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Meet the Most Dangerous Man on Earth

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Let’s start with the star and work the way in. Who cares? Not them given as distant as we know they aren’t there. As distant as we know, no one exists in the star or maybe anywhere else but us (and the other creatures on this all-too-modest star of ours). So don’t count on any aliens out there caring what happens to humanity. They won’t.

As for it – Earth — the star itself can’t, of course, care, no matter what we do to it.  And I’m certain it won’t be news to you that, when it comes to him – and we mean, of course, President Donald J. Trump, who reputedly has a blank where the normal quotient of human consolation competence be — don’t give it a second’s thought.  Beyond himself, his businesses, and presumably (just possibly) his family, he clearly couldn’t give reduction of a damn about us or, for that matter, what happens to anyone after he departs this planet.

As for us, the rest of us here in the United States at least, we already know something about the inlet of the caring.  A Yale study expelled last Mar indicated that 70% of us – a startling but still reduction than strenuous series (given the by-now-well-established baleful dangers involved) — trust that global warming is actually occurring.  Less than half of us, however, design to be personally harmed by it.  So, to quote the uncommonly quotable Alfred E. Newman, “What, me worry?”


Tell that, by the way, to the inhabitants of Ojai and other southern California hotspots – infernos, actually — being reduced to cinders this December, a month that not so prolonged ago wasn’t significant when it came to fires in that state.  But such blazes should have been no surprise, interjection to the way fire seasons are lengthening on this warming planet.  A blazing Dec is simply partial of what the administrator of California, on contemplating the fire repairs recently, dubbed “the new normal” — just as ever some-more absolute Atlantic hurricanes, flourishing increasingly extreme as they pass over the warming waters of the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico on their way to batter the United States, are likely to be another new normal of the American world. 

In the arise of the hottest year on record, we all now live on a new-normal planet, which means a significantly some-more extreme one.  Perhaps it’s fitting, then, that the domestic chronicle of that new normal involves a extravagantly overheated, overbearing, over-hyped, over-tweeted boss (even if only 60-odd percent of us trust that he could truly mistreat us).  He’s a man who, as the New York Times reported recently, starts to boil with doubt and reeling if he doesn’t find himself in the headlines, the concentration of wire everything, for even a day or two.  He’s a man who seems to flower only when the pot is hot and when he’s the core of the universe.  And what a star we’ve prepared for such an incendiary figure!  (More on that later.)

We’re all now enthralled in an elaborating Trumpocalypse.  In a sense, we were there even before The Donald entered the Oval Office.  Just consider what it meant to elect a visibly uneasy human being to the top bureau of the many powerful, potentially mortal republic on Earth.  What does that tell you?  One possibility: given the near majority of American electorate who sent him to the White House, by campaign 2016 we were already vital in a deeply disturbed country.  And deliberation the coming of 1% elections, the expansion of plutocracy, the lush of a new Gilded Age whose resources disparities must already be competitive with its nineteenth-century predecessor, the rise of the inhabitant confidence state, the unconstrained wars (now branch “generational”), the increasing militarization of this country, and the demobilization of its people, to discuss only a few twenty-first-century American developments, that should frequency be surprising.

Could Donald Trump Be the End of Evolutionary History?

Recently, as we was mulling over the ascendancy of this Trumpian moment, a depiction of evolution from my girl popped into my head.  Sometimes back then, such illustrations, as we remember them, began with a fish-like quadruped flippering its way out of the water to be remade into a reptile, but this one, famous as the “March of Progress,” started with a hunched over ape-like creature.  What followed were a series of total that, left to right, grew ever more Homo-sapiens-like and ever some-more honest to the last guy, a muscular-looking associate walking oh-so-erectly.

He, of course, was a unapproachable citation of us and we — it went but observant at the time — were the unapproachable finish of the line on this planet.  We were it, swell personified!  Even in my youth, however, we were also in the routine of updating that evolutionary finish point.  At the tallness of the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union, the fear of another kind of end, one that competence truly be the finish of everything, had turn a nightmarish hackneyed in the lives.

One night almost 60 years ago, for instance, we can still vividly remember myself on my hands and knees crawling by the rubble of an atomically ravaged city.  It was just a nightmare, of course, but of a arrange that was anything but odd for those of us flourishing up then.  And there were times — generally during the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962 — when those nuclear nightmares left the star of dreams and pop culture for bland life.  And even before that, if you were a child, you frequently gifted the fear of obliteration, as the air raid sirens wailed outward your classroom window, the radio on your teacher’s table promote warnings from Conelrad, and you “ducked and covered” under your flimsy desk.

With the implosion of the Soviet Union in 1991, such fears receded, nonetheless they shouldn’t have, given by then, in a star of swelling nuclear states, we already knew about “nuclear winter.” What that meant should have been terrifying.  A ideally probable nuclear war, not between superpowers but informal powers like India and Pakistan, could put so much smoke, so many particulates, into the atmosphere as to catch object for years, radically cooling the star and possibly starving out most of humanity.

Only in the moment, however, have such nuclear fears returned in a poignant way.  Under the circumstances, some-more than half a century after that Mar of Progress imagery became popular, if we were to provisionally refurbish it, we competence have to supplement a singularly tangible figure to the distant right side of that diorama (appropriately enough): a immeasurable but somewhat stooped man with a jut-chin, a fiery face, and a particular orange comb-over. 

Which brings us to a candid adequate question: Could Donald Trump infer to be the finish of evolutionary history? The answer, however provisionally, is that he could. At a minimum, right now he qualifies as the many dangerous man on the planet. He competence indeed be the final interlude mark (or at slightest the person who forked the way toward it) for human history, for all that led to this moment, to us.

What Rough Beast, Its Hour Come Round at Last…?

Whatever you do, however, don’t just censure Donald Trump for this.  He was simply the utterly unsettling chronicle of Homo sapiens ushered into the White House on a recoil opinion of restlessness in 2016.  When he got there, he suddenly found powers over review available him like so many loaded guns.  As was loyal with the two presidents who preceded him, he automatically became not just the commander-in-chief of this country but its assassin-in-chief; that is, he found himself in personal control of an armada of drone aircraft that could be sent just about anywhere on Earth at his authority to kill just about anyone of his choosing.  At his beck and call, he also had the homogeneous of what historian Chalmers Johnson once called the president’s own private army (now, armies): both the CIA irregulars Johnson was informed with and the U.S. military’s vast, secretive Special Operations forces.  Above all, however, he found himself in charge of the planet’s largest nuclear arsenal, weaponry that he and he alone could sequence into use.

In short, like this country’s other presidents given Aug 1945, he was entirely weaponized and able of singlehandedly branch this planet, or poignant tools of it, into an present inferno, a solitude of — in his agitator word in propinquity to North Korea — “fire and fury.”  On Jan 20, 2017, in other words, he became the enactment of a duck-and-cover star (even though, as had been loyal given the 1950s, there was really nowhere to hide).  It done no disproportion that he himself was woefully ignorant about the inlet and appetite of such weaponry.

And speaking of heavenly infernos, he also found himself weaponized when it came to a second set of instruments of ultimate drop about which he was no less ignorant and to which he was even some-more in thrall.  He brought to the Oval Office — Make America Great Again! — a nostalgia for his fossil-fuelized childhood world of the 1950s.  Weaponized by Big Energy, he arrived prepared to safeguard that the wealthiest and many absolute country on the star would transparent the way for nonetheless more pipelines, fracking, offshore drilling, and just about every other probable form of exploitation of oil, healthy gas, and spark (but not alternative energy). All of this was dictated to create, as he proclaimed, a new “golden age,” not just of American appetite autonomy but of “energy dominance” on a heavenly scale. And here’s what that really means: by his executive orders and the decisions of the stunning range of meridian deniers and Big Oil enthusiasts he allocated to pivotal posts in his administration, he can indeed safeguard that ever some-more hothouse gas emissions from the blazing of hoary fuels will enter the atmosphere in the years to come, formulating the basement for another kind of apocalypse.

On the graduation of global warming in his first year in office, it’s reasonable to say, with a certain Trumpian pride, that the boss has once again done the United States the planet’s truly “exceptional” nation. In November, only 5 months after President Trump announced that the U.S. would repel as shortly as probable from the Paris meridian agreement to fight global warming, Syria (of all countries) finally signed onto it, the last republic on Earth to do so.  That meant this country was truly… well, you can’t contend left out in the “cold,” not on this star anymore, but utterly literally exceptional in its single-minded efforts to safeguard the drop of the very sourroundings that had for so prolonged ensured humanity’s contentment and done the origination of those illustrations of evolutionary swell possible.

Still, you can’t just censure President Trump for this either.  He’s not obliged for the ingenuity, that present of evolution, that led us, wittingly in the case of nuclear weapons and (initially) unwittingly in the case of meridian change, to take powers once relegated to the gods and place them in the own hands — as of Jan 20, 2017, in fact, in the hands of Donald J. Trump.  Don’t censure him alone for the fact that the many baleful moment in the story competence come not around an asteroid from outdoor space, but from Trump Tower.

So here we are, vital with a man whose ultimate titillate seems to be to bring the star to a boil around himself.  It’s probable that he competence indeed be the first boss given Harry Truman in 1945 to sequence the use of nuclear weapons.  As Nobel Prize leader Beatrice Fihn, executive of the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons, recently commented, the star competence be only “a tiny tantrum” divided from nuclear fight in Asia.  At the very least, he may already be assisting to launch a new global nuclear arms race in which countries from South Korea and Japan to Iran and Saudi Arabia could find themselves with world-ending arsenals, leaving nuclear winter in the hands of… well, don’t even consider about it.

Now, suppose that nice evolutionary draft again or maybe — in respect of The Donald’s new proclamation that the U.S. was noticing Jerusalem as Israel’s collateral — call to mind producer William Butler Yeats’s words about a star in which “the best miss all conviction, while the misfortune are full of ardent intensity,” while some “rough beast, its hour come turn at last” is slouching “towards Bethlehem to be born.”  Think then of what a genuine horror it is that so much world-ending appetite is in the hands of any singular human being, no reduction such a uneasy and disturbing one. 

Of course, while Donald Trump competence represent the finish of the line that began in some African valley so many millennia ago, zero on this star is graven in stone, not when it comes to us.  We still have the intensity leisure to select otherwise, to do otherwise.  We have the ability for wonders as good as horrors.  We have the ability to create as good as to destroy.

In the word of Jonathan Schell, the fate of the Earth remains not just in his hands, but in ours.  If they, those nonexistent aliens, don’t caring and the star can’t caring and the visitor in the White House doesn’t give a damn, then it’s up to us to care.  It’s up to us to protest, resist, and change, to promulgate and convince, to fight for life rather than its destruction. If you’re of a certain age, all you have to do is demeanour at your children or grandchildren (or those of your friends and neighbors) and you know that no one, Donald Trump included, should have the right to consign them to the flames. What did they ever do to finish up in a ruin on Earth?

2018 is on the horizon.  Let’s make it a better time, not the finish of time.

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