times (https://www.nytimes.com/2020/11/30/health/coronavirus-vaccines-treatments.html?referringSource=articleShare).

Thanksgiving in a Time of Virus

Even the maples in the yard

are scabrous with virus. Still,

they stretch above our sight. Leaves

hang tight to awkward branches.

Fall. Twirl in the wind. It’s raining.

The parade is on. No crowds. Just

cameras. One year, before

my brother was born, my dad

took Sandy and I to his friend’s

office, up high in the Empire

State Building. We watched from above

like demigods. Snoopy passed.

A turkey. Pilgrims and half-naked

Indians. They bounce on air,

tethered to the earth by marchers

holding heavy cable. A half

-century later, I’m in the Hamptons.

Mark’s at home. Dad’s alone

in Vegas, mom in Elkhorn

dulled by a failing mind. Sandy’s

in Nebraska. Exposed. Has

symptoms. A native group in

traditional garb performs,

as a jungle-themed float approaches.

It looks so small. Kate asks Frankie

what she’s thankful for. She says,

“Mommy, daddy, and Hops,” their dog.

She’s four. No one’s asked me what I’m

grateful for. Ashtyn fusses

and chatters. She’s just months old.

We’ve broken protocol to see her.

The wind kicks up. The rain grows

thick and angry, as the branches 

bow in supplication.