There is a sort of tragic aspect to the “No Kings” protests. One might laugh. Where I’m at, at least, things seem fairly tame. A few elderly citizens and college whelps stood around tired with their signs for what seemed less than an hour. “Which came and perished in a night” or an afternoon. A meaningless gesture of reasonless will. Here is the side that has quashed all dialogue by weaponized gentility, and now their world has thrown over their tyranny of politeness for a vague future that undoubtedly seems to be careening toward some sort of king.
Though Trump is not a king in his power or authority, his critics have recognized the truth that he is a king in the zeitgeist. What they might not recognize is that their own lecherous and devouring lawlessness was the fertilizing manure that laid the groundwork for a king. As ICE raids try to right a great wrong and the guilty cry out that this is tyranny, I’m struck by a sort of humorous pity for them who have been lawless tyrants for years without ever looking in the mirror. A masturbatory conscience that tells them everything they want to do is good is suddenly checked, and they have no other recourse than to say what is true:
“We will not do what is good or right or lawful unless a king forces us. We are not a people that can govern ourselves.”
Tale Told 