Tag Archives: Donald Trump

719. Winning a War

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I have over a dozen novels waiting to be published, and once in a while I fire one up and read it again on my computer. It isn’t entirely self-indulgence, although if you don’t enjoy reading your own writing its time to take up a different art form.  In my case it is half enjoyment and half polishing. Every read-through finds dozens to hundreds of tiny changes that make the novel read more smoothly.

I have recently been re-reading my novel The Cost of Empire, an alternate reality story in which the Brits won the German War, their equivalent of our WWI. In their world that war came a half a century early and was won mostly by the actions of a secret group of spies, saboteurs, and assassins.

Now this Britain all but rules the world. Our hero has found out about the league of spies, has gotten himself on their hit list, and has gone underground.

Today — March 23, 2026 — I reached ms. page 203 where he is musing about how he got to where he is. He says of his country:

Winning a war is one thing: surviving the peace that follows is another, particularly when all the world hates you.

God, does that sound familiar. And timely.

— << >> —

Here are two propositions for you to consider:

The United States is a beacon to the world, showing what democracy can mean for its people.

The United States is a hungry beast, treating the little countries of the world as its prey.

Neither proposition is true all the time, but each of them is true sometimes.

We could start looking at how the nation was formed, although that gets awfully complicated for a short post.

Yes, the land was already occupied by “savages”. That wasn’t a word restricted to North America. In early days it basically meant non-Christian, and was applied to the whole non-European world. Before we sympathize with the natives too quickly however, we need to remember that most of the pioneers who took over Indian land were escaping from tyranny.

No, I am not talking about the tyranny of King George III. North America was well populated by Europeans before George III’s grandfather was  born. I am referring to the tyranny of European landlords — the rich of their day who controlled the land and reduced the people who worked that land to serfdom, whether or not that term technically applied.

Could the European populating of America have been stopped? No. Do I wish for a different outcome? No. Nevertheless, it is the ground base of our culture, the source of our pride, and the birth of our legends. We tell ourselves that we won because we were a superior people, endowed with the rights of free men.

Good enough. I make no arguments with American pride, as long as it is tempered with a clear vision of what else we have done over the years.

For instance, we might consider the Mexican War of 1846-8, in which the United States force-purchased New Mexico, Arizona, California, Nevada, and Utah, along with parts of Wyoming, Colorado, Kansas, and Oklahoma, all at the point of American guns.

We might also remember the with Spanish-American war of 1898. It began with America supporting Cuba’s revolt against its Spanish masters. The Senate disavowed any intention of taking control of Cuba, but when the treaties were signed after the war, America had nevertheless gained control of Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines.

But not Cuba. 128 years later, Trump wants to remedy that.

Old news? How about the war your grandfathers fought in Viet Nam, a fourth rate country that should have fallen in no time, but defeated the giant — us. Or the ten years spent in Afghanistan, before we pulled out.

Who could have guessed such things could happen?

The answer is, any guy. We all know the story. The school bully beats up every kid in the class, and finally picks on the littlest, least, and last — and gets his head handed to him. For the bully, it was just fun; for the little guy, it was life or death.

Multiply that by a million and you have the US taking on third or fourth rate nations, and losing. When you declare victory and vacate, no one is fooled.

I say it again:

Winning a war is one thing: surviving the peace that follows is another, particularly when all the world hates you.

That is, if you can even win the war.

718. History Repeats Itself

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NEWS FLASH

I write these posts far in advance, then polish them repeatedly, which makes it hard to keep up with fast moving news. Two posts were scheduled for today and next week so that they would come one year before the release of a book. That will have to change. I have two things I need to say, so the scheduled posts will both get bumped forward, along with a general reshuffling of the next dozen.

This all started two days ago when I ran into a situation that called for a response to the ongoing war against Iran. It led me to write the post that you will see next week.

Then, three hours later on the same day, the news reported that Trump said he was negotiating with Iran, and Iran said they weren’t negotiating with him.

Really?

History seems to be repeating itself, so now I have to write this post.

I’ve seen this movie before, but not many people have, so let me explain. I grew up in north-eastern Oklahoma, which was the land assigned to the Cherokees. I learned all the cliches then, and later acquainted myself with their actual history.

The Cherokees came from the eastern United States, largely Tennessee and Georgia. During the first half of the 1800’s they lived in cabins not very different from their white neighbors, raised crops in similar ways, held slaves, and intermarried with whites. John Ross, their principal chief, was seven-eighths Scottish.

Nevertheless, their white neighbors wanted their land, and President Jackson wanted them, and most of the other tribes, out of the United States. He offered the Cherokees land across the Mississippi in exchange for their homeland, in an area owned by the United States but not part of any state. It came to be called Indian Territory, and later Oklahoma.

The Cherokees didn’t want to go.

Cherokees were divided in many ways, as human groups usually are. Some were unable to speak English and lived as closely as possible to the old ways. Some were more integrated into the white world.

That exact same sentence could be used to describe their white neighbors, if you slip in the word “proper” just before the word “English”.

There were factions among the Cherokees, with differing responses to the idea of removal. Jackson found a faction he could buy off, signed a treaty with them, then sent the Army to move the entire Cherokee nation whether they agreed with the treaty or not.

That is a lot of history to cram into 220 words, but it is essentially factual, if short on detail.

So what does that have to do with Trump repeating history? He says he  is “negotiating” peace with someone, but won’t say who. We have to guess, while also considering that it might be an outright lie.

It isn’t the Iranian government (unless they are flat out lying), but possibly some disgruntled diplomat, someone who wants out of the war, or someone who can be bought off. Like Jackson with the Cherokees.

So here are the choices we face:

One, Trump is actually negotiating with someone in authority and a treaty will come out of the process. I give that a 1% or less chance of being true.

Two, Trump is actually negotiating with someone who has no authority, and any treaty coming out of the process will be bogus. That is history repeating itself.

Three, there are no real negotiations, just another smoke screen.

The chances of a positive outcome don’t look good.

712. God, Trump, and the Devil

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I originally wrote this post before Christmas. That’s not unusual; I always write posts early and revise them several times before they appear. In this case, you might expect that all the horrors visited on the world by Trump in Venezuela, Greenland, and Minneapolis would make my position harsher. It doesn’t, but only because this post is about the situation at the time of the last presidential election.

If those same voters still support Trump, that is a different matter.

— << >> —

The people who follow Trump are not necessarily evil. They also aren’t fools. If you disagree with them philosophically, it is all too easy to paint them blacker than they deserve.

I don’t feel that negatively about them. I understand why conservatives hate abortion. I understand why the more extreme conservatives consider it murder. It isn’t a crazy position. I would argue with them, but that doesn’t mean their positions are crazy — not even extreme.

It’s a Christian thing and I used to be a Christian. I understand it.

I hear complaints about transgender people reading to children in libraries. I understand that too, even though I don’t agree.

If God made men and women, separate and different, in the manner He saw fit, then there is no middle ground — no blurring of the genders. I disagree with that philosophy (or more properly, religious interpretation) but that doesn’t make it crazy. It doesn’t even make it extreme.

I understand why Christian conservatives would support someone who claims to oppose abortion. I can understand why Christian conservatives would support someone who tells them that there are only two sexes, so homosexuality is wrong. I don’t agree, but I understand their viewpoint.

Here is what I don’t understand.

How can Christian conservatives support Trump when he only plays lip service to what they cherish. They have deep beliefs about morality and religion. He has deep beliefs in money and power. Trump has no empathy, no sexual morality, no sense of justice, and no respect for the law.

Christian conservatives, you should consider this question — do you like him? He doesn’t like you, or anyone else but himself.

I have even heard it said that Christians should support Trump because he is doing God’s work.

Really?

Does God need the Devil to do his work for him. Don’t you think He could save the world without employing a lying, cheating, heartless, arrogant, self-serving buffoon like Trump?

That’s the Christian position I don’t understand.

Here’s what I would think, if I were still a Christian. My mind would stray from contemporary issues to the Revelation of St. John. I would think about the Beast. I would think about the Antichrist — that charismatic world leader from the final days whom everyone worships and everyone follows, but whose coming signals Armageddon.

Trump as the Antichrist? I don’t believe it — now.

But if Trump had been around when I was a Christian, it would have been the first explanation that came to mind. It makes a lot more sense than the idea of Trump doing God’s work.

711. Backstory, Cyan

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Backstory — these are the things a writer has to know about his fictional universe, most of which will have happened before his actual story begins. Some is dribbled out to the reader as the story progresses. Much is never known to the reader, but remains essential nonetheless.

The novel Cyan takes place in the late twenty-first century, but it was written during the last decades of the twentieth and first decades of the twenty-first century. A lot of things changed during those decades, and so did the backstory.

When I started Cyan, the expedition to Procyon was to be mounted by an international body as a cooperative effort. As the story matured in my mind, the notion of cooperation that was so important to the creation of the International Space Station began to fade in the real world. Things got grittier on Real Earth and also on the Earth of the novel.

In that changing backstory, some joker nuked Washington, which ushered in an America First period worse than the Trump era. That wasn’t a prediction. It’s just that the Open Hand and the Closed Fist have alternated throughout American history, and I needed a dystopian, overcrowded Earth to motivate extra-solar exploration.

Cooperation was no longer an option in Cyan; an all-American crew was required. Well, almost all-American, since the new America had gobbled up some of its neighbors as I watched the backstory change.

Due in large part to a disastrous economic downturn in the mid twenty-first century, Canada allowed itself to be swallowed up by the U.S.. Mexico and most of the Caribbean were given no choice. The result was the U.S.N.A., the United States of North America, twice as big with its new capital in Chicago.

Was the downturn due to tariffs? Beats me; all this reorganization of the backstory was finished long before I had ever heard of Trump, and I thought tariffs were a dead issue. After all, they had almost destroyed the American economy during the Jefferson administration, and that was a long time ago,

If this makes Cyan sound depressing, don’t worry. All this has already happened by the time the novel opens. Our ten explorers are half way to Procyon, where none of their problems will be political — at least until their year of exploration is over and they return to Earth.

— << >> —

In the beginning, when the explorers were to be from many countries, I chose their names accordingly. By the time I started reorganizing the backstory, they had already become people to me. I wasn’t going to give up anyone, and I wasn’t going to rename anyone.

Originally Stephan Andrax was Danish, Debra Bruner was American, Petra Crowley was Greek, Keir Delacroix was French, Viki Johanssen was Swedish, Gus Leinhoff was German, Leia Polanyi was from somewhere in the South Pacific, Ramananda and Tasmeen Rao were from India, and Uke Tomiki was Japanese.

Once they all had to be citizens of the U.S.N.A., this might have posed a problem. However, we are a nation of immigrants. Even in 2026, every one of them could have reasonably come from Topeka.

Just for fun — just because I could — and just because it was one of the places I had studied, I chose to let Tasmeen and Ramananda come from Trinidad, the newly admitted seventy-first state.

Yes this is an ongoing advertisement for Cyan,

available from Amazon.

708. Pardons

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Five years and two weeks ago, on January 6th, 2021, Donald Trump caused an attack on the United States Capitol after refusing to admit that he lost the election.

One year ago, on January 20, 2025, as he returned to the Presidency, Trump commuted the sentences or pardoned outright nearly 1600 persons, either already convicted of crimes related to that attack or awaiting trial for their parts in the attack.

Please remember these facts when you vote in 2026.

706. Five Years Ago

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Even though Trump just “took over” Venezuela, that isn’t what I want to talk about. That story is still unfolding and full of unknowns, but there is no confusion about what happened five years ago.

January sixth — you can’t say that any more without special meaning. It has become a time-bound phrase, as specific as 9/11.

January sixth came five years ago. No doubt every newspaper and television journalist will have something to say today. Me, too. It’s personal; it should be personal to every American.

I saw it all on television, starting at nine on the west coast. This posting will match that time. At first it seemed to be only another address by the outgoing crazy. Then Trump called on the crowd to “fight like hell”, and they did.

I saw it all as it happened. From the moment it became apparent that there was going to be trouble, continuing until the crowd dispersed, I never left the broadcast.

Even if you were elsewhere that day, everybody knows about the attack. Unfortunately, not everybody understands that the attack happened entirely because Trump lied.

Trump had lost the 2020 election. He refused to acknowledge that fact. He instituted multiple lawsuits against the result, and lost them all.

He called for a rally. He stoked the crowd. He sent them to march and told them to fight in order to keep the Congress from ratifying the vote.

Trump orchestrated and authorized the horrors that followed. There is only one word to describe his actions.

Treason.

Trump is responsible for his words and his deeds, despite the subsequent findings of the Supreme Court which ended attempts to bring him to justice.

Trump ran again four years later, and won a second term. He continued to lie and continued to be believed, but he did not win without help.

The gatekeepers who kept the American people from knowing of Biden’s decline have to share the blame for Trump’s return. When Biden came on stage at the June 24, 2024 Presidential debate, clearly inadequate to his task, the election was already lost before he ever opened his mouth.

And now Trump is back with a vengeance.

These are dark days. They must not continue. 2026 is our best chance to return to reason. It may be our last chance.

704. No Room in the Inn

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No Room in the Inn

[Don’t even expect even-handedness here.]

In English we call him Joseph, in Italian he is Giuseppe, in Basque he is Joseba, in Spanish he is just plain Jose.

In English we call her Mary, in Hebrew she is Miryam, in German she is Maria, and also in Spanish.

In English he is Jesus, in Cornish he is Jesu, in Italian he is Gesu, and in Spanish he is Jesus again, but pronounced Hey-sous.

We are going to walk with these three this Christmas season.

And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. And all went, every one into his own city. And Jose also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, to be taxed with Maria his espoused wife, being great with child.

Of course that could be written as Joseph and Mary, but surely they are the same couple, in any language. Jose was a carpenter. He built things out of wood to feed his family, and he paid his taxes like everybody else. All the world was to be taxed, and he had to go back to the place from which his people came.

Where would that be today? Perhaps a land with cities named Sacramento for the Holy Sacrament, or maybe Atascadero, Alameda, Camarillo, El Segundo, or Escondido. Perhaps cities like Fresno, La Mesa, Madera, or Mariposa show where his people once lived. Certainly they must have lived in cities like Los Angeles, Merced, Paso Robles, Salinas, or San Francisco. Even if his people no longer own the land, certainly the city named after him, San Jose, must once have belonged to his people.

And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

I think Luke shortened this a bit. Was there only one inn in Bethlehem? We can see the young couple, going from place to place, Jose leading, Maria on a burro since she cannot walk so late in her pregnancy. Everywhere they are turned away. Are all the sleeping places truly full? It may be. Or perhaps something about the two of them, perhaps the color of their skin, makes the innkeepers turn them away. Luke does not tell us.

I see migrant housing everywhere I go in California and I think, perhaps, a manger was preferable.

Now they are in a place where their people once lived, but to which they are no longer welcome. And here, their son is born.

Donald Trump would call Him an anchor baby. I wonder what He will call Trump, when they finally meet.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

To all people. ALL people. Imagine that!

703. No More Little House

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No More Little House

I wrote the story of Lupe after Donald Trump won in 2016, but before he took office. I presented it in fear of what might happen. I present it again knowing what is happening, now that he is back for a second term.

Ramon came in, stamping the snow from his feet, and shook the snow from his jacket before closing the door. The sun was low in the eastern sky behind him as Lupe moved up and hugged his leg. He smelled of sweat and manure and soured milk, but she didn’t mind. She had hugged him this way every morning for as long as she could remember, and he always smelled the same. For Lupe, the smell was as familiar and welcome as his cold fingers on the top of her head.

Every morning Ramon rose before the sun was up, and left the house. His daughter greeted him when he returned hours later, and saw him off again in the afternoon. She was usually asleep when he came home at night.

It is hard work milking cattle twice a day, and the pay is low. The cattle march in from the muddy lots to take their turns in the stalls, where fast moving men attach the milking machines. The cattle resent the process and the workers have to move quickly to avoid having their hands caught against he stanchions. It goes on for hours, in heat or cold, beginning every morning before daylight, and continuing again every evening until after dark.

Lupe stepped aside to make room for her mother. Today she seemed worried; her voice was unusually sharp as she asked, “What did he say?”

Ramon replied, “I didn’t tell him.”

I translate, of course. Every word was in Spanish.

“You got your money for the week?”

Lupe’s father nodded, “I told him I needed it today, to buy things for Christmas. I was afraid to tell him the truth. He is a good man, but it seemed best that he should not know.”

Lupe’s sister came out of the single bedroom with a cardboard box in her arms, tied up with twine. Lupe looked up with interest. It was not wrapped in paper, but any box is interesting so close to Christmas. Carmella put the box down on the floor and returned a moment later with blankets and bedding, also rolled up and also tied up with twine. Lupe asked what she was doing, but Carmella ignored her.

Her father carried the box and roll of bedding outside. Her mother came out of kitchen with a box of food, and that began a procession of boxes, coming from various parts of the house and out to the car. Lupe’s mother and sister had gathered up their possessions during the pre-dawn, while Lupe slept.

Now Lupe dragged at her mothers leg asking questions, but she was ignored until Carmella pulled her aside and said, “We are going away.”

“Where?”

“I wish I knew Lupita. I wish I knew.”

“But why?”

“It’s only a month until he becomes President. Everyone here knows who we are. We have to go away, somewhere where people don’t know us.”

“But why? I was born here. This is home.”

“So was I, Lupe, but mother and father were not.”

When they pulled out an hour later, Lupe stared back at the little house where she had spent her whole, short life, until it disappeared around a bend. Then she looked out the windshield, past her mother and father’s silent heads. It was a long road, wet with melted snow. Her father would not leave the house tonight before the sun went down and go to the cows. There would be no more money, no more warmth, no more little house. It would be again as it had been, before the job at the cows, before she was born. Lupe knew what that was like from hearing her parents talk. Now it would be like that again.

— << >> —

Is Lupe real? She was born from the hundreds of little Mexican-American girls I taught over twenty-seven years. How many were undocumented? I never knew. I never asked. I didn’t need to know.

Is she real? She is as real as heartache. She is as real as fear. She is as real as dislocation, cold, hunger, and injustice.

698. Who Slammed the Door?

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During the first iteration of Trump, I wrote a poem in response to what he was doing to immigrant refugees. The title of the poem was Who Slammed the Door? Of course Trump was the primary answer to that question, but the people who voted their agreement with Trump’s statement that these “illegals” were rapists and murderers were also responsible.

The poem tried to replace that image with something closer to reality.

Now Trump is back and things are even worse. It is time to print the poem again, especially as we reach the season of Thanksgiving.

Not everyone in America can give thanks this year.

Who Slammed the Door?

Land of the free,
Home of the brave,
What happened to your courage?

We have walked a thousand miles toward freedom.
Where did freedom go?

It is not trivial
that they come in the night.
It is not trivial
that they rape and kill.
It is not trivial
to be hungry.
It is not trivial
to be afraid.
It is not trivial
to see your father disappear
to see your mother disappear
to know that you are next.

Would you walk a thousand miles
for a trivial reason?

In our homeland, they throw us in jail.
In America, they throw us in jail.

In our homeland, they take parents
from their children in the night.

In America, they take children
from their parents in broad daylight.

Land of the free,
Home of the brave,
What happened to your courage?
Your compassion?
Your understanding?
Your humanity?

Land of the free,
Home of the brave,
Who slammed the door on freedom?

697. Trump Looks at Borders

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Attribution: Nabokov at English Wikipedia  

Trump Looks at Borders

I started this blog on the twenty-ninth of August, 2015. At that time, I had no political agenda for the blog. I had plenty of political opinions, but the blog’s only purpose was to support my coming novel Cyan and write how-to and behind the scenes posts for young writers.

Less than three weeks later, Donald Trump entered my consciousness. I didn’t take him seriously at first — almost no one did — but the things he said and the positions he took were not something I could ignore.

So, on Sept. 15, 2015, I interrupted myself to write the post I am partially reprinting here. It was my first statement on Trump, and pretty much my first awareness of him. I said . . .

— << >> —

This is not normally a political blog, but as I am a citizen, there are times to speak out.

Have you ever asked yourself, “How could Germany have been fooled into following Adolph Hitler?” The answer is on your television this morning, and it is Donald Trump.

I’m not saying that Trump is a Nazi. I don’t see him as evil, merely foolish. (That was a decade ago. His Nazi leanings and deep evil is no longer in question.) But the techniques that have brought him to prominence are the same techniques that Hitler used.

First, appeal to a country’s deepest fears.

Second, claim to be the only one to have the answer.

Third, claim that your opponents are all cowardly and incompetent or, to use Trump’s favorite word — stupid.

The tactics are false. But the fears are real, so Trump promises his followers a wall to keep the world out. There is no wall strong enough to do it.

— << >> —

That same morning, September 15, 2015, Hungary closed its borders against middle-eastern refugees with a wall of razor wire.

I have a strong feeling for Hungary. The Hungarian Uprising of 1956 forms my first political memory. I was eight, and I remember sitting in front of the TV with my parents watching the streams of refugees escaping Soviet reprisals. Eventually 200,000 Hungarians fled their homeland. That memory makes it particularly hard for me to watch Hungary put up a wall against Syrian refugees fleeing genocide.

In another time and place, backed by Russia, East Germany built a wall across Berlin in 1961. It slowed the flow of refugees escaping from tyranny, but it did not stop them. And it didn’t stop the later fall of East Germany.

There is a fence across our southern border of the US that doesn’t stop those hungry enough to jump it. Trump wants a wall to hold out “illegals” and a massive sweep through our country to deport the “illegals” who are already here. He wants to declare that the 14th amendment doesn’t really mean what it says, in order to authorize the deportation of American citizens, born her just like you and I were.

Hitler would be proud. East Germany would understand. Russia is laughing.

— << >> —

Looking back, it is clear that the Trump agenda we see in 2025 was already his plan in 2015. I just couldn’t imagine him becoming President.

No one could imagine that he would win, then lose, then win again.

— << >> —

So my blog for new writers is back, and Trump is back. I wish I could spend all my time talking about writing, but times are too dangerous for that.

There is a lot I plan to do and say about writing. I will be releasing a five book series of novels next year, and two books on writing in 2027. You will hear all about them in this blog.

But we also have to talk about Trump, in this post, in two posts of poetry next week, and in many other posts sandwiched between more pleasant things. I wish times were better, but everyone has to deal with reality.