I don’t think that will work. Now, removal of the loads of flotsam in our government, especially the ones that have an (R) by their name? That’ll do wonders.
This morning, as I sat in McDonald’s, I spied the headline on the latest USA Today: “Final Spring”. Apparently, Wisconsin is losing dairy farms–around three of them a day during the month of April–and the impact to both the farmers and the economy will be far reaching.
The sad thing is I don’t know if I have it in me to care.
Normally, I would; as I look out the window and to my right, the skeletal remains of the local Shopko stands, hollow and empty. The optical department is still functional, but soon enough, it will move. The building itself is all but abandoned and the employees are now without jobs. Just looking at the place fills me with sadness.
I can’t say the same about those farmers.
The cynical part of me wonders just how many of them fell, hook, line, and sinker, for the Grand Nagus’ promises, how he would “make America great”, how he’d make sure blue collar American jobs would still survive. How many of these farmers have been crippled by the newest rounds of tariffs, yet gleefully shot themselves in the foot while voting for the guy who thought a trade war was a great idea? How many of these farmers believed each and every lie the Grand Nagus spewed and happily voted for him, but now suffer because of their ignorance and short-sightedness?
In other words, how many of these farmers are shuttering their businesses because they not only backed the wrong pony, but gleefully believed that the easily observable pile of manure at said pony’s hooves was actually a mound of gold, rather than the obvious pile of shit that it was?
I should care. Months ago, years ago, I would have at least tried to care. But I am too tired, too weary, to care. Others are suffering and my sympathies lie with them, the ones who knew how bad this would be and who have suffered since the beginning.
My sympathies lie with the transgender teen who is kicked out of their house by their so-called “loving” parents.
My sympathies lie with the gay married couple who can’t adopt a child because of the “sincerely held beliefs” of the adoption agency.
My sympathies lie with the eleven year old rape victim who is forced by her home state to carry and bear the child she never wanted.
My sympathies lie with the young black man, lying facedown in the street, too afraid to twitch a muscle lest the police shoot him dead.
My sympathies lie with the migrant mother and her children, who walked hundreds of miles to the border of this country, only to be told that the United States is “full”.
My sympathies lie there.
My sympathies do not lie with these men, these farmers.
It is hard for me to feel anything even close to sympathy for these people. It feels empty and wasted; why should I care? If they voted for their own destruction, aren’t they part of the “fuck your feelings” crowd? By their own hands, did they not bring this?
And I can’t feel sorry for them. I can’t scrape up any sympathy for them at all. I’m too busy caring for those who actually need it. That’s a better usage of my time.