Aug. 5, 2019 – As I write this, I am in fear for my freedom, even my life. I am in a hidden location; Trump’s gestapo–an army of Homeland Security and Breitbart thugs–could come for me any time, and haul me away, with no charges and no lawyer, to “rendition” me in a black site, as they already have hauled away so many other “Deep State enemies.” However, I will blog as long as I have to capacity to do so.
It is now eleven months since the New York Times “Anonymous” op-ed piece appeared, eleven months since Trump demanded that “his” Justice Department and “his” Attorney General, Sessions, identify and arrest the “traitor” who wrote the editorial. And ten months since the widespread arrests and disappearances began. Democrats and civil libertarians at first screamed bloody murder. Then they, too, began to vanish: a Senator on her way home from the gym, a Congresswoman who told her husband she’d be right back from a quick trip to the market and never returned, a Federal judge who went solo on a fishing trip and whose campsite was discovered, a week later, undisturbed, except for the fact that he was never found, a Washington Post reporter whose bicycle was found in Rock Creek Park, with his shattered glasses on the ground beside it.
Soon the press stropped writing about the disappearances, even the New York Times. Journalists were terrified of reprisals; publishers understood how difficult a vengeful, all-powerful regime could make their businesses, and their lives. And Mueller? There never was a report. It is amazing, in retrospect, how quickly, how thoroughly he faded from the news. Nobody knows where he is, or what happened to him. For that matter, nobody knows if Hillary Clinton or Obama still live, and are free: we have heard from neither in months. Well, certainly, somebody knows these things–the people behind the purge. But they aren’t saying. The important fact is that the Mueller investigation simply ended, not with a bang, or even a whimper, but with an eerie silence.
And the American people? As I say, those who cared were cowed into muteness. Those who didn’t care, still don’t. As long as they have their creature comforts, they’re content.
The Internet went dead for nearly four months. No Google, no social media, not even email. The government took care of that—how it was possible for them to anesthetize the entire World Wide Web, I have no idea. Overnight—this was in the winter of 2018, Dec. 28th, to be precise—we were plunged back into a pre-computer world. Oh, we still had computers: word processing, databases and all that. But that was it, until the government announced the “new Internet” in March. All domains had to be registered with the Justice Department. They were assigned a new “.fox” tag. The “news” could be found at news.fox. A reinvented twitter was at twitter.fox. It is surprising how easily people adapted to the new restrictions. Millennials, especially, seemed not to care.
There did remain television. The regime even allowed MSNBC to stay on the air, although, of course, some familiar faces disappeared. Did Rachel Maddow go back to Western Massachusetts, under house arrest? Was Chris Matthews free? Who knew? They let Brian Williams continue, but he became essentially the administration’s biggest fan. (I’ll never forget his broadside against Hillary Clinton, in which his guests were Alex Jones, Steve Bannon and Rush Limbaugh.) CNN too remained (or was allowed to remain), and even Wolf Blitzer. At the height of the crackdown, he’d disappeared for three weeks—the network said he was “on vacation.” When he reappeared, on a Monday night, he looked older, thinner, gaunt, his cheekbones sunken, his eyes puffy and watery, his shirt collar too big. But it was him, good old Wolf! And he reported the news in the same old matter-of-fact way: Trump spoke to a rapturous crowd in Terre Haute, Trump celebrated his anniversary with Melania, Trump this, Trump that, all the reportage favorable to the president. Congress continued to convene, absent, of course, the faces who were no longer there. One wondered if Pelosi were alive or dead. Adam Schiff was gone, Cory Booker was gone, Eric Swalwell was gone, ditto Durbin, Feinstein, Maxine Waters, Elizabeth Warren, and on and on. The administration found replacements for them, nominally Democrats, but all voted all the time for every Republican bill.
Had The Resistance been a dream?
Perhaps. I remember, or think I remember, joining it, proudly, in September, 2016, even before the election. I remember fighting the regime with every ounce of strength I had, knowing that Trump would do exactly what he has done, the minute he had the power to do it. I suppose it was the confirmation of Kavanaugh that finally convinced him to make his move. He knew, and knows, that there is nothing anyone can do to stop him, now, because that was the deal he made with Kavanaugh: I will appoint you to your dream job, if you promise me you will not let me be indicted, or subpoenaed, or charged with any crime, or be impeached, and guarantee that I can pardon myself. And, Brett, just in case you’re thinking of making that promise, and then breaking it when you’re on the Court, consider this: I remain Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces and head of all the intelligence agencies of the United States, and you have two lovely daughters, Liza and Margaret, and your wonderful wife, Ashley.
It would not have been hard for Judge Kavanaugh to read between the lines.
And so I write, from this secret location. I have no idea if anyone will ever read these words. But still! A record must be kept, of truth, of fact, of accuracy and freedom. Someday, History—
Wait! There’s someone outside, banging on my door. I get up to answer. Gus looks up, startled. I–
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