I usually express my despair through poetry. But when I see what Trump and his cronies are doing to democracy, rhyming words don’t cut it.
What frightens me is the possibility that even a great blue wave won’t be enough. That the machinery of power being built beyond congressional scrutiny will keep grinding away, regardless of how we vote. That the damage will keep coming like a tsunami, sweeping away so much of what we cherish.
I am beyond seething. I want to spit vitriol. I want to swear and curse and run through the streets like a mad, raving woman. I want to boil a cauldron like a gnarly old witch, cast spells, and throw a pox over every MAGA supporter who claims to cherish unborn life yet shrugs off the suffering of people already here.
I want to rage like King Lear. Refuse to move like Rosa Parks. Walk mile after mile like Gandhi. March behind Martin Luther King Jr.
And yet here I am, wondering what to do with all this fury.
I can vote. I can speak. I can march. I can put these words into the world, even when they feel pitifully small.
But I want more than the consolation of having done my bit. I want our voices to rise in one strong, rebellious cry, loud enough to reach those who still believe the Constitution will somehow protect itself.
It won’t.
Words on parchment need people willing to defend them. Laws need people willing to uphold them. Democracy needs people willing to stand up when those in power decide the rules no longer apply to them.
I am furious. I am frightened. And I am tired of watching cruelty dressed up as righteousness.
So yes, I voted.
But God, I want to roar.
Val Gee
Oak Park
