We’re watching a passion play.
Perhaps the single defining myth of the Western world is that of the good man from the wrong side of town who gathered around him a set of followers, mostly ordinary people. and who spoke to them at crowded meetings for a few short years, until he was unjustly put on trial by high priests, betrayed by his friends, scourged and crucified, dead and buried – but who nevertheless came back from the dead and triumphed over the world.
You know it well:
These days we’re witnessing the crucifixion of Donald Trump. But he’s going to emerge from it all far stronger than before. He’s going to be invincible. The more they do to him, the stronger he’s going to get.
He’ll be even stronger if they manage to actually kill him, like they want to.
The high priests: Nancy Pelosi. William Barr. Mike Pence. Mitch McConnell. Ann Coulter. Republicans and Democrats: they’re all going to be swept away. The whole damn lot.
It won’t happen immediately. It waits for Trump’s ordeal to end. And there are a few more weeks for that to happen.
But when it’s over, and he’s finally been murdered or imprisoned or exiled or expunged from history (or all these things), there’ll be a resurrection. Trump will become what he really always was: a simple, good man, unjustly reviled and betrayed and condemned. And however hard they try to erase his memory, they will find that he’s remembered more and more by those decent, ordinary Americans for whom he once spoke plainly and simply.