One of the oddly comforting implications of Marx’s scathing critique of capitalism is that those exploiting and oppressing the workers are actually a very small, albeit rich and powerful, fraction of the population, which carries with it the hope that if they could be overthrown, the great majority of men and women could go on to create a just society. As I live day by day through the present disaster, which increasingly feels like the end days, the most disheartening single fact about America is that not very much less than half of the adult population supports Donald Trump and his presidency. I am absolutely committed to doing what I can to elect progressives in the midterm elections, to try desperately to do something, anything, for all those who, unlike myself, are personally hurt by the government’s policies and actions. But even if we score an enormous victory in November, it will remain the fact that almost half the country supports Trump.
Now, it is easy to recount all those evils of America that that are as much the fault of the Democrats as of the Republicans, that are in fact rooted in the very structure of our society and economy. I have been doing that all my life. But since there will never be a revolution, if electoral politics is after all a waste of time, a mug’s game, then I am condemned to live what remains of my life as an internal outcast, a stranger in a strange land, to quote Genesis.
I cannot bear that, I cannot accept it, I cannot break faith with those I have called comrades in what feels like a self-indulgent fit of pique, but it is hard, it is hard.