Bill Rivers, a speechwriter for former defense secretary James Mattis, has written another of those beastly Thanksgiving columns that the Wall Street Journal's Peggy Noonan, herself a former speechwriter (for President Reagan), might pen: a sententious tribute to the familial farce of this annual giving of thanks that Uncle Elmer — a loud, bullheaded, Trump-loving, mossback of a racist ass — should be a beloved member of virtually everyone's unfortunate little clan.
Having reminded us that America has suffered through earlier times of extraordinary sociopolitical strife — his chronology of nationally divisive pain begins, almost comically, with the Whisky Rebellion of the early 1790s — Rivers concludes with secondhand advice that only a qualified psychologist of skin-crawling clichés could ever think to offer:
"Psychologist Dan Goleman has argued that families are 'the first school for emotional learning.'"
Proceeds Rivers: "If so, then we’re all better served by forgetting politics this Thanksgiving and focusing instead on the person across the table, listening authentically, loving them as best we can, and letting them love us.
"In the end, it’s the common acceptance of truth that will set us free from acrimony. Determining the truth is hard, but we can create space for the necessary national dialogue by first starting small in our own homes."
For starters, I've no idea what a "national dialogue" is, other than the course and outcome of the only truly national referendum, of sorts, we hold every fours years. The last one demonstrated that, first (and again), U.S. presidential elections are hideously undemocratic; second, that a subliterate swindler and guttersniping ignoramus can indeed win such an election; and third — evidence of the second — that nearly half of contemporary American voters make H.L. Mencken's booboisie look like Georgetown sophisticates. Such is the spatial salvation upon which Mr. Rivers' hopes hang.
"Determining the truth is hard," observes Rivers in a rather self-evident phrase of utter uselessness, seeing how some truths — some major truths which divide us today — are self-evidently easy at which to arrive: gutting federal revenue does not increase federal revenue; running massive deficits in otherwise propitious economic times would have John Maynard Keynes face-palming; claiming that $700 billion a year is an insufficient amount for the defense department to afford ammunition; caging children is generally regarded as somewhat bad government policy; treating allies as enemies and enemies as allies is likely counterproductive; and so and so forth, straight into the sempiternal hellhole of a country that Trumpism has steeped us.
The problem, Mr. Rivers, is that the "common acceptance of truth" is precisely what's so uncommon these days. There exists an army of fabulists, from Fox News to Rush Limbaugh to Hugh Hewitt, who profit enormously from instructing millions of Trump's fellow ignoramuses on horrendous falsehoods.
Elmer is one of them. And "listening authentically" (whatever that means) to one's avuncular crackpot is, colloquially put, a fucking waste of time.
The closest my family ever got to owning an "authentic" Elmer was a John Birch suitor to my widowed grandmother who earnestly argued with my soon-enraged father, upon every visit to our home, that Dwight D. Eisenhower had been a communist president.
Bill Rivers' column is but valid proof of only one thing: To be a valued speechwriter is to be a blithering fabulist oneself.