A -- one of many.
Sentimental -- missing something that one used to cherish.
Prophet -- a former shell of oneself screaming into a void.
It’s easy to be sarcastic when life is normal.
It’s difficult to be sarcastic when normality is so absurd.
In normal life you have conversations with friends and family, acquaintances and best buds, strangers and coworkers, and you gage how thick you can spread your wit. You consider how thin skinned your victim listener will be to the barbs and jabs of your words. You wonder if they will catch the tone. You plan your take down.
Consider using sarcasm in a family context. There is always so much baggage in the family context. A Sarcastic Prophet walks lightly amidst that landmine luggage and carefully considers the cost of unzipping the bag. Consider this wholly made-up scenario. A beloved sister drones on and on and on about how much the preschool staff loves her child, how smart said child is, how well behaved, blah, blah, blah. You love the kid, but really? You pause a beat, cock your head to the side and ask,” Remind me again, how much do you pay them per month to watch your child?” She squints, huffs and half-heartedly smiles. Point taken. She knows that she is not footing the bill, grandma is. Of course, the staff are going to say great things about a fully paid, full tuition student. And she gets the accolades for free.
Consider using sarcasm with an acquaintance at the pub. Their back is turned to you, but you know who they are and call their name. They turn around surprised, generally happy to see you. You pause a beat and say,” I thought that was you. You just look older from the back.” You both chuckle because ain’t that the truth, you are both getting older. (This example did happen, unlike the family example which obviously never happened and is created for learning purposes only.)
At its core, sarcasm requires trust. I can not stress this enough. You need to have some common ground with your victim recipient. In the world of 2025, in the tribal world where there is us and them, in the absurd world of our nation where a clown with a blow torch and a billionaire minion resides in the White House, in the world of my small city where a neighbor who took part in an insurrection using a flagpole to attack a police officer has been pardoned by the clown and recently returned home, sarcasm may not be advised.
This need to hold my tongue in fear does not sit well with me. I was raised in the ethos of the mid-20th century, a time of great change and trust in that change to take us somewhere better. I experienced great trust in our government during a time when people of disparate backgrounds brought together in civic engagement worked towards a common goal. Personally, I really disliked some girls in my Girl Scout troop, but my oath, our common goals of badge earning and the awesome leadership of our troop leaders kept us together. I am the grateful recipient of Girl Scouts and the many movements toward a greater equalization of power and diversity of opinion that shaped my young life.
Is it too obvious to comment that this trust in government, this trust in our civic organizations, our very trust in each other, our necessary social capital, the very fiber that gives democracy weight and makes it run smoothly, has evaporated like milk on an infant’s face, leaving only a crusty, sour shadow of what we once loved and made us grow? The infant is now all grown-up, and this grown-up United States is now drinking at a bar, but this is not the bar of my twenties, a mash up of sweaty humanity head banging or walking the dinosaur amidst flashing colored lights.
No. This bar is a sterile white, brown and gray pub with the most uncomfortable seats and screens to distract from any worthwhile conversation. There is no mash up. There is no dancing. It’s either cocktails or mocktails, IPA drinkers or matcha, Rum or Coke, and nothing mixes.
There is no sarcasm because sarcasm requires trust.
Here we stand today, working our way through the fourth week of the Trump administration, on the precipice of a constitutional crisis. We are here because there is no trust. It’s difficult to find the ironic, to be sarcastic, to comment on the obvious in a time when our congress, established in article one, has purposely abdicated all power to a president who daily makes up powers not established in article two. Our hope at present resides in article three giving our judicial branch the power to interpret and give consequences. At present more than ten suits have been filed in the DC courts for relief from Trumps executive orders. More than 30 suits have been filed across the nation.
So, what happens in the worst-case scenario when all the appeals are run through and the federal courts rule against him? What happens when the president just decides to not pay attention to these legal rulings as any amoral sociopath is wont to do? What happens when he is found in contempt of court, when the judicial branch sends the US Marshalls, as they are wont to do, and Trump demands that AG Pam Bondi tell them to stand down?
Last time I checked, we had no king. That’s not sarcasm, that’s a statement of fact.
There is no room for sarcasm in a nation that has no trust.
Peace.
What a fucking, distressing post. But I read it and liked it and wish that what you said was crap. But it’s not. It’s where we are.