Tonight I opened up a treasure: a bottle of cider made by a friend in Santa Fe.
This gentleman had in fact gifted me with several-to-many bottles, all of which I have been—yes—hoarding since I received them, on February 21st of this year.
That was but five weeks and change ago but now seems like a lifetime. Yeah, that’s a cliche, but then so is our context: an empire-in-decline mishandling a crisis. There’s nothing original about this moment. In our rise and fall we are nothing special. Not even our exceptionalism is exceptional. Far from it.
We are blinded by our own provincialism, we of the settler-colonial mindset, which is (sorry to say) all of us here who aren’t indigenous (and—even sorrier to say—a number of them too).
We are both ignorant and brash; both increasingly weak and ever more blustery; both delusional and all-too-well armed. A comedian would add: “And those are our good points.”