Posted in News of the Day

Unconscious from Too Much News

 

New York Times 22 August 2018

“Trump Praises Manafort for Refusing to ‘Break,’ Unlike Cohen, His Former Fixer”

“With Cohen Implicating Trump, a Presidency’s Fate Rests With Congress”

“Facebook Identifies New Influence Operations Spanning Globe”

“Bull Market Hits a Milestone: 3,453 Days. Most Americans Aren’t at the Party.”

“Hawaii Braces for Hurricane Lane, a Rare Category 4 Storm”

Of course, there is so much more.

There is the video by a fifth generation coal miner in Virginia who warns that Trump’s deregulation of coal mines will further enrich mine owners, impoverish the miners, and inflict more damage on the environment.

There is the opinion piece by the son of a Memphis policeman who was involved in spying on political activists, then burning files full of reports on that spying, in the year of Dr. King’s assassination. Evidence suggests that the Memphis police department is still doing it.

There is the usual combination of news analysis and editorial commentary about the Roman Catholic priests and the boys, girls, and seminarians they abused.

The Home Page on my browser is the NYTimes online. I routinely scan the headlines and settle in to read the fine writing in the op-ed section.  I am interested in what is going on in my world.

Today I realized that, for the moment at least, I have completely lost interest in all of it.  Donald Trump and the other disasters that plague us have achieved what I think is the most dangerous consequence of this time in our history.  They have dulled us to the worst, most unacceptable behavior by a sitting president. They have rendered us indifferent to poverty, the destruction of the planet, the violation of the rule of law and the Constitution. They have knocked us into unconsciousness at the very time when we most need to be awake, impassioned, ready to campaign and to vote.

All that catalogue of horrors has turned us into a people who are no longer disturbed by horrors.

 

Author:

I am retired from over thirty years as an English teacher in the classrooms of independent secondary schools and small private colleges. I spent an unconscionable amount of my early retirement catching up on my New Yorkers and reading the most recent books from my favorite mystery writers. I volunteered. I wrote letters. Then along came 2015--a year of entirely unexpected "firsts." I wrote and published my first book and became a grandmother for the first time. Since then, I have established a regular routine of keeping my grandson half of most weekends and have written three more books. I've been blogging weekly for most of that three years. I have never thought of myself as a writer--not enough discipline. My passion was in those classrooms. In Kentucky, I kept bees. In Michigan I had llamas and a sweat lodge. I didn't write about any of that. And yet, here I am. I write every day. I can't seem to stop writing. It suits me.

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