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How Low They Go

October 13, 2016

[Update a few hours later:  Michelle Obama tells it exactly like it is!]

In America a page with that title must be about sex.  Actually, this is about sexism—the use of sexuality as a weapon with which to disempower, dominate, and exploit any and all persons who can be assigned a group identity characterized by a key, triggering, anatomical feature.

Trump is fond of putting his hand on that feature, whenever he feels like it.  It’s a power play.  He says, “This is who you are, and this dynamic is inescapable.  It is your destiny.  Our destiny.”

It’s a shaming technique.  It invalidates personal worth and identity.

Now he and his Three Sexketeers (Steve Bannon, David Bossie, and Jared Kushner—Ivanka’s husband) have announced that they will defeat Hillary by employing sexism to suppress the vote.  They will indirectly disenfranchise an important group of potential Hillary voters, whom they identify by gender (meaning, to them, sex).  They will blame their victim, Hillary, for all that is the lowest, her husband Bill, in a way that will make millenial women so sick to their stomachs that they will not even vote.  The act of voting will feel like an assault upon themselves, a participation in the lowest that is imaginable about what enslaves them.  They will be trapped in a categorical dilemma: vote or not vote, their attempt to escape will be futilely self-defeating.

Yes, these men are fools.  And on the same day, they published a map showing that T would win if only men voted.

Well, sexism is one of the debilitating and potentially fatal “psychopathologies of American democracy” that this novel is about, so I guess that as narrator I can’t wholly complain, ugly as it’s going to get.  We’re going to get a good look at it, if Trump has his way.  He’ll make Ugly look like a beauty queen.  And yes, he’ll grope her.  He cannot stop himself.  He’s enraged and losing.  His top advisors are borderless in their personal urge to destroy, and in their willingness to do anything to try to satiate their insatiable, primal lust—the lust for power, for self-aggrandizement, escape from fear, from death.  Clueless in Egoland.

(You know, dear reader, this is all of a piece; and on a stage this grand, every piece is sure to fall into place.  It’s hard to escape Coherence, and that’s the beauty of it all. “The moral arc of the universe. . .”

Sexism, like all of these prejudices, is such an obvious falsification, the instant one’s eyes open to reality.)

Well, it’s all over now, Baby Blue.

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