Betrayal is all I can seem to do these days — which is odd, because I don’t think of myself as a traitor.
Take David Friedman, our president’s selection for ambassador to Israel, who has said that American Jews who support J Street are worse than the kapos — the Jews who helped the Nazis in their camps.
Or there’s always David Duke, masterful failed politician that he is, who believes that I’m a traitor to all whites for not voting for our current president. Then again, the wise and venerable Duke doesn’t really consider me white anyway, but hey, white I remain.
There are those on the far left who said I betrayed progressivism by voting for Clinton, both in the election and especially during the primary. And then there’s the slightly less-left that believe me to be a traitor for insisting that Nazis have the right to not be assaulted.
These revelations of the depths of my treachery befuddled me to no end — I had never really considered myself part of any group that I could betray by examining my values and reaching my own conclusions.
Now in times of my befuddlement I go to my coping mechanism — history, or with current vernacular in mind, I suppose we should say I betray the present. See, this isn’t the first time my family’s been branded a traitor.
My grandparents were communists back when it wasn’t such a popular ideology. The FBI followed my grandfather and kept some records for “surveillance purposes.” He was a traitor to this country, after all, so why not?
And, if you read my columns, you’ll know my father is a journalist — or an enemy of the American people. I guess I’m just doing a family tradition proud in my constant two-timing.
These reflections, while comforting, helped my befuddlement not in the least — the source of which was the naive belief that people with honest and well-meaning ideas could easily do wrong but could not betray. Oh, for such a time of ignorance.