Commander In Chief

For the past week, for reasons unbeknownst to me, I've been thinking a lot about being president.

Johns Hopkins Medical School recently became tuition-free for all students from families earning less than $300K after an incredibly generous donation from billionaire Michael Bloomberg. My mother and I were discussing this, and I said, "The government should probably set up a system where, if you work in public service for a few years, they'll waive your debt. Like the military, but instead of war, you could be a public school teacher for a few years, or clerk at the local DA office". My mother laughed, and said, "Who's making you president, child?" 

Although I'm still holding out hope that George will one day appoint me to his cabinet, nobody is currently giving little old me any unchecked governmental power. You know who we are giving it to, though? THIS GUY!

I would argue, "I don't want to contribute to the echo chamber of people shrilly yelling about his age," but even I can tell that's a hypocritical disclaimer to offer right before I do exactly that. So let's skip the pleasantries, shall we? 

Joe Biden is old (understatement) and his aides have lied about his health for the past six months. Now, as a result, the Democratic Party is spiraling out of control (understatement, again). Mr. Bato taught me that every time a party splits internally, the opposing party wins, so we might as well welcome President Trump into the White House now, and save us all the grief (overstatement, hopefully). Mr. Gibbons taught me that Hitler took power through manipulating a highly gullible and fatigued voter base, who laughed rather than running when he joked about becoming dictator for "just one day" (not an overstatement, unfortunately). 

I know I've been yelling about Doomsday for the past three years now, but this time, I fear I'm not just crying wolf for an AP English assignment. I wake up every day terrified in a way I can't quite explain, confident that in a few short months, neither my body or my planet will be safe. I'm learning how to drive in a world spinning off its axis, which feels like the equivalent of playing violin as the Titanic sinks. 

And I was talking (ranting) to my father about this, who turned abruptly towards me and asked, "Why exactly are you so concerned about abortion? Are you pregnant?" 

To be a man, I tell you. To be a man. 

To answer his question, I'm not pregnant. I'm concerned because the Supreme Court, with its grand total of zero elected officials, went and overturned a 50-year precedent that materially protects the lives of women across the country because they felt like it. I'm concerned because somewhere, in this long and arduous fight, we forgot that this isn't an even split opinion; Americans overwhelmingly want the government to stop legislating women's bodies, and somehow that doesn't matter. Some democracy we are. And yes, I'm concerned about becoming pregnant, because the idea of bringing a daughter into this world only for her to learn that the state actually, physically, literally does not see her as human feels abusive. 

But let me zoom out: I'm concerned because American politics has constructed this alternative reality where conservatism is "more tolerant" than liberalism, and radicalism is "more prevalent" than realism. 

We celebrate when the Supreme Court votes to protect access to abortion pills, even though they called into question its protection to begin with. Donald Trump distances himself from Project 2025 -- that his political aides and supporters wrote -- but "wishes them well", and we thank him, glad someone, finally, is able to accept ways of life they don't understand. CNN reporters rebuke India for continuing trade relations with Russia, arguing from their mighty high horse that "Prime Minister Modi is singlehandedly paying for this entire war." They're right, of course, but remain silent when Biden signs a check for $1.2B to Israel (and Ukraine, for that matter) the same day. And we haven't even gotten to the hard conversations, yet -- what about the American prison system, a form of modern day slavery we all accept because of our collective misconception that "bad" and "good" guys are chasms apart, not lines? Who is going to tackle this late-stage capitalist dystopia that I, even as a literal investment banker, see no benefit to anymore? When the heck are we going to ban guns? 

I, frankly, do not possess the intellectual capacity to reconcile this level of cognitive dissonance, again and again and again and again. I'm so tired. 

So, that leaves us with the uncomfortable truth that neither I, nor Jon Stewart, nor Hank Green, nor anyone I actually trust is going to be our president for the next four years. And I don't particularly know what to do about that, which is why I've struggled to write about election politics until now. But nonetheless, since we're letting pretty much anyone pull together a campaign these days, I thought I'd write out my dream for America, too:

Tell Donald Trump that he can't run and kick Joe Biden out of the race, too. Scrub this year from our collective memory (besides the series of iconic albums from our resident pop girls) and let's run it again. New candidates, new ideas, new elections. Scorched earth policy, call it an Everything Must Go! Fourth of July sale. 

Then pick up our lunchboxes, and try again, perhaps to the tune of Party in the U.S.A. by Miley Cyrus, which really should be our national anthem by now. Because making the world a better place might be exhausting and astounding and almost never worth it, but I'm the idiot Einstein was speaking of when he said "insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results". And correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you are, too.