More and more I see people behaving in ways that I can only describe as aberrant. I'm not alone. My husband sees people doing the strangest things, and a good friend of ours talked the other day about seeing people behaving in ways that range from odd to unsafe.
Personally, I think we (Americans) are experiencing a group psychosis as a result of
cognitive dissonance. The facts are too difficult to comprehend in so many ways. I am embarassed to say that I find myself turning away from threads in GD and LBN because it is a struggle for me to wrap my head around the fact that our legislative bodies have legalized torture, abandoned habeus corpus, and granted wartime powers to the President at a time when we are technically not actually at war. IT HURTS ME TO THINK ABOUT THESE THINGS. I am someone who has had doubts and fears ever since the 2000 election, and I suffer emotionally and spiritually as a result of my country's condition. I wonder often about those who have
not had their doubts, of those who have persisted in believing the lies. Their hearts are breaking just like mine - only they do not have the wherewithal to begin their healing. Their suffering is greater than mine.
A tangentially-related story:
I read a thread in GD a week or two back about GWB and the book, "Bush on the Couch." From there I followed a link to the anecdote in Wikipedia about his sister Robin's death, his mother's apparent indifference, and the family's failure to acknowledge Robin's illness and death in any real way. The idea of GWB as a little boy suffering grief and loss hit close to home - my brother also suffered a great loss as a young child, and his grief was denied and he was encouraged to suppress it. For a long time, I have understood how my brother's loss hurt him then and continues to hurt him today. So, as I was reading about GWB and his beloved sister, my understanding of my brother's grief suddenly began to echo and harmonize with the (new to me) idea of GWB's childhood grief. That dissonant harmony broke me open and I wept suddenly and uncontrollably for all little boys who are told their tears are unacceptable, that their heartbreak is offensive, their grief imaginary. I was self-conscious of my tears, but they continued. I hid in the bathroom so that my son would not see me weeping, and on my knees on the bathmat I wept and prayed for all boys, for my brother, and for the long-ago little boy that would someday be GWB.
How is this related? This is my congitive dissonance. Feeling compassion for those who ostensibly deserve none. I have no difficulty believing the ugly truth because I have never believed the web of lies. But I know not how to cope with my cognitive dissonance: the surprising well of compassion that wells up when thinking of those who are bent on destroying the fabric of this country.
Peace