It’s 5:45am in Washington DC as I begin writing this post. First light will reach Capitol Hill about 7:22 but an estimated 25,000 National Guard troops will already be in place. A quick warm breakfast, final briefing, deploy to their points, gear check and re-check. Coffee, if they’re lucky. The rituals of the military: Hurry up and wait, preparing for the worst while hoping for the best.
More than 400,000 Americans are dead of the novel coronavirus. In just over six hours Joe Biden will accept the poisoned chalice of the US presidency from a man utterly lacking in grace, humility, decency or pride. Missing in action yet again, at least Trump’s farewell speech finally acknowledged his defeat, suggesting Joe Biden would need luck.
Wrong again, Donald. Grace, humility, decency and pride trump luck every time.
Some time ago, I said I hoped to see President Biden appear through the fog of war atop the steps of the Capitol. While I didn’t literally mean ‘war’ I was afraid of what it might come to. I don’t want to see America rip itself apart over an obese, delusional clown whose infantile tantrums invoked a dark drumbeat in the nation’s heart. It may only reach 4°C in Washington today, but the country is still in the grip of a fever dream.
I’m going to bed. It’s 10pm here now, and my alarm is set for 4am. The inuguration will be two hours old by the time I bike to work, make a coffee, and check the news. I hope there’s nothing to read except news that President Biden has rolled up his sleeves and got to work. While I expect to hear a LOT more about Hunter Biden and Burisma in due course, let it wait until after he’s fixed America.
One hundred days and counting, Joe.
Your time starts … now.