The Old Blog in the Desert

Without aiming to startle nobody, I recently found myself ensnared in a war of words with Mrs. Leggs, a woman-friend of stout East Coast conviction and a voice that could lullaby a White Shark to sleep. It all started innocently enough—she asked me who I reckoned might win the ongoing war, betwixt Ukraine and Russia.

Being a man of peace and not particularly fond of having frying pans flung at my head—whether metaphorical or cast iron—I replied, “Ma’am, I do not rightly know, other than if the U.S. sets up shop in Ukraine, it a certainty that China will fall in with Russia, and only because of their shared love of Communism.”

I figured that was a safe harbor in a storm of opinions. Alas, I was mistaken.

She cocked her head like a chicken hearing thunder and declared that we were fools if we didn’t understand the war was one head of a many-headed beast–and the real trouble was the nature of the governments behind the guns. Russia and China, she said with great thunder and finality, were operating under totalitarian hybrids, something like a bank run by prison wardens.

Now, I like to keep things simple—it makes the world easier to chew on—so I said, “Well, I call both of‘em Communist and be done with it.”

That was a mistake on par with asking a mule to dance the Lindy. She flared up like a prairie fire, arms flailing and facts flying.

“Communist?” she said as if I’d insulted her grandmother’s soup. “Neither one’s been Communist since Disco died.”

And she commenced lecturing me like I was a schoolboy caught cheating on a geography test, which I suppose I was, in a way. Well, I’m no stranger to being wrong–I’ve been married a long time, after all–so I figured I’d do some digging.

By the time I emerged from the digital mines of the internet, I had dirt under my nails and a head full of confusion. It turns out Mrs. Leggs was neither entirely right nor entirely wrong.

But me? I was gloriously, absolutely, and undeniably mistaken.

After rummaging through various reputable sources and a few that smelled of basement mildew and conspiracy, I discovered that China is a “Democratic Dictatorship,” which sounds like a jailhouse where the inmates get to vote on what flavor of porridge they eat. Russia, on the other hand, is an “Authoritarian Republic,” which means they hold elections in the same spirit a magician pulls rabbits out of hats—prearranged and for show.

And here at home, in these United States, we’re no longer a “Constitutional Republic,” but a “Democratic Republic,” which roughly translates to–we all get a vote, provided we don’t mind the fact that our choices have already been picked out for us by men and women in expensive suits and no sense of shame.

Don’t believe me? Look at what they keep doing to the Second Amendment.

After digesting all this, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the wall, which seemed just as puzzled. I thought about those sacred old words, “Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness,” and I tell you true–happiness now feels more like a joke told by a tax collector with a straight face.

We’ve traded it in for something colder, meaner—something called helplessness. It’s the sensation of shouting into a canyon and only hearing someone else’s opinion echo back at you.

It’s voting for a person who promises change–and getting change back in the way of more taxes. It’s watching your country argue over which way the ship is sinking instead of plugging the hole.

Still, I reckon Mrs. Leggs meant well. And maybe I did, too.

But next time someone asks me about world affairs, I’ll tell them I’ve taken a vow of silence—or that I only speak in riddles and limericks as it might save me from learning too much truth all at once.