Never forget that the real cancer of American culture is not Donald Trump, not really. The consequences of a grotesque, dementia-afflicted sociopath in the Oval Office have been terrible all around, obviously, but the fundamental ground-level evil lies in that sad mass of rural, low-information lowlifes who voted him in.
They’re in great pain, yes, but they’ve demonstrated time and again they’d rather slit their throats than vote for their own interests. Democratic process- and institution-wise they’re emotionally disturbed sociopaths. They don’t give a damn about anything but how miserable they feel and how much they hate the economic and social realities of the 21st Century, and the great tribal loyalty they feel for that swaggering, bloviating, golf-obsessed turd — a guy who almost certainly smirks or shrugs his shoulders at their plight in private, and is playing them like a violin.
What do you do when cancer has invaded your body? Do you say “well, I may not like what this cancer is doing but I have to at least respect it…we live in a Democratic system, after all, and cancer cells have as much right to live and thrive as I do”? Or do you get chemotherapy and radiation and surgically remove the damn tumor?