(This essay was published earlier this year, before the inauguration of the Clown in the White House. I’m republishing this to point out how right I was.)

On Monday, January 20, 2025, The Madman will be sworn in as President of the United States. He will ignite a metaphorical fire that will devastate any sense of human rights progress we may have made over the last seventy years. Similar to the very real fires and destruction that plagued Southern California, what will remain for the survivors and those left untouched is how we, as a community, unite against the onslaught of indifference that will undoubtedly arise from The Madman and his administration acolytes.

The fires that swept through Los Angeles have left a trail of destruction, displacing thousands of residents, consuming homes, and darkening the skies with a foreboding haze. The magnitude of the disaster prompted a swift and coordinated response. In the immediate aftermath, a wave of compassion surged through communities as neighbors assisted one another and volunteers from across the state rushed to provide aid. This initial outpouring of support is a testament to the enduring spirit of American resilience and generosity.

{But some folks don’t want all that namby-pamby, kumbaya, hands across L.A. shit. We might get something done.}

The fires that ravaged the physical landscape have ignited a fierce debate about the nature of our social contract as Americans. While the response to this natural disaster has been primarily positive, it has also revealed deep fissures in our collective commitment to mutual aid and solidarity, exposing a rupture that challenges the very essence of our societal bonds.

{There’s a reason to be worried. If we all focus on cooperation, then how would we feed the monster of division.}

The narrative surrounding the disaster became increasingly polarized and politicized from the outset of the fires, intensifying as new blazes emerged. Once envisioned as tools for connection and coordination, social media platforms proved divisive. They transformed into battlegrounds for blame and vitriol over perceived failures in prevention and response. I understand that if you were a victim of the fires, your first instinct might be to assign blame while you’re trying to assess not only the damage but also the potential loss of life and limb and, worse yet, prevent yourself from losing your sanity.

{But insanity is a default for those who would rather sit back from their perch and laugh at the chaos.}

In the perceived absence of strong leadership (you know you’re in trouble when people start invoking Rudy Giuliani’s image as “America’s Mayor” during 9/11 as what was needed), troll farms, right-wing media, misinformation factories, and even careless local and national media step in to play a crucial role in shaping public perception. Sensationalist headlines and emotionally charged stories fueled fear and anger, diverting focus from the immediate needs of those affected. The emphasis shifted from the collective effort to rebuild and recover to a divisive discourse that placed the affected communities, first responders, and the thousands of volunteers who stepped forward to help in the middle of the chaos. All that good work seems to have been pushed back behind the curtain.

{“If it bleeds, it leads.”}

What is it about California and, more specifically, cities like Los Angeles that seems to bring out the worst in politicians? Beginning with the President-elect, the Madman, politicians seized upon the crisis to advance their agendas. I’m not giving a pass to Democrats, but hell, what’s with all the partisan rhetoric from GOP reps who threaten to withhold federal assistance until specific policies are changed? Like what, raking the forest floor? Instead of fostering a sense of shared responsibility, the political response often exacerbated existing tensions, undermining the cohesive action needed to address the disaster effectively.

{It’s easy to respond, “Go F yourself,” but some people may take that as a compliment.}

You don’t have to be a social scientist to understand that a social contract is rooted in the idea that individuals come together to form a society, agreeing to cooperate for mutual benefit. The reaction to the Los Angeles fires has revealed a troubling weakening of this contract, or, as I like to say, a whole lot of people around the country seem to be saying, IDGAF.

{I’ll give you a moment to figure out what that stands for.} 

This toxic discourse surrounding the fires has highlighted the erosion of trust and solidarity in our society. I mean, I don’t remember me or many other people issuing threatening statements when the electric grid in Texas fell short during an ice storm or when hurricanes and tornadoes ripped through red state after red state. No one I know said, “Let’s hold up that federal assistance until those red states stop trying to impose religion on everyone or stop blocking abortions, or all the other policies that I disagree with.” WTF. BTW, don’t think I’ve forgotten The Madman’s response after Hurricane Maria hit Puerto Rico and the paper towel debacle.

{Nor will I forgive those politicians who fell silent and turned away.}

I understand. IDGAF feelings about the struggles faced by fellow Americans with differing political or religious beliefs is political warfare. It has historically been the preferred tactic because, quite frankly, that’s how to maintain control over people.

Jack them up, and they will yield to your desires. Sadly, this expectation is disheartening in the 21st century, where a renewed commitment to the principles of the social contract is urgently necessary to tackle international security threats and the looming climate change crisis. This commitment requires a deliberate effort to bridge divides, promote empathy, and prioritize the common good above political disagreements. We must remember that our strength as a nation lies in our ability to unite in times of crisis and break down the barriers that seek to separate us.

{It does seem so simple, doesn’t it?}

Rebuilding from the fires will require more than physical reconstruction; it will demand a renewed commitment to community and cooperation. We must invest in strong community networks to enhance our resilience to future disasters. Empowering these networks can create a sturdier foundation for collective action.

{But human nature combined with the ideology of IDGAF makes the task even more difficult.}

Lastly, come on, folks, all this IDGAF cannot be the ideology of the modern era. We need to confront those ideologues who create and maintain divisive strategies, spoon-feed the rhetoric of hate, and profit from the resulting anarchy. Next time disaster strikes, the response should be “How can I help?” not “You’re on your own.”

{Translation: instead of IDGAF, we should act as if WGAF. We live together, or we die together.}

Full Disclosure: The essay above was created with assistance from A.I. as part of an experiment. Many sections were rewritten to reflect my writing style better, and parts that felt repetitive or incorrect were revised. It was fun, but too much extra work. After this experience, I will return to my imagination as the sole source of my creativity.