Heaven forbid we offend the children of people who cage other people’s children for the act of requesting asylum at our borders. After shouting “fuck your feelings” for four years, hanging Obama in effigy and fantasizing about “locking up” a former senator and Secretary of State, it’s a little rich to hear calls for comity.
As the day went on, it began to feel as though we were allergic to the joy we were feeling. How dare we dance for the end of Trump when so many Republicans remain in office, after all? Doesn’t dancing mean we think the work is over?
And can we even dance without mourning? A quarter of a million Americans dead of a preventable disease Trump did not prevent, untold damage done to the climate, to international alliances, to civil liberties, to the economy?
We’ve got work to do. Starting yesterday. Starting four years ago. But goddamn people, we deserved some champagne.
A.
Fuckin’ A, as they used to say.
It’s always been the Republican way. When they win, it’s God’s will, or the will of the people, or the anointing from some other higher power like Mitch McConnell or Newt Gingrich. When they lose, the game was rigged, the winners are illegitimate, and they have no mandate to govern except as Republicans want them to govern.
Failing any of that, their sole purpose is to make the taste of victory turn to ashes in our mouths. They flip over the chess board, throw their lost chips in our faces, tear the cards in half, or whatever other spoiled-child tantrum is available. It isn’t easy, but ignore the sore losers.