Tag Archives: election

Addendum to Rain and Ghosts

The day after I wrote Rain and Ghosts On All Hallow’s Eve, voters in the United States chose Trump for president. They also gave him a senate. For those of us in the pro-democracy coalition, this is devastating. The most painful part is knowing that our fellow Americans, in a show of breathtaking stupidity and mean-spiritedness, preferred a grifting, convicted felon and sexual predator over a bright, articulate woman of color. She had experience as a leader and ideas that would benefit everyone –even those who would not vote for her. Misogyny clearly runs deeper than we imagined. Disinformation triumphed. Americans chose fascism over compassion and rational government. Now we brace for Project 2025 and Christian nationalist policies. Dark times will be upon us. I will be there for the resistance –eventually. First I will rest, meditate, walk, winterize the house, talk with friends and family, hang out with my dogs. I will cry. We should all tend to our mental health and prepare. Remember this: fascists count on despair and defeatism. I hope you will join me in taking a break. Find your community. Because after January 20th, 2025 we will need to gather our courage, love, and wits to protect vulnerable people, the planet, and our very democracy.

Rain and Ghosts On All Hallow’s Eve

Brigid’s Ritual, Part 13

After months of endless dry sunny days and no rain to speak of, the clouds finally break for All Hallow’s Eve. The rain pours down on the back porch roof, and thunder rumbles in the distance as we light candles and incense in preparation. The flickering lights feel cozy with the rain and darkness all around. We sit on cushions with the west quarter candle between us. West represents fall, the dark time of the year, the emotions and undercurrents in life, and the mysteries we can’t always see or touch.

After inviting the presence of our patron Gods and Goddesses, we begin speaking the names of recent dead –starting with my partner’s father, and Ari, my familiar. In our house animals count as family, thus cherished dead. From there, we include famous dead people from history –Joan of Arc or Elizabeth 1, for instance. Sometimes we pay respects to groups of people –the witches tortured and burned during the Renaissance, the innocent victims of WW11, the Covid dead, or Ukranians today in the war with Russia. And every year I say “I’m sorry” to the millions of animals who live and die in slaughterhouses, and to abandoned euthanized pets in shelters across the country. I love this holiday, for the opportunity to voice sorrow for casualties of violence and cruelty. This year I honor the women who have died from sepsis and organ failure as a result of the abortion bans in red states.

We ask our own ancestors to help us through the days and months ahead. Tomorrow our country will choose a door. One door leads to a dystopia so awful I can’t stand to rent out space to it in my mind. The other door I fervently hope for. Progress, expanded rights, the separation of church and state, freedom and constitutional democracy –this is the only reasonable choice. Our first woman president will lead us through the portal to a better United States.

When we choose the better door, however, we will surely face a backlash from maga cultists. As the specter of white male rule dissipates before their eyes, and as their leaders refuse to concede and scream about rigged elections –the mages will not go gracefully. We ask our beloved dead to guide us in the troubled days and months ahead.

Finally we exchange readings. The dead can speak to us through the Tarot or the Runes as they wish. My partner casts four Runes for me, and I will share this message from the beyond: after the chaos will be joy. I smile. We survived the civil war, the America First movement of the 1930’s, the McCarthy Era of the 1950’s, the John Birch Society in the 60’s, and now –Gods willing –we will prevail over Christian nationalists.

We thank the Gods and Goddesses, the ancestors and deserving dead, and we blow out the candles. Tomorrow is a big day, working the polls from dawn to dark and joining friends for a watch party at a local bar afterwards. I’m ready now. The rain and thunder, and the ritual of including the dead and their wisdom with life’s challenges today –these things nourish and recharge my spirit.

Laurel Owen, November 2024

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Perpective

Brigid’s Ritual, Part 12

For simple, beautiful contentment
I find the spirit world --
A warm mug of coffee
Before dawn, the promise of sunrise
Imminent --sounds of leaves rustling
In the wind, carrying the smell of fall,
Companionable silence with Ariel
As a small fire crackles between us
Under a rock overhang --the tops of hardwoods
And conifers barely visible
From our perch on the mountain
As we await first light --
Now my words tumble intuitively,
Not fixed by grammar, but fluid --
I speak of hope on the brink
Of history made by a choice 
Facing my countrymen and women --
If the shallow nihilism of fanatics prevail
The entire world could spin 
At a reckless tilt --off kilter --
Governed by lies, cruelty, a tyranny of stupid --
Yet here, in the soft glow of fire light,
My beloved guide beside me,
Non-linear time allows perspective --
A gathering of strength and wisdom --
And as daybreak arrives, with it a rush of longing
And trust in kindness,
A vision for a better life for all --
I am fully committed in this moment.

Laurel Owen, October 2024

Medicine for Dark Times, The Autumn Equinox

Brigid’s Ritual, Part 11

I used to suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, SAD for short. Between the Autumn Equinox and All Hallow’s Eve, anxiety and depression took over. The prospect of upcoming holidays full of twinkling lights, family gatherings, presents, joy, and bonding –I dreaded the loneliness and cried.

One Yuletide I ended up at my doctor’s office, barely functional. Wisely, she checked my Vitamin D level and found it abysmally low. Now, with 2000 IU of Vitamin D3 each day I no longer deal with SAD.

This year, however, as we contemplated the balance of night and day –the Autumnal Equinox, sadness closed in on us. My familiar, Ari the dog, died two days before the ritual. Two weeks before, right about the time we got Ari’s terminal diagnosis –at the Harvest Moon, we found out our magic circles in the woods were smack in the middle of an old wagon trail from another century. Not our property. Someone with landlocked acreage needed an easement. The surveyor delivered the bad news the same day the veterinarian pronounced the word lymphoma.

It’s a bad day for a Druid when your familiar is dying and your sacred ritual space has been surveyed for a road.

I persevered by creating two new circles, just like we had before, with a path in between –this time within our property lines. The action of clearing leaves and pine needles amongst the oaks and giant conifers helped heal me. I actively, physically, addressed the loss, determined to create a spiritual home in the woods. Ari walked down with me to the new area, dedicated to him, the day before he died. A blessing.

This became the model for our Equinox. What rational and beneficial actions aid in the face of tragedy and adversity?

At dawn, the moment of the Equinox, my partner and I lit candles in the North, East, South, and West. We welcomed the four quarters, then called upon our favorite gods and goddesses. A cauldron sat in the middle of the circle with three candles inside, burning brightly. We took turns writing three things on a piece of paper. First, a problem –personal or worldly– to grapple with. Second, the best possible outcome we could imagine. Finally, and most importantly, we wrote the sane behavior we might employ to move us through the grief or uphill climb at hand. Then we burned the paper. The transforming power of fire set our intentions out in the multiverse. A measure of hope. A pebble tossed in a lake to make waves.

For my turn I wrote, “Christian nationalism rising.” Indeed, US democracy is in danger. A dark movement, maga, has taken control of the conservative party. Wealthy backers believe women should not get to choose when –or with whom –they start families. Many of these fascists believe women should not vote. A number of them state that homosexuals and heretics should be executed. Maga politicians, from the presidential candidate down to insurrectionists in congress, engage in lying beyond belief or disbelief. The mission is to obfuscate, confuse, and control. The uneducated and fearful cling to the lies, desperate to matter, to be part of a significant movement. Revolution. Tearing down the government. Best case scenario? –Vote all maga republicans back to the woodwork with the other fringies nobody pays any mind to. They are a minority, after all. And what would be my levelheaded actions to thwart this descent into theocracy? I’ll write postcards to independent voters. I will work the polls for the election. A banned book network is in the planning stages as we watch Arkansas’ banned book law make its way through the courts. My bumpersticker provides a website for abortion access out of state, and it identifies me as a safe space for people needing reproductive care. And I continue to write this series, Brigid’s Ritual, to impress on all readers the urgency of this moment.

It felt as healthy as Vitamin D3 to burn that piece of paper. To choose not to give into despair.

We ended the ritual by walking the path through our woods to the smaller Druid circle. The candles flickered in the morning light from the four quarters, welcoming us. Ari’s collar and harness at the north altar gave substance and focus for our grief. We allowed each other privacy and all the time needed. I cried, “My boy, my boy. I love you.” And I smelled his fur.

Facing hard truths, burning our intentions into action, and crying –thoughtful ritual –fortified our strength against the dark days ahead. The nights will be long, the election fraught with endless smoke screens and possible violence. Our democracy is not safe yet. Ari, a born herder and master control freak, would have loved knowing he was a muse as we celebrated another season. We reached for our humanity, our wiser choices –and our magic. I can feel him stepping on my heels –guiding me to a better path –even now.

Laurel Owen, October 2024

A May Pole at Rosemund Haven

Brigid’s Ritual, Part 5

As a child I remember waking up every May Day to a fully decorated may pole. Draped in ribbons, evergreen branches, and cut flowers, it leaned against the fireplace in the living room, a bright invitation to Spring. Mom loved to brag about how she and Goody Gibb –her witch friend –delighted in snatching plant material in the thick of the night, sometimes right out of people’s yards.

Since then I have, likewise, marked May Eve every year, although I always fell short of my mother’s stealthy looting of greenery and blooms in the wee hours. In various pagan circles over the years, we celebrated with may poles. I insisted on it. Once I talked a bunch of convicts at a high security federal prison to dance on May Day around a pole. They knew me from my monthly visits as a chaplain, and liked me –but the leader explained to me that dancing out in the yard would not work for them. Once inside the chapel, in private, they enjoyed it. The medium and low security prisoners had less at stake in terms of reputations, and avidly celebrated the May Day dance outside. A Catholic chaplain even joined in the festivities one spring –we needed an even number of dancers and he obliged. We all laughed about that for a year. May Eve has always been a sweet extroverted holiday with nothing but good memories.

Today my partner and I tie aspiration to a may pole, each ribbon or branch a wish. First we set up the quarter altars with candles and colorful placemats. In the east the theme is yellow, for the clear air of sunrise. Fiery reds and oranges grace the south altar. The western quarter pleases the eye and slows the heart rate with the blue candle and green mat –the colors of water. At the north, brown and dark green colors remind us of the element earth. In the center of the circle, instead of a fire, we secure a may pole. Just to the side of the north altar, we drape various bright ribbons –yellows, reds, greens –on a tree limb, along with peony, iris, and spice bush blooms from our own Rosemund Haven, the name of our property and home.

We take turns tying a ribbon or a flower to the pole, and with it a fond hope. Sometimes it’s a blessing for a person or an animal. Tonight we wish my mother a continued long life. She’s our only living parent now, and the May Eve celebrant extraordinaire. At age 87 she still has the 5 foot pine branch from her Goody Gibb days, and decorates it every year to this day. We both fasten ribbons for our recently dead fathers with hopes of good fortune on their next adventures.

With a shiny red ribbon I send out an expectation for the return of reproductive rights for women in the US. The anti-abortion laws across the red states now have victims. As they get turned away from emergency rooms, women are bleeding out in parking lots, having miscarriages in waiting room bathrooms or at home, and fleeing their states. It’s horrifying. We both wish for an election outcome this year that does not include Trump or Christian nationalists. As I tie the final fragrant bloom to the top of the pole, I ask for the strength to stay and fight for our home in this backward red state –for our woods with magic circles, our garden, our elderly dogs, our many trees and water plants and perennials. We would hate to leave this place, Rosemund Haven.

The new may pole will stand on our front porch, where we listen to frogs at night, watch birds at the feeders during the day, and enjoy thunderstorms from the safety of its roof and screen. Such a comforting place to read or drink tea and talk. And now our beautiful testament to life and love –our may pole –will remind us of sanity and optimism as we face the coming months. I bring you a branch of May.

Laurel Owen, May 2024

Brigid’s Ritual

Also called Imbolc or Candlemas, Brigid is my favorite holiday. It honors Brigid, Celtic Goddess of smith craft, fire, and poetry. She was my first patron. Our ritual involves a pilgrimage to a well, and pledges –but first things first. We adorn quarter altars in the four directions, light candles, and clear the area with salt water (earth and water) and incense (fire and air). A short walk through the woods away from the main circle, the Druid circle awaits –itself cleared and readied with a cauldron in the center. Candles twinkle as the sun sets. We call in the quarter powers, invite Brigid to join us, and now it’s my turn to begin the journey to the well by myself. The path winds over past the iron bench at the crossroads. I see the face of the Green Man, barely visible in the dusk dark, engraved in a rock. Here the path takes a sharp turn behind a pine tree. The Druid circle opens up before me as I enter from the north. Oak trees and shortleaf pines surround the circle, and large limestones gleam white as they mark the quarters. I sit on a rock at the center, facing the cauldron, which is now a well with floating candles dancing amidst fresh picked purple crocuses. Vanilla incense fills the air, the candles flicker happily on the water. It’s a moment I look forward to all year –when I can sit here in the woods, in this magic spot, and talk to Brigid. To begin, we review last year’s pledges, then I speak about vows for the coming year. It’s an intimate and honest evaluation, and a reset for the months ahead.

I explain that I intend to stand balanced, aware, and active in 2024, in the face of the most significant election of my lifetime. Americans will decide whether we want democracy or Christian nationalism. I share about some of the actions I may take –an underground banned book network, providing transportation for any woman who needs to get abortion care in Kansas, working the polls on election day. I ask Brigid for strength to keep my wits and not succumb to fear or despair.

In the past politics would not take center stage in the expression or observance of my spiritual path. During the course of my life I have engaged with witches, Wiccans, Asatru, Odinists, and Druids. Like Protestant denominations, we have conservative and liberal factions. I was always versatile. In San Fransisco I avoided the far left new-age pagans because they had no rules or commitment to a particular course. But I loved my witches’ coven where we sang together in rituals, practiced kitchen magic over pots of stew, and provided a structure for study, advancement, and initiation. It was here I began volunteering in prisons as a visiting chaplain. I created Wiccan rituals for young women behind bars. It was joyful and eye-opening. As the prison experience grew to include men and higher security units in the federal system I moved into conducting Asatru and Odinist rituals. Some of these men were gang members with white nationalist beliefs. I shared spiritual and emotional tools and got along well with everyone. Gang members should be allowed to observe their religious holidays just as anyone else. The white power movement never interested me, and nobody spoke about blowing up buildings or shooting anyone. My role as a chaplain was to genuinely show up for human beings, not judge the uniforms and numbers. Politics –even nationalist politics– didn’t matter. Politics was not my focus — neither theirs nor mine. By then I had moved to Tennessee and joined a local Asatru group. The current and former military members and conservatives in that group didn’t bother me. Indeed, from west coast witches to free-world Asatru to Odinists in prisons, I made friends across the spectrum and we all learned a lot. This was over 20 years ago. I have long since retired from prison work and the politics of the country now render ideology impossible to ignore.

Here in 2024 normal times are like a fog horn, forlorn and unseen in the distance. I live in Arkansas now. I’m a Druid, a polytheist, and a witch. My partner and I enjoy our private rituals and celebrations. We used to visit with the Asatru group for Summer Solstice, but not anymore. I can’t find the motivation to break bread with the Maga cult members who believe convicted January 6 insurrectionists are hostages in their jail cells. Nationalists are mainstream Republicans now, no longer on the fringes of society. Republicans are no longer conservative. True conservatives want to conserve the constitution and have locked arms with people on the left who believe in democracy. Right and left have no meaning anymore in the face of the fascist threat. The world has changed profoundly since my experience in prisons.

I tell Brigid I want to embark on a writing project for the year. I want to combine a Druid sensibility and practice with action and write about it in the coming months leading up to the election and beyond. In the before-times, this melding of the spiritual and the political was rare. Now it feels necessary. How can I, a polytheist who believes in feminine and masculine divine, turn a blind eye to women bleeding out in emergency rooms across red states? Women and their doctors don’t have control anymore –only the Christian nationalist legislators can decide abortion access. In Republican states where abortion is illegal, most have no exceptions for rape or incest. In Idaho not even the mother’s life matters. In these red states with no exceptions, almost 65,000 pregnancies from rape have occurred since Roe fell –26,000 in Texas alone. Travel restrictions for pregnant women have sprung up in Texas municipalities. Bounty hunter laws reward snitches who tell on doctors and women who end pregnancies. Some of these red state legislators are looking at tracking women’s periods, and investigating miscarriages. A few have asked for citizen medical records from providers outside the state. In Missouri legislation is on the table to apply the death penalty to women who get abortions. It’s a nightmare.

Speaking of the death penalty, Alabama recently executed a prisoner via nitrogen hypoxia. Death by nitrogen gas. The American Veterinary Medical Association deemed nitrogen hypoxia too inhumane for animal euthanasia. Yet there he was, a Maga on TV, touting a successful new way to kill convicts and promising a bright future for the death penalty across red America. He left out that the nitrogen hypoxia experiment lasted 22 minutes. It was tortuous. I don’t think he cared.

One of the most stunning achievements of doublethink (see 1984, by George Orwell) is ascribing the term pro-life to fundamentalist Christians. Executions and forced births are anything but pro-life. Christian nationalists care about power and control. That’s it. Two plus two does not equal five, and we were never eternally at war with either Oceania or Eurasia.

I want to write and shout for democracy, truth, and genuine spirituality, which should inspire us to seek love, beauty, and happiness for sentient beings –including planet earth herself.

My tears now blur the lights in Brigid’s well. The malice and cruelty I have spoken about breaks my heart. I continue with my pledges, and end with hope of comfort and justice for victims of barbarity, corruption, violence, and lies.

I vow to return in 2025 before Brigid’s well with a year of writing about each of the eight Druid holidays, the world of spirits, and the truth about rising autocratic theocracy and the struggle against it.

I leave the well, touching the bright standing stone at the exit. Darkness is now complete. My partner waits at the bench at the crossroads. I sit next to him for a few minutes in companionable silence. Then he walks off to the well and I find myself alone in the big circle, lighter and more clear. I’m determined to meet these next few seasons with poise, and to write about my small contributions to the unfolding events ahead.

A neuroscientist I follow on social media suggests we look forward to small things every day to raise dopamine levels. I look forward to morning coffee and meditation, and my visits to the spirit grove. What do you look forward to, friends, and what will you do for democracy?

Go well, and thank you for spending time with me,

Laurel Owen, February 2024

A Moment of Truth

A fly alighted on the carefully coiffed white hair of an otherwise remarkably unattractive man. His red eyes and pasty skin only helped accentuate the dark fly, which lingered for two minutes and three seconds. The man was Vice President Mike Pence. The fly chose the vice presidential debate with Kamala Harris to zero in on his landing, visible to millions watching. Two minutes was the allotted time for each candidate to answer questions —a rule Pence broke over and again. This lent meaning to that extra three seconds. The fly mirrored Pence’s obnoxious behavior, and gave rise to general mirth. The Twittersphere roared into metaphor. Garbage attracts flies, of course. The novel The Lord of the Flies gained sudden popular attention given the dysfunctional relationship between this White House and the people. We now grasp that downward spiral that gives rise to a primitive dictator. Oh, but the comic relief washed over us like a much needed shower. Even news anchors giggled gleefully. This was last week.

You may wonder why this story bears telling. Well, it’s October 2020, that’s why. Cruel facts and circumstances require a sense of humor to get through the next day. Donald Trump, while projected to lose this election by a landslide, has announced he will not concede defeat. His supporters include armed militia members. In the spring Trump directed his followers to liberate Michigan from stay at home orders. Covid was spreading fast. The Governor, a woman who favored strident measures to stop the virus, became a target. Armed right wing protestors hung her in effigy at the state Capitol. Recently the FBI unveiled the protestor’s plan to kidnap and assassinate her — all because she wanted people to wear masks and stay at home for a while to minimize the exposure to Covid. When Donald Trump called, angry armed white men answered. What will happen when he loses the election? He has fallen short of condemning violence from the right, militias, or white nationalists.

Early in the pandemic, Donald Trump knew Covid was potentially lethal, spread through the air, and could affect children, the elderly —anyone. He covered it up, downplayed it, and disdained mask wearing. The damage was done. His followers made news by throwing tantrums in public places, shouting at people, cussing, and landing punches. They ranted about a constitutional right not to wear masks, and that Covid was a hoax —invented to make Trump look bad. From the dark crevices of the fringe came the conspiracy theorists. They found a home in the stampede of selfish, if not stark raving, anti-maskers. Freedom to be stupid hit a new low with QAnon, a pro-Trump theory. In short, QAnon postulates that the Democrats and Hollywood run a child sex trafficking ring , and shoot up with the blood of children. Only Trump can save us all, they say. Flat-earth anti-science proponents, anti-vaccine activists, and misinformed New Age people joined the cacophony, and here is what I’ve heard them say: Dr. Fauci, the top epidemiologist in the country, is an agent of Chinese Communism. Forcing us to wear masks is where it all begins. Covid vaccines, when they appear, will have tracking devices and mind altering components designed to transform us into ‘sheeple’ —their word— as the wave of new world order sweeps away our freedoms. The ‘plannedemic’ —their word— is the home run for the leftist takeover of the world. Donald Trump to this day will not deflate these theories. Hero worship is more fun than flattening conspiracy curves. He still disdains masks. To this day he’s out hosting super spreader rallies for maskless fans. The white house counted more positive Covid cases last week than the country of Taiwan.

Also riveting this year are the Black Lives Matter protests across the country. Police shootings and brutality reached a point of no return and Blacks took to the streets. Whites joined them. All across America, hundreds and thousands of people marched. Although 93% non-violent (the number courtesy of an FBI report), the protests drew Trump’s ire. Trump TV networks, like Fox News, painted a grim picture of violent leftist extremists led by black-cloaked masked Antifa members —coming to a city near you to —what? Force you to wear masks? Undermine the rule of white people? I have never been clear on the end game of these leftist hordes depicted on the Tall Tales of Fox Newspeak. All groups have extremists, including the left. But for the most part lefties are tree huggers. I know. I come from the left. The FBI, in fact, has determined that most violence is from white nationalists and militia. Even so, without regard to truth of actual leftist mischief, The Trump administration sent in unidentifiable goons in camouflage to several cities. Videos of protestors pulled off the street and hauled off in unmarked cars circulated. Trump’s pseudo cops tear-gassed people, and used sticks to beat people. Trump rallied the angry armed white people again with his call to law and order. A seventeen year old shot two protestors to death and was hailed as a hero on Fox News. Trump has never labeled him a murderer. My brother lives in Seattle, a seat of long-standing police brutality protests. A Trumper family member has asked him several times, “What’s happening with the violent riots over there?” My brother tries to tell her that from his vantage point two blocks away the violence is mostly from federal goons and Trump supporters against protestors. It never quite sinks in.

I know something about protests. At age fourteen I attended an anti-war rally in DC during the Vietnam conflict. It was one of the big ones right before the end of the war. Someone lifted me up and I gazed out over half a million chanting, marching people, some brandishing candles. At that moment I knew. People can change things. And we did. The war ended in part because so many people took to the streets.

In the mid 1980’s, hundreds of us protested at the CIA building in Langely, Virginia. We came from the left, the right, the middle. A fervent desire to never see another dictator installed in central or south America united us. We opposed The School of the Americas and American intervention.

During the first gulf war, San Francisco erupted into widespread protests, often led by Vietnam veterans. Spontaneous demonstrations of 5,000 people or more became the norm for a while. Eventually half a million marched down Market Street. The veterans led it. Somehow they didn’t trust the reasons the government gave for that war. I marched with them.

After 9/11 we knew there were not weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, and we opposed the Iraq war with good purpose.

I grew up taking American democracy for granted. We believed protesting was patriotic. We cared enough to speak out, to bring our concerns out in the open, to even get arrested. What better way to contribute to a democracy than to participate directly? First the issues have to be laid out for people to see on the news. Then people might talk about it at the dinner table: “What is the School of The Americas?” Nobody can change anything if nobody knows about it. The honest exchange of information and accurate news reporting is part of democracy. Jounalists and TV stations used to report facts, especially during Vietnam. ABC might have been more conservative that CBS in its opinion pieces, but the news brought home the visual devastation and suffering in Vietnam —the napalm, the killing and maiming of civilians —and the beleaguered American soldiers engaged in impossible jungle warfare.

Not once in all my young resistance years did I question the freedom to dissent, to express my love of country by pointing out bad policies. We brought awareness and transparency to national problems. It was the honorable thing to do. “Get in good trouble,” said the iconic civil rights leader John Lewis. We did.

That freedom was never in question —until now. If the election of Biden is derailed, we are looking at the take down of the American experiment called democracy. Instead, our country will resemble a fascist dictatorship. Trump is already talking about “Patriotic Education” in schools. He has ordered federal agencies to stop diversity sensitivity training. Any media not parroting Trump is an enemy — fake news. Women’s reproductive health choices are suddenly in question. Health insurance for people with pre-existing conditions will cease —during a pandemic, I will add, where the Covid diagnosis will itself become a pre-existing condition. Alarmingly, Trump and his criminal cohort Bill Barr are floating the intention to bring sedition charges for protestors who destroy property. In my day throwing fake blood on bombs was called Criminal Mischief and amounted to a slap on the wrist.

Paul McCartney said, “You can judge a man’s true character by the way he treats his fellow animals.” You can also judge an administration, and this one has been cruel to animals. The following is a partial list: high speed slaughter houses that potentially boil pigs alive, or otherwise kills them while conscious; gutting the endangered species act; polar bears drowning from melting ice; wolf packs shot from helicopters, and pups gassed out of their maternity dens and killed; Mustangs out west rounded up and sold for slaughter so cows can graze on public lands —animal suffering brings tears as I write. Climate change denial will be the law of the land under the next four years of Trump. Large swathes of sacred ground and national parks —sold to oil and gas interests. Glorious Leader Trump at the helm with a cult following, backed by armed right wing fanatics, purposely uninformed conspiracy nuts, and big business interests. I see it coming. The sorrow, anger, and fear most of us feel at this prospect is almost beyond words.

How did a con man from Queens with multiple bankruptcies sell himself as a business man worthy of a presidential vote? How did the Republican Party allow itself to be hijacked by Trumpism and by Trump, a man who has tallied over 20,000 lies? This is not an anti-Republican treatise. Indeed, Republicans with a conscience, bless them, are jumping the Trump ship in droves right now. If Biden wins, a big thanks goes to disaffected Republicans who put country over party. I’m an avid fan of the Lincoln Project. Trump, say the wordsmiths of the Lincoln Project, is dangerous and unfit and does not reflect the honor and decency of Republicans. I applaud and support these patriots.

An even more important question is this: how did 30% of the American public, including Republican senators who enable Trump, choose irrationality over reason? QAnon adherents can be dismissed as people with mental health issues. What’s alarming, though, is the underlying mistrust in science . The willful rejection of factual reporting in favor of magical thinking. Discarding common sense in support of the most corrupt president in history. What is this? It feels like an ideological and moral catastrophe. Are some people suffering from a personality disorder where they need an authoritarian to direct them? Is it base selfishness? A lack of education? For the senators, is it about clinging to power?

Friends and family, or any reader who voted for Trump the first time —it’s OK. I can forgive a mistake. But the second time? If you do this, I won’t be able to look at you the same way. Please switch channels. Liberate yourself from the echo chamber of Fox News. Listen to Emergency Room doctors treating Covid patients. To date, 210,000 Americans are dead and it didn’t have to be that many. Bodies piled in refrigerated trucks and buried in mass shallow graves because more people are dying than can be processed —no, not the flu. The virus is still largely a mystery, and appears to affect all ages, not just the old and people with underlying conditions. My cousin has Covid, and her doctor, a 32 year old with no health concerns, lay in a hospital bed for 7 days on oxygen with Covid. The Trump plan of herd immunity is simply a non-plan from a failed leader. Millions will die. Stubborn loyalty to whatever Trump or Trump TV says is not an excuse. Please fact check, and listen to actual epidemiologists. There is too much at stake. Indeed, our country is in danger. Check out the Lincoln Project. You will be in good company.

Our country is unique in the world. We were founded on ideals —not on tribal identity, not on religion. Life liberty and the pursuit of happiness, government by the people for the people —is only possible if everyone takes responsibility. It’s my responsibility to write this essay today, before the most important election of my lifetime. We stand at a crossroads. On one side is a steep precipice. We will fall. The experiment will be over.

My hope is that we choose to keep trying to do the hard work of democracy. I hope we will reject the magical thinking of flat earth non-science, the malignant narcissistic leader, and intentional brain fog —the singing choir of authoritarianism. I will, for my part, never take our American experiment for granted again. And I voted for Joe Biden, a decent character who stands for healing, reconciliation, and a rational approach to problems. This paper is my march on Washington. People can change things. We must.

Laurel Owen
October, 2020

Postscript to A Moment of Truth:


It’s Wednesday, November 4, 2020. The ballets have been cast, people have stood in long lines to vote during a pandemic. And the results are trickling in. We may not know the outcome of the count until the weekend.
And before us, a tragedy unfolds.
Although Biden will likely win the presidency, the victory is narrow. Trumpism was not repudiated. Many Americans voted for a person with a repugnant character for the purpose of ‘owning the libs.’ That appears to be the platform. Thoughtless, mindless, miserably stupid and shortsighted. It’s not about conservative versus liberal. Policy differences do not play a role here, because the party of Trump presented no platform. Indeed, character plays no role here, either. The Republican Party used to be the party where character mattered. That was the past. Trumpism does not care about character, policy platforms, truth, or democracy.
Right now, the US president is attempting to steal the election. Last night he announced victory and threatened to go to the supreme court to end the ballet count. No one is paying him any mind —except his blind followers. Here is where things could get dangerous. If people are oblivious enough to vote for a monster, those same people may believe him as he tops his 25,000 lies with the worst yet —that he has won.
My fervent hope is that everyone will take a breath and let the votes be counted.
In the years to come we will have to beat Trumpism. It won’t be this year. But right now, I think we can, and will, beat Donald Trump.