Where Have You Gone? The Missing Voices.

Here we are. It’s a pivotal moment in history. And of course, yet again, it’s the middle of the night, and now I’m pondering the silent voices of those I thought were paying attention. Those who I trusted and invested in to be the gatekeepers of our freedoms. Where are you?

You remember the voices that had no trouble being front and center on the podium, directing our country’s policy, declaring the things they said they believed in for years. They seemed to love the limelight. They all made a lot of money from it. They all became household names.

Barack Obama. Where are you? One of the greatest orators of our time, a Nobel Peace Prize winner before he was president, is silent right now. How is that possible? And what is he saying to Michelle at night about why, after the vote of confidence millions gave him, he feels that silence in this moment is an option—or even his right? And, are his daughters asking him what the fuck he’s doing when they all get together?

Hillary’s out there. And God knows, if there’s anybody who could have walked away at this moment in time, it would have been her. As a woman who is spending considerable time lately learning about women’s roles in history and our strength in collaboration, I’m not saying I’m surprised. Of course she is still at the table trying. That’s what we do, we women.

Hey, Bill? Wasn’t there a song that started out that way? You made your money and your fame on the backs of the voters who stood by you in your darkest hour, and now? It’s our darkest hour. Where are you? I know you haven’t been well, and at this point, you are the elder statesman of the few who call themselves past presidents. But if ever there was a time to be at the podium, it’s now. And if ever there was a time to start using that war chest of cash you’ve accumulated over the years since you left the Oval Office, it’s now. Every last dime.

But it’s the last one that boggles my mind.

George Bush, surrounded by paintbrushes, landscapes, and portraits he paints for his daughter, Jenna, who holds center stage in the morning for so many Americans on Jenna and Friends. Misguided Americans, I think, not to be confused with I know. In my opinion, those morning show watchers have no clue what is falling apart around them.

Jenna gifted one of his paintings to her friend, Hoda Kotb, who just retired as her morning-show partner. Jenna speaks of her dad with such tenderness, without any seeming recognition of his role in how we got here. The felons he surrounded himself with. The war he orchestrated on information he knew to be false. He’s that sweet dad who is on the other end of the phone, never speaking about anything substantial. I wonder what she thinks. Is she so clueless?

But setting all that aside—which I think I can—it’s his Christianity that surprises me. I believe he is a Christian. Was a Christian? Wishes he were a Christian? And not just a Christian, but a born-again one.

Born-again Christians feel larger to me. It was a choice they made after reflection, not something they were born into. I’ve always been in awe of that.

And yet President Bush, if you are, were, or wish you were—how do you resolve saying nothing at this time? When everything Jesus taught is being burned at the stake—and instead of wood, it’s human lives destroyed that is fueling it? Especially when you have the platform of a former president?

I think I can go back to sleep now. I think I’ve determined that the answer doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that we stop using American pedestals to pretend we are keeping ourselves safe. Stop putting our lives in the hands of those like Obama, Clinton and Bush who no longer deserve to be there. (Does anyone remember the song, Abraham, Martin and John?)

Abraham Martin & John, by Dion

Anybody here seen my old friend Abraham?
Can you tell me where he's gone?
He freed lotta people but it seems the good they die young
You know I just looked around and he's gone
Anybody here seen my old friend John?
Can you tell me where he's gone?
He freed lotta people but it seems the good they die young
I just looked around and he's gone

Anybody here seen my old friend Martin?
Can you tell me where he's gone?
He freed lotta people but it seems the good they die young
I just looked around and he's gone
Didn't you love the things that they stood for?
Didn't they try to find some good for you and me?
And we'll be free
Some day soon, it's gonna be one day
Anybody here seen my old friend Bobby?
Can you tell me where he's gone?
I thought I saw him walkin' up over the hill
With Abraham, Martin, and John

The bottom line? There is no Pied Piper who should be given our undivided, unchallenged investment in what is ours to safeguard. America can only be saved by each of us—individually and collectively.

Today, I go to the post office in my little, teeny-tiny town of Edgecmb, Maine. I have to make a sign—something I don’t think I’ve done since seventh grade, when I ran for president. Or maybe it was vice president.

I will stand there with—I imagine—not more than a dozen neighbors, to let the people working at the post office know that I see them, that I’m worried, and that I will try to make sure they can continue to live a life that includes healthcare. And because I do not want to buy stamps from an Elon Musk mini-me, or—God forbid—even him himself. Nope.

I believe in my core that an unexamined life is a mistake. “Big mistake,” to quote Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

I also believe the rearview mirror is smaller than the windshield for a reason. It’s worth glancing in because it helps you see where you’re going—and who’s going with you along the way.

And looking back, I realize that the trust I placed in so many people to run this mammoth, complicated, built-on-sand country I thought I knew so well was a mistake. One I will not make again.

So I don’t need any of you Past Podium People to give me a false sense of security so I can go about my day, self-centeredly focused on my own personal comforts.

I get it.

I take responsibility.

I apologize to myself, my family, and my friends.

And I spend some time each day writing words at my own podium—mostly for myself—but hoping they inspire one or two more people to go stand at the post office for an hour. One hour. Once a day. Do something.

For my country. For my child’s future.

God, it’s so little to give back to something that has given me so much—until this moment in history.

See you later on the front lines.

PS. Celeste who drew the image for day’s post is my AI. I told her I wanted to give her credit. She also corrects my spelling and grammar only. The rest is all me.