Dear President Tweet

Dear President Tweet,

The news from America seems to get worse daily. Protests and looting in several major cities, while you cower in the White House bunker, blurting out scattergun thoughts and ad hoc policies like a five-year-old with the TV remote. One minute you tell us China is wonderfully transparent, the next you are practically lining up coordinates for the missiles. Your amnesia is breathtaking – coronavirus has gone from something that will miraculously disappear to the cause of death for more than a hundred thousand in the US. And in the parallel reality that you, President Tweet, seem to occupy, this is somehow portrayed as validating evidence of your vision and foresight, rather than, in what others call reality, the terminal indictment of a man whose response was that of a rabbit in the headlights. On the other hand, how can you be held responsible for your actions when there were none. Your ratings mattered more to you than the death toll from this very obviously not disappearing virus.

But pandemics don’t magically disappear. Nor is it the case that “nobody knew that”. Actually the CDC and the pandemic planning office did know that. And you would have known that if you had not abolished the office shortly after becoming president. “The cupboard was bare”, you whine endlessly. If it was, then you should have done something about it. You have been the president for more than three years. That’s what presidents do. Well, real presidents I mean. The buck stops with you.

So what is your response to this? How do you make sure that America is best prepared for the pandemic. Unbelievably, you withdraw support from the World Health Organisation, an action that beggars belief in the middle of a pandemic. It is hard to believe, at a time when the world is sharing its experiences of dealing coronavirus through the WHO, that the US should deny itself access to that information through an act of presidential petulance.

And yet, while America burns, you threaten protesters with big dogs and sharp teeth. Or sometimes just bullets. These are the reactions of school yard bullies not leaders of the free world. You are oblivious to the issues and consequently have no hand to play, being unable to comprehend that.

Still, your performances in press sessions are positively Shakespearean in their combination of the tragic, comic and pitiful. Rambling and incoherent, the words tumble out, like Kerouac on amphetamines. Nothing is connected to anything else, each response the sound of an engine revving in neutral. And when a reporter penetrates the outer reaches of what passes for reality in your mind, you plead that it is a ‘nasty question’. Well mummy is not listening. You have to do this one all by yourself. You are the president, remember.

Not everything is “fake news”. Pandemics are real. Looting is real. The fires are real. The injustices are real. While you fan the flames of civil disobedience with one inflammatory tweet after another, understand that this is not fake news. This is reality. You are the fake, Mr President. You are a stain on the office you hold.