Cameos From Zion (#CameosFromZion) edited by Stephen Darori : DonaldTrump

Showing posts with label DonaldTrump. Show all posts

Saturday, December 31, 2016

Donald Trump is my ex-husband By Greek Goddess

Image result for Cartoon Donald Trump is my husband red flags RipUSA

When we met, he smiled, complimented my looks, took me to fine restaurants, took me dancing. He showed me off, flashing me on his arm like expensive cufflinks. He swept me off my feet, showered me with attention, overwhelmed me with the intensity of his desire for me. He told me how great and accomplished he was and how lucky I was to have him, marveled at the confluence of events in the universe that had brought us together. One month after the day we met he told me he loved me, and one month after that he proposed. Not so much proposed as began talking about how we would be married some day, as though it were the most natural assumption in the world, the inevitable result of our miraculous joining. He said that having a ceremony was almost redundant because we were already married in God’s eyes, yet it was urgent that we marry as soon as possible because the only way we could be together physically was within the sanctity of marriage, which was the only way he wanted his children (and mine) to witness our relationship. We would be a shining example to them, and to the world, of a real family, a Christian family, a good and proper family, where the man treats the woman like a precious diamond and the woman is her husband’s helpmeet in all things. Even though I was an atheist, he declared that my character and outlook on life were more Christian than those of all the other women he had known. He readily admitted that he had been a player, with a string of marriages, one-night stands, three-ways, and physically confrontational relationships behind him. But he was now changed. He was godly, Christian, a new man, a tender and attentive father of two innocent girls. A beloved teacher, a devout churchgoer, a devoted brother to his single sister, and a forgiving son to his deeply damaged father, whose marital indiscretions had resulted in his parents’ divorce when their children were very young. And I was his angel, his love, his inspiration, his very reason for living. #SoTackySoTrump

Six months after we met, we married. We continued living in our separate households for a year to help our children transition into our new life. We visited each other and had sleepovers when the kids weren’t home. It was like a year-long date weekend. He hung a photo of us on his bedroom wall with the caption, “A man’s greatest treasure is his wife. She is a gift from the Lord. Prov. 18:22.”

I moved into his house after our first anniversary. I put the contents of my house into storage with the idea that I would gradually incorporate my furniture, appliances, and pictures into my new home. But his house was so completely furnished that there simply wasn’t room for any of my things, which he took to calling “junk.” Once all my things were in storage and I was more or less settled in to the space I was allotted (a dresser and a closet—or, as one of my best friends observed later, “You went from a five-bedroom house of your own to a nursing home.”), he came home one night, found that I hadn’t done something he had wanted me to do, and called me a name. I laughed in his face—it had to be a joke, right?—until I saw the hate in his eyes and realized he was serious. I could hardly believe it. I never dreamed this side of my husband existed. But from that point on, that was the side I primarily saw. There were moments when the charming, sweet, solicitous man I thought I ‘d married came out, particularly at gatherings or in public, and so long as that man was beaming at me, I was limp with relief. I redoubled my efforts to be as good and hardworking as I could be to avoid arousing his ire, which I found terrifying. After several such episodes I managed to screw up the courage to ask him, gently, to explain what had happened. He told me that sometimes he reacted the way he did because of his traumatic childhood watching his father abuse his mother. He said that he needed me to reassure him that he was valuable and lovable and that he never wanted to be “on the outside of” my love. I believed his promises that he had changed because I desperately needed to. My credibility, my son’s happiness, our very lives depended on it. When the smiles were replaced by the flashing eyes and the silent treatment that often stretched on for weeks, I felt sick and useless and worthless. He called it being in “the man cave”; I felt I was in the doghouse. I tiptoed on eggshells.

Then the threats came. He always said he’d married me because he needed a good woman to help him “get to the next level”; now he said that if I didn’t help him, he would find someone who would. I was in it too deeply; a year and a half into the marriage three children watching anxiously, hopefully, for the stability they were promised. I clung to the good times that would eventually emerge after the “man cave” times and told myself that the good times were our “real” life, our “real” marriage, and that the ever-lengthening periods of his white-hot anger were the anomalies.

Presently I discovered that he had active profiles on several online dating sites and was hitting on women daily. I managed to save screen shots of his activities and messages, knowing that they would be useful sometime.

I hid it well. I didn’t breathe a word of what I was enduring to my family or friends. I even went to great lengths to tell them how happy I was. I smiled at church, which I attended with him because he said it was important to him. Once the pastor invited to the altar women who had ever been abused. I sat stiffly in the pew, watching in horror as women poured down the aisles by the hundreds, some weeping, and clogged the front of the sanctuary (it was a mega-church with a weekly attendance averaging nearly 5,000). I longed to join them, but I knew that if I did I would pay dearly later.

Any time I was busy with one of my community activities, he would accuse me of neglecting my family who needed me more than did a “bunch of strangers.” I was involved in a local Dancing with the Stars production, and I frantically rushed from rehearsals to get home in time to avoid his wrath. During the show I went backstage to check my messages. I had received a text message from him, and my heart jumped—was he coming to see me in the show? I opened the message to read, “I think it’s best if we get a divorce.” I felt my body freezing from the inside out, my neck tingling, my limbs hardening and then becoming brittle as though they might shatter if I moved a muscle. I stood motionless until the lights dimmed, signalling the end of intermission, then I put down my phone, walked onstage, and danced with my blissfully oblivious partner, a prominent doctor in the community. Afterwards I went home and slept fitfully on the couch. But when morning came he woke me up with yelling, putdowns, accusations and, finally, violence. A broken dresser remained after he stalked out of the house, but I understood that the furniture was a proxy for me, and that if I stayed, I would be next.

Within days, he brought me flowers, declared his undying love, begged me never to stop loving him. I had called the National Domestic Violence Hotline several times over the past few months, but I always stopped short of following their advice to get out as soon as possible. After the broken dresser, I acted. I got a referral to a local support group for survivors of domestic violence and began attending weekly meetings. Ready at last both to acknowledge that I was in an abusive relationship and to follow the advice I was given, I squirreled away money, packed a bag with necessities, made copies of important documents, secured promises of shelter from a few close friends, and waited, with as much cool as I could muster, for the right time to leave.

Where is our nation’s broken dresser? How much longer will we deny we are in an abusive relationship with a lying, cheating, controlling, violent bully? When will we finally screw up the courage to call him what he is and reclaim our dignity and peace of mind? How did we even get to this point in the first place? Why did we allow ourselves to be seduced by an empty showman? How did we miss the red flags?

And how will we ensure we will never fall into this trap again?

I left without a backward glance with my preparations in order and my spirit intact. It took the better part of a year to regain my footing, and my son is still regaining his. But he and I reach, ever hopeful, toward a new future. Will America? #AmericaHangsItsHeadInShame #RipUSA

Sunday, November 6, 2016

The Jews are our Misfortune.Trump closes with an anti-Semitic ad, reminiscent of the Protocols of the elders of Zion. He has pivoted from hating Mexicans,Gay and the entire LBGTQ movement to hating blacks to hating Jews. Soros,, Yellen, Blankfein and their influence in the Washington Establishment Not that he’s given up on hating on anybody, of course

Image result for The Jews are our Misfortune

As apparent final reminder that those steering Donald Trump through these last days of the campaign are indeed catering to the worst of the Republican base, the Donald Trump campaign is closing out the race with a brazenly anti-Semitic ad.

There's not really any argument to be had about that. Josh Marshall:
From a technical and thematic perspective it's a well made ad. It's also packed with anti-Semitic dog whistles, anti-Semitic tropes and anti-Semitic vocabulary. I'm not even sure whether it makes sense to call them dog whistles. The four readily identifiable American bad guys in the ad are Hillary Clinton, George Soros (Jewish financier), Janet Yellen (Jewish Fed Chair) and Lloyd Blankfein (Jewish Goldman Sachs CEO). [...]

For Blankfein: "It's a global power structure that is responsible for the economic decisions that have robbed our working class, stripped our country of its wealth and put that money into the [start Blankein] pockets of a handful of large corporations [stop Blankfein] and political entities."

As Marshall puts it: "This is intentional and by design. It is no accident." It's also a continuation of a theme trotted out by Trump under the auspices of "alt-right" promoter and now campaign CEO Steve Bannon, the standard paranoid trope of global elites working to undermine our country from within, and lo-and-behold the global elites in question just all happen to be Jewish. This is where some of the paint rubs off the alt-right veneer and we can see the plainer origins of ideology, and it looks identical to past arch-right movements under a host of different other names; a conspiracy of against the nation by the enemy within, defined always as the ethnic or religious other, and in this case a straight lift from the anti-Semitic papers of both European fascists and that other America Firstmovement, the one we do not talk about anymore.

Whether Trump himself is an anti-Semite or is merely willing to lend his name to the effort is beside the larger point; his campaign had time for one last showy pitch, one last argument for voters to keep in mind as they filed into the polls. The campaign chose an ad intended to resonate explicitly with the paranoias of the anti-Semitic far right. Trump began his campaign talking about the inherent criminality of the non-white; he moved through the primaries by appealing to raw racism in a manner that even the farthest-right of his opponents were reluctant to match; he promised mass deportations and other solutions to the nation's problems that, in his rhetoric, required only an authoritarian resolve; he surrounded himself with those that would feed his appetite for bizarre but self-promoting conspiracy theories; his new staff guided him from primaries to general election not by toning or polishing his rhetoric, but adding new enemies to his list of anti-American dangers so that it would more fully encompass not just paranoias about Latino enemies but “inner city” black Americans (described as living in cesspools of violence and in need of more rigorous policing, as cribbed from militant groups and the NRA) and “international” Jewish plotters (as cribbed from the white nationalists that rushed to Trump’s side.)

This has gone quite beyond Trump at this point. He is not screaming into the void but catering to a pre-made Republican audience that continues to be obsessively receptive to his messages. The Republican elites that have condemned him are, among leadership, Not Many; the Republican House Speaker himself "came home" dramatically these last few days with a message that regardless of Trump's words or deeds the needs of the party still come first; rumor mills continue to churn over whether the end result of this will be a new arch-right network promoting the malevolent messages the Trump campaign has proven would have a receptive and paranoid audience. Trump, meanwhile, continues to stoke claims that even the election itself may be illegitimate, if it produces the wrong result.

Racism, misogyny, xenophobia, anti-Semitism, and nationalism promoted through blatant misinformation and the peddling of an unending stream of conspiracy theories; a distain for both the opposition party and democracy itself; this describes not just Trump, but his audience. But come home, say Republican leaders to the segment of the party uneasy with such things; we can work with this. This is no reason to leave.

And that's more alarming than what Trump or his own campaign may say. The Trump campaign will soon be ending, but the movement it caters to will be seeking a new leader and new banner—and even now, there are few among current Republican leaders who would turn them away.