United States President Donald Trump delivers remarks at the National Prayer Breakfast February 2, 2017 in Washington, DC. Picture by Win Mcnamee DPA/PA Images. All rights reserved. On the eve of 9 Nov 2016, shortly after a Trump presidency fell from the realm of wild fantasies and thudded into the heart of reality, I left a stunned group of friends and took a walk across Manhattan at 3 am. Outside, in the global-warmed November night of New York City, nothing moved. Cars had abandoned the streets, people the sidewalks. Now and then I ran into enraged cohorts of people, wandering in shock, or standing transfixed at street corners, glued to their phone screens.
The problem is, rather than contributing to resistance to him, this rhetoric is fueling his raging machine.
Near Washington Square, I saw the first actual human effort to capture the magnitude of what was taking place: a few young women had brought a small globe to the sidewalk and set it on fire. They were sitting around it, weeping and singing a song about the end of the world.
