Tim Barrus, New York Times
Tom Friedman makes an impassioned case for the keeping of his valued democracy. I, too, wish it had worked out, and that we had valued it over and above our fears, hatreds, and our greed.
But it is done.
The talking heads, the talking pundits, the talking writers, the talking interviews, the talking historians, and all the talking hand-wringing will not save a deceased horse. The institutionalists, too, the people who have a vested interest in the system pretend we still have a democracy. Oh, heroic us, there is always hope.
Where do you people live.
Where were you five years ago when the media could not avert its gaze. You just gave it all away, you stood there with your cameras, and elected him. You can scream all you want that it isn’t so, but we were all there when the media made him a sensation night after night after night. You are complicit.
All the voices are connected to a finger-wagging articulated as You Better Vote. All the writing, all the polls, all the people who bring us reality sound exactly the same. It is still one voice. Your diversity has produced a monotone of anxiety that springs to life like a comic book action figure whose magnets can attract all the gravitas to watch all his magic tricks.
Democracy is dead whether you had an investment in it or not. We all work for money (if we can). Your representatives work for money, too. Just like you. Only it’s not your money they work for.
They work for the rich. You allowed it. Get a clue.