A Rambunctious Nation

 I was chuckling tonight about a recent episode of the Lawfare podcast, Rational Security, in which the hosts explained a chart one of them had drawn about the likely effects of Trump delaying his trials before the election. The drawing shows the effects of the trial delay bottoming out shortly before the November election in a deep gully that the co-host labeled the "black hole of awful." 

And then I was thinking about how much fun we've all had in this way over the last eight years, discussing how miserable Trump has made our politics—what an easy way it has proved to win an ingratiating chuckle of understanding from relative strangers, once you have assessed their politics, to make some mention along these lines of the ghastly horribleness of U.S. politics under Trump. 

And then I thought about how, if Trump really does become a dictator next year, there would be an awful lot of us who have been making snarky comments about him or complaining about him in this way—and doing so in public. And so, if he wanted to persecute each and every one of us—it would, at the very least, take awhile. Not saying he couldn't do it; but it would take time to work down the list. 

We wouldn't be able to put up much of a physical fight, to be sure. As a collective, we are a scrawny, knock-kneed, spotty bunch. We also haven't been stockpiling an armory for the last several decades the way Trump's supporters have. We don't believe in guns. Which, if the much-discussed second U.S. civil war occurs, is perhaps not the best place from which to start. 

Some of us would simply run for it, no doubt. Others would go silent. We would self-censor. It's hard to imagine that now, of course, given how many people are talking so openly and brazenly every day about how they don't like Trump; but a lot can change quickly. You never know. The loudest voices now might be the ones to shut up the fastest. 

But even if we did—Trump would have all the internet and its eternal memory as witness to the criticisms we had made before. We wouldn't be able to hide. We've all been out in the open for a long time now. We don't like Trump; we've made no secret of that fact. Anyone who wanted confirmation of that could read this blog, or a thousand like it; or listen to that podcast, or a thousand like it. 

And so, Trump would be left with a really long enemies list. If he means what he says about extirpating all the liberal "vermin" from the country, as he calls us, then he has a big job in front of him. He would have many, many millions of people who have said things against him over the last eight years, and some portion of them at least would continue to say those things still.

And in reflecting on this, I felt a sort of comfort, as well as a thrill of patriotism. It occurred to me that there are advantages to having such a constantly high-volume, outrageous, swaggering political discourse in this country. The much-lamented bombast and excess of our First Amendment–protected political speech in this land might be the very thing that saves us. 

Why? Because it means that so many of us have already committed ourselves at this point. We've said things on blogs or podcasts or social media or countless other venues that would get us in trouble with any real-world dictatorship. So, if anyone wanted to stifle and repress the American people, they would have an especially large task ahead of them. It would take awhile. 

These are protections we wouldn't have if we were a politer people, a quieter people. If civility had prevailed, as so many well-intentioned people have long wished it would—if we had actually managed to "turn down the volume" on our political discourse, then any would-be dictator wouldn't have such a long list of people to persecute for their comments; there would be no safety in numbers for the few dissidents who had spoken out. 

And all at once, I felt a great pride in America, and what a wonderfully obnoxious and ornery society we always have been. It may be what saves us. And in that moment, I remembered something Vachel Lindsay wrote, in his great poem reliving the Bryan campaign, about this great rambunctious nation: that in "a nation of" so many swaggering, ill-behaved "millions/ There are plenty of [...] things to shout about/ and knock your old blue devils out." 

May it continue to be so. I have hope. Especially since we have more than tripled the population of the country since Lindsay wrote. And so, there will be even more millions doing the shouting, and the sweating, and the swaggering, and the mouthing-off. May we continue to be a snarky nation; may we continue to be a verminous nation—for if you aren't annoying would-be dictators, you're doing something wrong.