Why God Picked You

Dear George,

There are many reasons God made you president. But the one that really tipped the scale in your favor was that He needed a C student to oversee the last hurrah of the Whiteman’s burden.

You are the end product of a process that has been 180 years in the making. From around 1820 to the 1960s, a white, male dominated Protestant church was the de facto state religion of America, and much of the white male bile we see today is a desire to return to the nineteenth century, an age of propriety in a black, woolen suit when “natives’ knew their place and our missionary zeal was bring Christian capitalism to the world with bibles and gunboats.

Today, the megachurch and the beltway have become game preserves for a waning Whiteman’s burden. The only question is whether it will incinerate the earth before it becomes extinct.

This is why God placed you in the White House. As one writer pointed out, “The world is now run by a generation of leaders who have never known global war. Has this dulled their senses?”

Damn straight it has!

The atrophied historical memory looks at yesterday’s carnage and sees the glory of tomorrow’s war.

As another writer puts it:

Unlike other Western countries whose citizens have come (through centuries of bleeding) to view war as a horrible aberration—a failure of rational solidarity—America’s Romantic nationalists embrace the prospect of spending years, decades, and even centuries in the righteous work of fighting the long war to “rid the word of evil.” The “warrior” is fetishized and lifted to a place beyond any possibility of criticism. Implicit in the mantra “Support the Troops” is a hissed addendum: Or else!

You have your marching orders, George. Bring it all back, or go down in flames trying. It’s the apocalypse, and you are death astride a white horse bringing to an end God’s reign on earth.

Your admirer,
Belacqua Jones