Humping the flag

Like the Hollywood Access tape & the stalking debate & the election results & #metoo, I’ve tried to explain to my husband that I feel this separation policy–inside me.

It’s one thing to read about it and to hear about it, but another to see it, and even to speak it.

It’s one thing to understand something, to espouse it, and it’s another to embody it.

When my husband got home from work, I asked him to read: “The Language of Trump is the Language of Domestic Violence,” and he appeared moved.

Then I played the audio tape of the children, and he grew teary, but still safe within the realms of composed grief.

It was when I asked him to read–aloud–Brené Brown’s short post about her husband, the pediatrician, that my husband broke down.

Another’s man’s anguish helped him embody his own.

Most men haven’t cultivated the fierce courage necessary to face that kind of vulnerability inside. Many women haven’t either.

The capacity to be vulnerable isn’t partisan, but the action on behalf of the vulnerable has become so.

“Wah, wah,” says a news show guest (Trump’s former campaign manager) about the separation of a 10-year old girl with Down Syndrome from her mother. Today he defends his response.

“Quit trying to make us feel teary-eyed for the children,” say supporters.

Are we a nation of spectators?

Have we become another of Trump’s reality shows where the most important thing is to be a winner?

“You see, I don’t say mankind anymore, I say humankind. Do the women understand that? I don’t know. They want me to be politically correct.”

To the President, this country is a business success story–“from 13 colonies to all this.” Now his.

He plays to win.

He plays all of us.

But humanity is not a sport. And it’s definitely not a game.

There’s a difference between honoring the flag and humping it.

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