The Keepers of the Flame What comes next in our waning democracy Mary L. Trump Jan 19 Yearning to breathe free. [Photo credit: EyeEm Mobile GmbH] On this eve before we turn our once great democracy over to a cabal of insurrectionists, oligarchs, and fascists, I have been thinking about President Biden’s farewell address. I didn’t write about it at the time because I found it an odd and uncomfortable mixture of vague warnings, an abbreviated gesture towards his administration’s success, and a celebration of America. It was jarring if not entirely off-putting. In the end, his remarks made me sad. In reading them over, especially in light of what we are soon to face—have already been facing—I wanted to Biden’s assessment of where he believes things stand and highlight his final call to the American people: the challenge, as it were, if we choose to accept it. It goes without saying that Biden’s address would have landed differently if Kamala Harris were being sworn in tomorrow. That, unfortunately, is not our fate. And it’s why much of what Biden said made me think more about squandered opportunities than the very real accomplishments of the last four years. “In the past four years, our democracy has held strong.” No, Mr. President, it did not. Because if, when all is said and done, you fell at the final hurdle, knowing, as you leave office, that the vast bulk of your accomplishments will be undermined and, in some cases, completely reversed in the very near future; if you fell short of succeeding at your greatest challenge—protecting democracy from the person and party who are hell-bent on destroying it—by what calculus can you claim that democracy held strong? Essentially, the mechanisms of the democratic process were used to dismantle it. Biden continued, We can never lose that essential truth to remain who we are. I’ve always believed, and I told other world leaders, America will be defined by one word: possibilities. Only in America do we believe anything is possible. Like a kid with a stutter from modest beginnings in Scranton, Pennsylvania, and Claymont, Delaware, sitting behind this desk in the Oval Office as president of the United States.” It was also possible in 21st century America for a creature like Donald Trump to ascend to the presidency. In 2016 he did so despite a long, sordid history of failure, a stunning lack of experience, and the kind of bigotry and cruelty that should have been, but never was, disqualifying. It was possible for him to get elected, after he committed unspeakable crimes against the American people and the Constitution during his first term, and then assaulted the very institutions and values of this country during the intervening four years when he was out of office but so very obviously not out of power. The reality of Donald’s arc was in tension with the picture Biden clearly wanted to paint—that democracy has “held strong"—and the realities of how weakened this nation has been by those benighted accomplices who have, relentlessly and maliciously, assailed thus nation at every turn for the sake of power, personal gain, and a thirst for division that is the specialty of the man they elevated, protected, and for whom they sold what little was left of their souls. Biden ended his remarks where he began them, by invoking the imagery and symbolism of the Statue of Liberty: The Statue of Liberty is also an enduring symbol of the soul of our nation, a soul shaped by forces that bring us together and by forces that pull us apart. . . . [W]e know the idea of America, our institution, our people, our values that uphold it, are constantly being tested. There is a story of a veteran — a veteran, a son of an immigrant, whose job was to climb that torch and polish the amber panes so rays of light could reach out as far as possible. He was known as the keeper of the flame. He once said of the Statue of Liberty, “Speaks a silent, universal language, one of hope that anyone who seeks and speaks freedom can understand.” Yes, we sway back and forth to withstand the fury of the storm, to stand the test of time, a constant struggle, constant struggle. A short distance between peril and possibility. But what I believe is the America of our dreams is always closer than we think. And it’s up to us to make our dreams come true. I still believe in the idea for which this nation stands — a nation where the strength of our institutions and the character of our people matter and must endure. Now it’s your turn to stand guard. May you all be the keeper of the flame. May you keep the faith. Tomorrow will be a very dark day—there is no pretending otherwise. But I do take comfort in the knowledge that so much of what they intend is already out in the open. They no longer feel the need to hide their criminal intent. They plan to strip America for parts and they will do so in broad daylight. And we will be watching. We will counter corporate media’s grotesque assumption that all of it—the racism, the criminality, the greed, the breathtaking cruelty, the fascism—are already baked in and therefore of no consequence. We know this is not true. We will be the keepers of the flame and, as Emma Lazarus’ poem says of the Statue of Liberty, we we lift our lamps—as a beacon to those who feel lost, betrayed, and frightened, yes. But also to shine our light, continually, on what they try to get away with. We will keep the flame burning as long as it takes. I take comfort in that, too.