• author
    • Kathy Keatley Garvey

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    • February 26, 2018 in Columnists

    Just like that

    Once upon a time there was a little boy named Donald who prided himself on his magical powers.

    He defined himself not as a citizen, but as “a first-class” citizen. He bragged about privilege, power and perks. He was very, very rich. And he was very, very, very mean.

    At recess, Donald bullied his classmates, especially those who did not look like him or think like him.

    When teachers pulled him aside to question him, Donald yelled “Fake news! Fake news! I didn’t do any of those things! Fake news! Believe me!”

    His parents could not control him. When he defied them by traveling from his home to Manhattan one more time, they enrolled him in the New York Military Academy, a private boarding school. He was 13.

    From there, he enrolled at Fordham University, and finally, the Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania.

    Donald declined to open his textbooks. “You can’t make me,” he jeered. “I am rich, very rich. I don’t need to read. I won’t read.” True to his promise, he never opened a textbook.

    Just like that.

    The Vietnam War beckoned. “I’m not going to serve!” Donald yelled, in between playing football, tennis, squash and golf. “You can’t make me. I am rich, very rich.” Officials granted him four deferments.

    Just like that.

    Then at age 26, Donald — finished with college, and no longer eligible for another educational deferment — boasted, “You can’t draft me. You can’t draft me. I am rich, very rich. And, I have a…a…what is it…oh, yeah, a bone spur. I have a bone spur!”

    Just like that.

    Donald went on to amass billions, despite four bankruptcies and multiple loan defaults and failed marriages. “I am the most powerful man in the world,” he bragged. “And I’m really good at firing people, both on my job sites and on The Apprentice. I am a tower of strength.” He proved it by naming tall buildings after himself. Some people thought he could leap those tall building in a single bound. That’s because he told them he could. “Believe me!”

    His magical powers increased.

    Just like that.

    “I’m going to run for president,” Donald crowed one day. “And I am going to win. I have a buddy named Vladimir Putin, do you know him? He’s a very powerful man. A good guy! Believe me!”

    Donald targeted Barack Obama during his 2008 presidential campaign. “He’s the epitome of fake news,” Donald said. “Obama was born in Kenya, not Hawaii, and I’m going to prove it. Believe me!”

    Meanwhile, Donald’s magical powers increased and he won the presidency, with Putin’s help, NRA’s money, and people who looked like him and thought like him. Said Donald: “We’re going to make America great again!” He espoused white supremacy, The Wall, and Second Amendment rights, and railed against African-Americans, Muslims, MS-13 gangs, illegal immigrants, the disabled, welfare recipients, Gold Star families, the news media, and football players who took a knee and women who tried to rise. Not necessarily in that order.

    Just like that.

    He paid off prostitutes, poked fun at politicians, and praised Putin. He promised “jobs, jobs, jobs” and fatter paychecks for working families. When the FBI targeted him, he yelled “Fake news! Fake news!” and “Believe me! Believe me!”

    His people — the people who looked like him and thought like him — believed him. Donald’s magical powers remained intact.

    Just like that.

    Then on Feb. 18, 2018 a 19-year-old white supremacist, an expelled student named Nikolas Cruz, walked into the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, Parkland, Florida, and slaughtered 17 people with an AR-17.

    Nonchalantly, the president-with-the-bone-spur intact headed to Florida to play golf. He later emerged from the golf course to denounce the killer’s mental state, and praise the NRA for protecting “our” Second Amendment rights, and label a security officer “a coward.”

    “Guns don’t kill people!” Donald chortled. “People kill people. Don’t blame the guns. Blame the shooter. Blame the FBI for not heeding the warnings. Blame the coward who wouldn’t go after the shooter. Blame the teachers for not carrying concealed weapons. Blame the media for fake news. The NRA is our friend. They protect our Second Amendment.”

    Just like that.

    In between tears, the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School survivors listened. “Guns don’t kill people,” they agreed. “Politics do.”

    Once upon a time there was a little boy named Donald who prided himself on his magical powers. He defined himself not as a citizen, but as “a first-class” citizen. He bragged about privilege, power and perks. He was very, very rich. And he was very, very, very mean.

    And then one day, two things happened: Special Counsel Robert Mueller cornered him in the Oval Office, and the Parkland survivors’ movement bubbled, boiled and overflowed, so much so that Donald could no longer claim “Fake news!” and plead “Believe me!”

    The survivors—students who could read, write, listen and persuade–stole his magical power.

    Just like that.

     

     

     

     

     



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