Of late, I seem to be in a permanent state of cringe. It started with Trump’s inauguration speech—a farrago of inflammatory language, lies, hatred, ignorance and fantasy—that had me cowering in fear. The next day, I felt sure the world reaction would reflect my dread, but our prime minister barely mentioned it. He droned on about other things, using his habitual teleprompter. (Why is he never allowed to be spontaneous? Are they afraid he’ll run amok? Seems unlikely.)
Starmer is obviously terrified of offending the new American president. Okay, so we need to keep friendly with the United States—but not at any price. Is growth our religion now—a creed to be pursued regardless of casualties? And to hell with the future of our planet? Are tariffs our new commandments? After Trump the dealmaker announced his real estate solution to the destruction of Gaza, which would include ethnic cleansing, lots of male world leaders actually discussed the plan as though it were a rational proposal!
My friends are saying none of this will happen, and Trump will be restrained. That’s what they probably said about Hitler in 1933—the year of my birth. Am I being over the top? Well, the combination of Holocaust Memorial Day, the theatrics of Trump and his team—including his unelected right-hand man jumping up and down with glee, after an ominous, vicious, arm gesture—genuinely terrified me. Then, out of the blue, when the rest of the world seems neglectfully stupid, came one small voice of sanity and humanity.
It came from an unprepossessing and—for me, as a Quaker—surprising source. I was listening, open-mouthed, to the sacrilege—“I was saved by God to make America great again”—spewing from the bright orange leader of the western world—and then God made an appearance, in the guise of a frail woman in a cassock. She looked like an extra among all the vulgar, starry, smiley, oh-so-smiley Trump retinue.
During the religious service that forms part of the inauguration ceremony, Trump and his cronies were obliged to listen to the bishop of Washington, Mariann Edgar Budde, who gave the sermon of a sensible angel. She condemned “the culture of contempt that has become normalised in our country” and “threatens to destroy us”. She pleaded for compassion for the weak and vulnerable. She begged us all to listen to one another with humility and strive for unity. She spoke honest, beautiful, sense. I wanted to fly over and hug her.
Then, another woman, Mary Robinson, the first female president of Ireland, one-time high commissioner for human rights at the United Nations, spoke up. A woman of enormous integrity and achievement, she straightforwardly declared that Trump is a liar. “It is not free speech. It’s freedom to tell any lies you like and amplify them with social media algorithms.”
I actually think that the shockwaves caused by Trump could bring about radical change to an ill-governed world. But I believe it is absolutely essential for the future of our planet that women have a voice. Ignoring the gender minefield, I resolutely believe that women have superior skills of understanding, nurture, problem-solving and diplomacy that could balance and tame the habitual assumption of the superiority of men and their decisions. The more thoughtful approach of women could restrain the surge in authoritarian leadership that we are experiencing worldwide.
But like the valiant bishop, we all have to fearlessly challenge the lies coming from the populist fanatics and biased press. As John Stuart Mill warned, “Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good should look on and do nothing.”
Our wise bishop Budde has a lot of courage, but doubtless she’ll need more of it. Of course, the president and his cronies were beside themselves with rage at this “so-called bishop” who one Republican claimed should be added to the deportation list. The president demanded apologies, which were refused by this “radical left, Trump-hater”.
We need her sort of wisdom in these revolutionary times. If she is now in danger, I have a feeling she won’t care. Trump—with his usual little boy use of language—called her “nasty”. If speaking truth to power is nasty, for God’s sake let us have more of it. Jesus was pretty nasty to the moneylenders in the temple.
Being judiciously nasty is good.
