Hanging on by a Thread

The Butcher lost his job.

What is there to say? I feel helpless and angry and afraid. The idea of this tiny family full of people I love not having health insurance in the middle of all this makes me want to vomit.

Before all this, they had found some old Nazi here in the U.S. and shipped him back to Germany and a friend of mine was mulling over whether it does any good at this late date to be prosecuting old men for things they did as young men.

And, in the time before, that seemed like a reasonable existential question. Something you might mull over. Can a person change? Is it justice if it comes at the end of a bad person’s life? Etc. Etc.

Now?

The feeling I have toward the people who are doing this to us has clarified things for me. I want them to never rest entirely easy, to always fear that, no matter how they try to make themselves safe, someday they may have to answer for what they’ve done.

And I will cheer loudly, every time they pull a 90 year old Nazi out of whatever life he’s been hiding in.

Because fuck those people.