It’s been
more than a year since the Hermit Philosopher last posted here. He’s been
happily occupied playing bridge, serving as club manager, reading good books,
and enjoying family — the kinds of ordinary
pleasures that make life worth the shuffle. He had hoped to stay at the card
table and out of the topic of politics, but the game that’s being played in
Washington feels like a nightmare at the bridge table. Like going down four,
vulnerable, doubled and redoubled.
Bridge, like
democracy, depends on a few simple principles. You play by agreed rules. You
trust your partner. You respect your opponents. You abide by the contract
you’ve made. When someone starts trumping reality or claiming tricks that
aren’t theirs, the game collapses. It’s no longer a contest of skill — it’s
chaos, it’s dangerous, and it’s immoral.
This is all
part of the dangerous game that’s being played in the moral slum that is Trump’s
Washington.
Sitting in
his gilded Oval Office, Generalissimo Donaldo Trumpo’s reign of error and
terror is spinning out of control. A malignant narcissist, he treats truth as
an inconvenience and uses power as a toy. He fires officials who deliver
unwelcome facts, investigates people he can’t fire, and sends troops into
cities that haven’t asked for (and don’t need) federal help. Boasting that he
can do anything he wants, he names national institutions after himself, kidnaps
the president of a foreign country, and threatens to take over another
country’s territory for reasons of “national security.” (Or is it lebensraum?
Hard to tell.)
We’ve seen
this movie before — in the 1930s and ‘40s in Germany and Spain, and more
recently during Trump One. But this time the soundtrack is louder and cruder, and
the message is more dangerous because the audience has grown numb.
I’d like to
pass this hand — to shrug, to tune out, to tell myself that democracy can
absorb three more years of outrage. But every player at the table has a
responsibility to play by the rules. When one of them does not, silence isn’t
patience; it’s complicity.
We can debate
policies and personalities, but the deeper issue is character. No, not his. There’s
no question about his character. The issue is ours. Do we still
believe in facts? In truth? In institutions strong enough to outlast the egos
that inhabit them? Because if we stop calling attention to rules infractions,
soon the game belongs only to the cheat.
The Hermit Philosopher doesn’t claim to have answers, only the obligation to ask questions that matter:
- How far can power stretch before it snaps?
- Who speaks for truth when lies are more convenient?
- How many times can we watch someone revoke the social contract and break the rules of the game before we decide to walk away from the table entirely?
I’d rather be
talking about card play and grand slams and the meaning of “Unusual 2 No Trump”
(irony intended). But at this moment, the country feels like a game where the
dealer keeps palming the ace of spades and too many players pretend not to
notice. So, I’m laying down my hand and saying what needs to be said. Rules
matter. Truth matters. And if we want the next deal to be fair, we’d better
start defending these principles.
That said,
the most important midterm election in many decades will take place in a few
months. A new hand will be dealt. We might not control the cards, but we are
responsible for how we play them. ♠
