Show notes
It is my heart-warm and world-embracing Christmas hope and aspiration that all of us, the high, the low, the rich, the poor, the admired, the despised, the loved, the hated, the civilized, the savage, may eventually be gathered together in a heaven of everlasting rest and peace and bliss, except the inventor of the telephone.Mark Twain - Letter to the Editor, New York Evening World, 23 December 1890
If you grow up on the Left, you grow up without religion. After the counterculture movement split from conventional religion in the 1960s, we’d done everything we knew how to do to fill up the eternal emptiness that had us chasing everything from sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll, cults in the 1970s, gurus, and ashrams, the self-help movement, the mental health movement, and eventually, we ended up back where we started.
We “found religion,” but this time as the politics of identity, where our happiness depended on how we solved the problems of society, like racism, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, and climate change. It came from needing to feel good about ourselves and our world, but it was followed by anger and resentment when we could not convert the entire country to our way of life.
The truth about the Left is that they know no other way of life. This was the problem for the Southerners after the Civil War. They, too, knew no other way of life and could not evolve out of their hatred, fear, and hysteria. All they could do was preserve it by banishing those who threatened it.
I wish I could say I’ve come out of these past several years with a renewed faith in humanity. The truth is exactly the opposite. What I saw was what collective hatred, fear, and tribalism can do to otherwise decent people. I saw what we’re all capable of when our power is threatened. I saw how easy it is to go along with the crowd, even when what they’re doing is wrong.
I always thought the people I called my heroes were made of tougher stuff. Better stuff. Kinder stuff. I always thought my side was the side of the good guys who would be immune to group dehumanization. I also did I think we would ever be the ruling class aristocracy sneering at the middle and working class, gathering all of our culture, wealth, and institutions, and hogging them for ourselves.
Now that the empire is in collapse, those with all of the power are scrambling, not just to explain it but as a way to get back some of what’s been taken. Good luck with that one.
Take yet another agonizing, unbearable column by your typical Leftist elite, Jill Filipovic, writing for The Guardian:
Worse than what, Jill? Indoctrinating children to choose their genders, then surgically or chemically sterilizing them? Or does it just come down to immigrants and their right to cross the border illegally by the millions, their safety, and our safety be damned?
Corruption? You mean like government censorship on a laptop or covering up the mental incapacity of the Commander in Chief for four years? Weaponizing the Department of Justice?
Immorality? Like what exactly? Lying to the public via the propaganda press? Calling half the country “garbage” or “White Supremacists” or “Nazis”?
And what rights? The right to have an opinion without losing your job, status, or social standing? Your right to play in sports as a biological female without having to compete with biological men? Oh, of course not. She means abortion, as usual. Honey, if you want an abortion, there’s a pop-up clinic down the street.
People like Jill examine half the country as insects in a jar, watching how they behave in tightly confined spaces, how they respond to being called racists, or how they are de-banked or canceled off of social media. It’s fun, right? To watch the insects get stressed and claw at the glass for a way out?
The disgust drips from every word, even as she tries to make nice-nice, now that her ass has been handed to her in a historic, humiliating defeat.
Trump won again, Jill. Eat that for breakfast.
It isn’t you people who have to learn to tolerate Trump voters. It’s you who have to apologize to them for what you’ve done not only to them but to this country. You have destroyed every great thing you ever built, and listen to you now, pretending you still have the moral high ground.
She then tries to explain why she’s writing this at all:
To paraphrase a line from Carrie, “Shut up, Jill. Just shut up.”
These are the kinds of people I used to call home. I knew them, mingled with them, read them, RT’d them and was Facebook friends with them. Now, they terrify me.
They are the banality of evil. They are the side that would go along with segregation, even if they’ll never admit it. They’re the side that would lock arms as the Jews were carted off to camps, and no, they’ll never see themselves that way.
She writes:
Oh, poor deluded Jill. She has no idea what just happened, does she?
It would do her a world of good to start opening her mind to reality, escape the fear bunker, and start interfacing with the truth. She should read David Samuels’ piece in Tablet, one I’ll be writing about in more depth for my next piece:
“Trump’s head turn was a perfect example of an event that has no explanation outside the favor of the gods, or whatever modern equivalent involving wind factors and directional probabilities you might prefer to the word “God.” Trump was fated to win, just as Achilles was fated to overcome Hector, because the gods, or if you prefer the forces of cosmic randomness, were on his side, on that day, at that moment. That move not only saved his life by allowing him to escape an assassin’s bullet; it revitalized his chi and set in motion a series of subsequent events that generated a reordering of the entire world.”
“You can’t stop what’s coming. It ain’t all waiting on you. That’s vanity.”
A Christmas Story
I was always the first to wake up on Christmas morning. It was almost like a job. I’d scramble into the living room before the sun even came up to gaze upon the abundance of treasures beneath the Christmas tree.
I never believed Santa was real, but those presents got there somehow. It was my grandmother who enlisted my older sister to help her wrap all of the presents after the rest of us had gone to sleep. It was a magic trick she performed every Christmas to keep the illusion of Santa alive in our imaginations.
She thought she had us fooled. We let her pretend. It didn’t matter because every Christmas morning was a rare moment of pure joy. One after the other, we’d tear through the presents, not waiting for each person to finish before moving on to the next. Pure carnage but oh what fun.
I never really thought much about what Christmas really means until recently. If it is only about driving the economy or buying stuff, then it isn’t worth celebrating. But if it is about something much bigger than ourselves, a way to unify us as one people under God, well, then it means something.
I began thinking back on my life, on my childhood, and how religion fit into it. Most movies during the Hays Code era (before the 1960s and 1970s) were infused with Christian ideology, especially Christmas movies. And why wouldn’t they be?
George Bailey prays in It’s a Wonderful Life, and an angel shows up to answer his prayers.
In A Charlie Brown Christmas, they sing about the “Newborn King,” who is, of course, Jesus. We all used to share that as a country. It was a thread that united us, along with being American citizens.
We all watched these movies because we understood the foundational principles of what made America. That isn’t true anymore. To even reference religion, as I’m doing now, is practically a revolutionary act. There is a new religion in town, a fundamentalist one that offers no path to redemption or forgiveness and demands total compliance or else.
What does any of it mean to us now? Is it really just about the list of things we buy? Is it about the movies we all treasure every year? Is it about what unites us, not what divides us? Is it about something bigger than ourselves? Are we still even allowed to say “Merry Christmas?”
I don’t have the answers; I just know that I was raised by a devout atheist who hated religion, and thus, I never thought about Christmas other than as a way to give things and get things. But now, thanks to my four years of getting to know Trump supporters, I see that and many other things differently.
I wandered out of darkness and despair toward what looked like a golden light of hope and optimism, surrounded by people our ruling class deemed “dangerous” at best and “human garbage” at worst. I knew every step that brought me closer to them would be one more step that separated me from everyone and everything else.
As I’ve written so often here, it was another Christmas movie, maybe the best one, that reminded me of what happened to me. It was The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. The moral of that story is that you can’t steal Christmas. It isn’t something you can buy or attain. It isn’t even something you can give.
That’s why the Whos in Whoville are still celebrating and singing even after the Grinch takes away every last symbol of Christmas. He couldn’t take away the one thing that mattered most - what was in the hearts and minds of those celebrating.
I can’t call myself a Christian or even a person of faith. I lean in, and that’s farther than I did before. But I also know I have learned the same lesson the Grinch did. I saw people abandoned by our political establishment, institutions, and culture - people who should have been angry and bitter. But they weren’t. They were happy. That’s how my heart grew and why I think differently about Christmas now.
It wasn’t Trump supporters who demanded I pick a side—it was the Left. They have imagined an unbearable reality for most of us. Perhaps it comforts people like Jill Filipovic, but for the rest of us, we choose the better way, one that values forgiveness, redemption, and humility.
And one that allows us to say, even shout, Merry Christmas.
So thank you, dear readers. When I say you saved me, I really mean it. You did. There, but for the Grace of God, Go I.
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