Reflection on the 6th of January
Sara
Hilary asked me to write my reflection of the 6th of January 2021, but I fear that what I have to offer is not what anyone would like to hear. I live in D.C., so I assume she asked due to thinking my geographical location provides me with additional layers of insight, an understandable assumption and request. Dearest Hilary, I wish I could comply, but honesty dictates that I must confess I am devoid of analysis, inside of me is no message of greater meaning ready to be imparted with melodious metaphors and descriptors. I watched CNN for 8 hours and all I saw was banality. January 6th was a horrible day, and while my upset and hysterics were real, they were the product of inevitability rather than shock.
I saw someone wearing a ‘Camp Auschwitz’ sweater on a tv framed on either side by bookshelves containing volumes with titles like The History of the Jews, or The Reconstructionist Torah. I didn’t stir consciously at the contrast.
“Can you believe people like that have managed to break into the Capitol?” Said a voice from the television. I stifled a laugh at the incredulous question. On the table in front of me was a book about the history of pogroms in Russia.
Maybe my Jewishness has numbed me. I used to hate the way my relatives resigned themselves to tragedy, their hands flinging into the air. But I get it now, how quickly tragedy turns ordinary. To those who experience a jolt on the 6th of January, I wish I could offer you words of sympathy, but really all I find myself asking them is, have you forgotten the entire history of America? This mob was cruel, this mob had destruction, rampage, and violence as it’s goals. But this mob was not unique.
I’ll echo my word choice at the start; acts of violence and hatred in America are acts of banality.
After every national tragedy, there seems to be a widespread need for understanding. The men and women entrusted with power hold rounds of inquiry, hours of hearings and committee meetings, all necessary, they assure us, to prevent another unspeakable tragedy. The finger pointing and pinning down of blame is signalled as over when they proffer up a concise and neatly typed piece of paper. They tell us this paper is capable of resculpting the great granite hallways they walk each day into something better. They tell us that the words they speak and then write down mean we’re preventing future mistakes, that they deserve re-election for all the future crises their sweeping intellect has managed to avoid.
And so, while I am grateful to those who are pushing for impeachment, I must ask: and then what? We’ve had 300 years of pain to learn from, yet nothing changes. How do you expect me to believe there won’t be another Trump? How do you expect me to believe that firing a few people will expunge our citizenry of individuals ready and willing to kill to preserve lies? I put to you a challenge. Make me surprised the next time heinous acts occur. Show me a vision of the future that isn’t merely reaction. Explain to me, why you deserve my trust.
I will end my thoughts in an attempt to head off some feedback you’re assured to give me dearest Hilary. There is no argument here because there is nothing I’m arguing for. This is just what I saw. I’ve got nothing inside of me to argue for a greater cause because a sweeping change is something that lives inside of fiction. I do have hope, hope that one day I’ll read this and be distraught with my pessimism, hope that the actions taken by people in power have impact. I hope and I pray.
