I haven’t said much lately about current political events — not because there isn’t plenty to comment on (the situation at our Mexican border being, perhaps, foremost at the moment), but because it’s all just so fatiguing. This in itself is worth commenting on, because I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling this way; it seems every day brings some brazen new affront, some new assault upon the traditional American nation, and after a time you begin to feel that you’ve said all you can say, and that for all the good it does you might as well be shouting up a drainpipe. It’s exhausting.
But fatigue can easily become resignation, and resignation is the worst of all possible responses to the crisis we face; I’d rather see the skies darken, and the streets run red, than to watch our people and culture decline, incrementally and unconsciously, into a broken, servile thralldom from which there will be no awakening.
In 1938, as the shadow of doom descended upon England, and he looked back on the “years the locusts ate”, Winston Churchill said this:
I have watched this famous island descending incontinently, fecklessly the stairway which leads to a dark gulf. It is a fine broad stairway at the beginning, but after a bit the carpet ends. A little further on there are only flagstones, and a little further on still these break beneath your feet.
No, I’m afraid that just won’t do. If you see it, you’ve got to say it. Back to the ramparts it is, then. Just having a little breather.