What has Become of Us?

"What has become of us? We have plunged into hell!" 

--Nights of Plague, Orhan Pamuk

Past is prologue.

All great literature addresses the present moment at some level. No matter how long ago the story being told takes place, its essence is taking place in our present day world as well. Similarly, a plague is a plague, but also a symbol. It is a sickness at the heart of a culture, or a country, or of mankind itself. 

There is a sickness in the heart of America. There always has been. Past is prologue. You cannot watch the nightly news and say that our country is not seriously ill. Americans are being gunned down in the streets by poorly trained ICE agents. One after another these murders occur and are then quickly swept under the rug. Not one of these gun happy killers has yet been brought to justice. Innocent people are dead, and we move on, and then more die, and again we move on. 

What has become of us?

We are plunged into a war of choice against Iran. Nobody asked us. Nobody asked our Congress. And our present Congress wouldn't have done anything even if they had been asked. We hear on the news about damage to friendly naval bases or port facilities or air strips, we hear about a handful of our own people killed in the war (or the excursion, I should say), but what do we hear about the deaths we have inflicted? Almost nothing. As far as I have seen, almost nothing, save for the initial killing of Iranian government officials. But what about the people, the innocents, mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, children? How many have died in our various obliteration attempts? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands? Why is nothing said about this? Why does no one even seem to think about it?

In the meantime corruption gnaws at the putrifying body of what used to be our national honor and integrity. Food is snatched from the mouths of the hungry, healthcare is denied, livelihoods are degraded, and the treasure of the rich increases obscenely, while hatred of the truth abounds. 

We have plunged into hell. 

Sami Pasha had indeed seen his own crow nibbling at the eyes, noses, and ears of dead bodies; but what he did not understand was how it was possible for these birds to fear scarecrows without being afraid of human corpses too. 

--Nights of Plague, Orhan Pamuk