What I was going to say about this election

I was going to say that when I was a young journalist I thought I could save the world. 

But that, now, I am just hoping that the really bad stuff won’t happen until after I’m dead.

I was going to say that eight years ago I apologized to my children for the dirty trick my generation played on theirs, i.e. Donald Trump.

I was going to say that four years ago I called the election that rejected Donald Trump the most important one in my lifetime.  

But he came back.

I was going to say that I believe the American people are too intelligent, compassionate and aware of what’s at stake to return a lying, racist, crooked, degenerate misanthrope to the White House.

But then…

…but then I was going to say that…

…if I turn out to be wrong…

…I will at last be at peace. 

I was going to say that if my innate faith in the American people is misplaced, I will conclude that we have been asking the wrong question. 

Instead of asking: Can American democracy survive Donald Trump?

We should have asked: Does American democracy deserve to survive Donald Trump?

I was going to say that at the age of 76, as a career liberal editorialist, I have done my best to defend and preserve American democracy.

I was going to say that, now, if it is the will of The People to usher in the age of American Authoritarianism, then so be it.

I have vigorous participated my entire adult life in what Meg Greenfield – the late great Washington Post editorialist – like to call the “daily argument of public life.”

I  was going to say that, what happens now is no longer my problem. 

It’s my children’s problem. 

I was going to say all of that.

But then…

But then…

Dammit!

But then I went and reread Dylan Thomas.

Who rudely dragged my one foot out of my prematurely dug grave.

And admonished me:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Goddamn you Dylan Thomas!

So forget all of that drivel I said I was going to say. 

Instead understand that, if the worst happens, I will still refuse to go gentle into that good night. 

Listen, if nazis are destined to march up Pennsylvania Avenue to celebrate that man’s inauguration…

I will continue to rage. 

And just because my words have, as yet, forked no lighting…

…that doesn’t mean I may not yet manage to capture lightening in a bottle. 

No, I have clearly not yet done all that I can do.  

Dylan Thomas shames me. 

I will rage, rage at the dying of the American light. If it comes to that.

Because I was born into the light of American democracy. 

And America expects nothing less of me in return.