Sheila Plotkin

I have wanted to write something about this election cycle, about Donald Trump and his deplorables, about what has happened to my country. But, as the cesspool rose to my knees, I was dumbfounded. I have never seen anything like it. 

Harry Truman was the first President whose existence registered in my childhood consciousness. I cast my first Presidential vote for John F. Kennedy. I have always believed in the ideals expressed by the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, knowing full well that, as a nation, we have never and may never live up to them. They define who we say we want to be, not who we are. 

Therein lies the struggle. People of good will disagree about how to "form a more perfect union", but most make the best decisions they can in the service of that ideal. They understand the value of cooperation over confrontation, common ground over ideological strongholds, and loyalty to principle over blind devotion to the next election.  

In my lifetime, people of good will have held sway most of the time. But, each new generation brings its own ideals to the public square. When their ideals threaten those of preceding generations, fear of change and the unknown begins to overwhelm reason, inhibition, and good will. 

In 1963, as a 25 year old mother of two young children, I had one foot tentatively testing new waters while the other remained firmly planted in the 1950's with its white, middle class value system of civil obedience, belief in government, and trust in American institutions. Then, my President was assassinated. Something shifted. 

When Lyndon Johnson promulgated fair housing legislation in 1964, I marched through Milwaukee's streets in support. I watched the body bags pile up in Viet Nam, struggled with the rightness of street demonstrations and building take-overs, sat open-mouthed as LBJ announced he wouldn't run again, wept at the assassinations of Rev. King and Bobby Kennedy, and finally, fought back tears and a deep foreboding as I watched the Democratic Convention in Chicago in 1968 and the bloody street riots in its wake. I recall wondering, "What's happening to my country?"

But, the generation doing battle with the Chicago PD would not be denied. In the end, they showed all of us a better way to be. They opened our eyes and our hearts, they made challenging authority and upending the status quo "cool", and they expanded our view of our country and ourselves. 

Moments like the 1960's happen cyclically. We're due for another such tumultuous and game-changing decade. Bernie's revolution and Black Lives Matter are working to establish their own spot in the public square, to awaken us and impel us to re-engage with, indeed to save our dying democracy. But, other forces want an acre or two of that public square. 

White supremacy, misogyny, and nationalism comprise the "Jaws" theme that has always rumbled relentlessly in the background of our national drama. It is getting louder because Donald Trump has his hand on the volume button. Cranking it up is the most effective thing he has done since declaring his intention to run for the Presidency. 

Once again, I hear myself asking, "What's happening to my country?" Presidential debates are slogs through a sewer. A Presidential candidate arrogantly demonstrates total ignorance of everything that a President must know. A major party's nominee summons the worst of human nature, giving it permission to run rampant. Elected officials decry the language and behavior and character of their party's standard bearer while simultaneously declaring he is fit to be the President. No one takes responsibility for Donald Trump's rise. Their intellectual dishonesty is stunning. 

There are moments when I simply can't believe what I'm seeing and hearing. There are other moments when I wonder why I'm surprised. 

This election is historic. A woman will be President of the United States. Her opponent threatens her with jail and stalks her on the debate stage. The rotted center of one of our two major parties is about to collapse. And, the ugly, violent traits that Americans hoard until needed are emerging with frightening speed. 

I am alternately disgusted and terrified. I want to believe that those people of good will whom I've trusted all of my life will vote in their best interests and those of their children and grandchildren. I want to believe that this will turn out well.

But, I'm not sure.