JANUARY 11, 2021 – Yesterday I visited a website so crazy I won’t name it. It’s devoted full flush to Trumpian authoritarianism; an infinity mirror of rants. The experience felt like a voyage to hell aboard a ship with certain crew and passengers drilling holes through the bottom of the hull. Before swimming with sharks, I’d been watching the surrounding storm from the relative safety of our spacious stateroom (full room service still available).
A new reality flooded my thoughts. Aboard our national vessel are people hell-bent on destroying it. Like members of an extreme religious cult, they clothe themselves in historical symbols and slogans—the current American flag; the Colonial one; and the one so ironic among fascist authoritarians, the Libertarian flag charging, “Don’t Tread on Me!” But stripped of their red-white-and-blue face paint, these destroyers are feverishly ANTI-American.
A country of 330 million souls inevitably includes millions with whom, in a million years, you’d never choose to associate. As the acerbic commentator, Bill Maher once put it, “Democracy is a system in which you get to live with people you can’t stand.” But after reading the aforementioned posts—and a sickening dose of online FoxNews and NewsMax articles—I concluded that American democracy, already pitching and yawing in the waves, is in for a dark night on stormy seas as it limps toward a safe harbor.
On the bridge is a pirate who, in league with a motley crew, steered the ship straight into the storm. He’s now teetering with his back to the bow, consuming whiskey from one hand while he waves a loaded pistol in the other. Fearing for their careers, the abetting crew now scurry like rats from imminent inundation. They will bite anything in their way.
Help is on the horizon, but it’s a fragile operation fraught with risks. A new captain and crew, sober and experienced, are aboard a harbor boat headed for the good ship America.
Anyone who’s witnessed the transfer of a maritime pilot from harbor boat to cruise ship headed for port knows the dangers involved, especially in heavy seas: The smaller boat motors up to the mighty vessel, then maneuvers to an open doorway just above the waterline. At precisely the right moment, the pilot—identifiable by the safety pack hanging by a strap over one shoulder—leaps from the harbor craft to the cruise ship. Four crew members aboard the floating city catch and haul him in as if he were a prize tuna.
That’s under the best of circumstances. But the upcoming transfer will be in howling winds, driving rain, and tumultuous seas—surrounded by darkness. Aboard the receiving vessel are crew and passengers hell-bent on sabotaging the transfer.
What shall we in our staterooms do? Sit tight and hope for the best? Strap on our life vests and prepare for the worst?
This is the hour that requires “all hands on deck” if the ship is to be saved. Be sure to wear your rain gear, and attach yourself to a safety line.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
2 Comments
A perfect visual analogy, once again, Eric. Thank you. I’ve been privileged to be on a cruise ship through the St. Lawrence Seaway. I quickly discovered the existence of harbor pilots and found myself glued to the rail, mesmerized by the small boat approaching the big boat, the final leap of the harbor pilot finishing the job. I cannot bring myself to view websites or newscasts promulgating the big lie so am glad to have your report to keep my own head out of the sand. -Ann
I don’t know what’s tougher–getting dunked by one wave after another or having sand in the eyes.
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