Friends,

I keep hearing that one of America’s biggest problems is we’re “divided and polarized.” For example, New York Times columnist David French: “We’ve known for a long time that America is deeply polarized, and we’ve known the problem is only getting worse.”

This is bullsh*t. The problem is not that we’re divided and polarized.

The problem is that a significant portion of America is buying Trump’s violent, hateful, lawless crap. Some of those buying it are white supremacists. Others are conservative fundamentalist Christians. Others are xenophobic nationalists.

I feel compassion for those who’ve been seduced into supporting Trump after being brutalized and mistreated for years by employers, big corporations, Wall Street, and America’s oligarchs. As I warned 32 years ago, widening inequalities of wealth, income, and opportunity would eventually persuade some on the losing side to support a demagogue.

But an explanation for why some of Trump’s followers have bought into his neofascism isn’t a justification for them to do so. And it’s certainly no reason for us to put aside our differences and compromise with them.

As you undoubtedly know, Trump has created a violent police state inside America. He is conducting an illegal war abroad. He has usurped the powers of Congress and defied court orders. He is taking bribes. He’s criminally prosecuting his enemies and pardoning his criminal supporters (he has even set up a slush fund to compensate them). He has gotten his Justice Department to immunize him and his family from any future tax audits. He is silencing critics. He is fomenting racism and bigotry.

None of us should fall for the false equivalency between this, and opposition to it. The contest today is not between “right” and “left,” as the two sides have traditionally been understood in America. It’s not even between “Republicans” and “Democrats,” as we’ve defined the two major parties over most of the past century.

No, the contest today is between democracy and authoritarianism. It’s between tolerance and bigotry. Between a multiracial, secular, inclusive society and one that believes in white Christian nationalism. Between the rule of law and neofascism.

The two sides in this contest do not merit equal weight. If we are going to have a decent society, the nation must come down on the former side.

As long as Trump has followers who support his bigotry, racism, corruption, and violence, the nation will remain divided and polarized. That is necessary and proper.

We shouldn’t “reach out, or “meet halfway,” or “find middle ground,” or “split the difference,” or any other of today’s hackneyed expressions for putting aside what divides us and agreeing.

Generations of Americans fought and died for the ideals of democracy, freedom, social justice, the rule of law, and equal opportunity. We have never fully achieved them, but they remain our ideals. Tomorrow we celebrate Memorial Day to honor those ideals and the memories of those who died for them.

There cannot be, must not be, any compromise with neofascism.

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Friends,

Thinking you might need a break from the ongoing horrors of Trump and his regime, I’m going to tell you about an incident involving my grandmother Minnie.

Minnie was weird and wonderful, neurotic and nonsensical, fragile and funny.

When she was 97 and had been a widow for as long as anyone could remember, an elderly gentleman who was almost her age asked Minnie out to dinner.

This threw her into a panic.

She phoned me, her oldest grandson. I was then in my late 30s, married and with two little children. The last thing I expected was to be giving dating advice to my grandmother.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked in a voice even more tremulous than usual.

I encouraged her to accept. “If you like him, of course go out to dinner with him.”

“But I haven’t been on a date in 75 years!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know what people do on dates now!”

I tried to calm her. “Look, he probably hasn’t been on a date in years, either. Just be natural. Be yourself.”

After a long pause, she said okay, she’d accept. The date was to occur in two weeks.

The next week, my grandmother phoned again. Now she was worried about the details.

“Are we supposed to split the check?” she asked.

I suggested she let him pay; he had asked her out. But if she had any doubts, she could offer to split the check, and let him be the one to say he’d pay.

“How long should the dinner go?”

I said that if the restaurant weren’t too crowded, she and the gentleman could continue talking for a while after dessert.

“What should I wear? I haven’t worn anything fancy in decades!” I could hear her anxiety growing.

I told her she could wear anything she felt comfortable in. This was just a first date, and I was sure it would be informal.

“What if he asks me out again?”

“Don’t worry about that now. Just have a good time.”

“What happens if he wants to, to .…” She paused. I waited for her to continue, but there was only silence.

“Don’t be embarrassed, grandma,” I said, softly. “You want to know what you should do if he wants to kiss you when he brings you home?”

She whispered, “Yes.” And then, even more quietly: “I hear all kinds of things. What if he wants to go … further?”

How wonderful. I was now giving sex advice to my 97-year-old grandmother.

“Well, a kiss isn’t normally done on a first date,” I said as gently as I could. “But if you really enjoyed being with him, and if a kiss feels natural, sure, go ahead and let him kiss you. Nothing more.”

“Oh!” she blurted out in exasperation, “I don’t know why I have to do this!”

“Look, grandma, no one is making you do this,” I said. “But if I were you, I’d think of it as a special occasion. You might try feeling flattered that he wants to have dinner with you.”

She thanked me and quickly got off the phone.

As the day approached, I expected to hear from her again, but she didn’t phone.

Nor did she phone the next day.

Nor even on the day of the date. Nor the day after.

Two days later, bursting with curiosity, I phoned her.

“So, grandma, how did it go?”

“What go?” she asked.

“Your date! How did it turn out?”

“Oh, there was no date,” she said, as matter-of-factly as if she were referring to a canceled appointment with a hairdresser.

“What happened?” I asked.

“He died,” she said.

“He died?”

“His son called me three days ago to tell me he passed away. He was 95, after all.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be,” she said. “I’m relieved.”

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