Choices, Choices, Choices

Tonight a normally nice man jumped on my FB page and decided to spew Russian Bot/Heritage Foundation nonsense onto it like so much regurgitation. He was responding to a political cartoon in which Donald Trump was attacking the free press. This was the cartoon:

I’ve always been of the mind that if one is going to be weird about something, don’t hide it, own it. OWN IT. I don’t belong to either major political parties and one of the reasons is the often disingenuousness of their positions versus their actions. If you’re going to be an asshole, I’m cool with you being yourself, but don’t even pretend you’re an angel. Be who you are. And don’t spew that stuff on my page. I don’t take a shit on your yard; you don’t do it on mine.

And that brings me to this cartoon. And the shit gibbon in the red tie. And the uber crazy monster from the early 20th century next to him. I didn’t explain the cartoon because it seemed obvious and yes I know Hitler is always a cheap shot but where are we to go with comparisons when someone says “The press is the enemy of the people?”

When Trump was running for office I could pinpoint specific dislikes and bullet point reasons as to why it wouldn’t be a good thing for us all to live in Back to the Future II Biff’s Universe. But Russia and Sexism and the Electoral college decided that the 21st century America needed a quick trip to 50s white American nostalgia and that we should ignore everything we stand for and tell the planet to piss off and literally die. I wanted to walk away in that hey, not my monkeys, not my circus kinda way.

But I’m Latina and Trump has shown full hatred of both brown people and women so I guess I have to deal with this circus after all. It’s a weird thing to me when people pick and choose. It’s like an all you can eat buffet.

The nice man on social media basically said to me, “Yes I know there are roaches doing a back stroke in the salad dressing, and the lettuce is wilted, and they didn’t get the pesticide off the strawberries, and there’s also roaches in whatever casserole that is, but why are you hating the restaurant they have great bread sticks?”

Because No.

The nice man in question is a small business owner. He makes things. I cannot in good consciousness, buy something he makes anymore because now I know that the hands that made that are okay with stealing babies from their mothers. Because I know that the hands that made beautiful things don’t mind if my right to body autonomy is taken away. Super sweet guy, but his words tell me that he’s okay for my children to grow up in a world without clean water or air and toxins in their food.

When you say yes to the oppressor, you say no to humanity.

We all have choices to make. He’s choosing to stand up for a man he’s never met who wouldn’t give him the time of day. I’m choosing to shop where my kind are welcome. I love the owners of the shop where he sells his jewelery. I’ll still buy from them. But I will never buy anything he’s made with his privilege and bigotry. He called that not being an adult–that I would take my business elsewhere. I call that having choices. And aren’t choices what those capitalists are always rah rah on about?

It’s uncomfortable to think of the evil being done in our name. We can face it, or deny it.

The press is not the enemy of the people. The press in my life time has often disappointed me. In what it chooses to cover and in the way it now freezes before power and does not ask the hard questions. But then I see the shit gibbon and he can’t catch a softball question.

A free press is a hallmark of democracy. You can’t have one without it. That nice man should know that. It’s that basic. And he should know that the comparison between the tyrant and the tyrant in training are not far off from each other.

I throw my chancla.

Oh I unfriended and blocked him. There’s too much negativity in the world as it is. I don’t need that in my life.