ENFORCED ENFORCEMENT

THE GENERALISSIMO AND ME

ENFORCED ENFORCEMENT

In 1971, I took a leave of absence from my junior year at Dartmouth to accompany my parents on a grief tour of Europe. My younger brother had just died after a six-year battle with Hodgkins lymphoma, my family was shattered, and my father decided that getting far away was the medicine we all needed. Getting far away was the modus operandi in my family for every problem, of course. So, we wined and dined in France, skipped through Rome, visited the boatyard in Holland where my Dad’s new boat was being built and carried on to Madrid.

In Madrid, our scantily buried grief, was matched by the somber mood of Spain’s capitol city. On October 1, of that same year, Generalissimo Francisco Franco, observing the 35^th anniversary of his rule, at the age of 78, announced that he would remain in power “as long as God gives me life and a clear mind”. He announced an amnesty including for some political prisoners. His action spared the Governments the spectacle of a trial for three former ministers and other high officials accused of involvement in a multi-million dollar financial scandal. One politician said “The amnesty is not for the prisoners…It is for the Government.

Despite the buoyant news of that day, when we arrived in Madrid, little had changed. The streets were empty and eerily quiet. On every street corner, soldiers armed to the teeth and bristling with automatic weapons stood watch. I had never experienced the full force of martial law. I had led a relatively sheltered life. Of course, I had been through protests at Dartmouth, standing on the steps when students took over the administration building and the State sent armed State Troopers in to make arrests and clear the building. But the atmosphere in Madrid was striking in a way that I had never contemplated. There is something about an overwhelming show of armed force by an authoritarian regime that chills to the bone and ices the soul. We stayed overnight in Madrid and left as quickly as we could.

Fast Forward. We elected a leader in this country who not only models himself after notorious authoritarians, but who has donned the mantle of fascism with relish. He clearly is exercising every loophole, stretching every law, ignoring all norms to follow in the footsteps of the Generalissimo. His latest play, ordering out the troops in DC. His move has sparked predictable outrage from the left, predictable silence from the right. He’s planning to inculcate a quick reaction military force to deal with protests. He has designs on those cities where voters rejected him. It’s a classic playbook, one written by the Francos of the world. Imagine, if you will (or won’t), that the 2028 elections are somehow cancelled, Trump declares martial law and, at the age of 82 or so, declares himself Leader for Life by the will of the almighty God. Far-fetched? No longer.

But, some of my readers will surely intone, what should we do? Don’t just tell us how bad it is, tell us what to do.

Fight back with words and action. Organize. Protest. Write. Stand Up. Speak out. Be a political pest. Don’t get complacent. Elect new representatives in the midterms. Don’t wring your hands. Don’t give up. After all, it’s unlikely the gold-plated thug will last 35 years. The deeper issue, for another day, is just as or even more serious. He’s a symptom of a much deeper national dilemma which, I promise, bears examination in future posts. Getting rid of Trump is important. Making real change will be much more challenging. Till next time.