I’m compelled to write today in commiseration with Russell Pirkot, Ed Gregory, Alan Harris, Edward Dowd, John Bos and so many other writers who’ve been traumatized by No. 45 [Donald Trump]. Recent letters published in this newspaper add oxygen to the fire that’s been lit under the American people and the loss of our sense of safety and hope for the future of democracy. 

No. 45 has made me sick. Physically and mentally. It’s been nine years of vitriol from that man and those who surround him. That fake smile only happens to his mouth, not the entirety of the face because it’s another lie and a sign that something is missing inside of him. It’s probably not his fault. Could be how he was raised, DNA, maybe he grew up near an old factory that was leaking toxic chemicals. I don’t know.

My reaction of fear, anxiety, tears, sweating and panic when I see or hear that voice are a normal reaction to danger. When one is being chased by a lion in the jungle, those reactions save our lives. We run! Our adrenaline is pumping and our brain goes into “get the heck out of here” mode.

The lion hasn’t even been sworn, in folks. He hasn’t signed the ethics clauses, he’s already breaking rules, anything can happen between now and January. Anything. In the last eight years, many of us have come face to face with the stark reality that democracy is not a given. We know that because we’ve read our world history, we saw with unbiased vision the events of Jan. 6, 2021.

We had allowed ourselves to be comfortable with the ebb and flow of power of our American elections. The kindergarten attitude of “everybody gets a turn” had worked thus far. The pendulum had swung back and forth, we get our wish sometimes and others times we don’t. We hope for the best. We moved forward, supporting whichever candidate had won. No matter if we voted for them or liked them. We took our lumps and got back to business.

Before 2016, we took turns on the highway, the sidewalk, Main Street, the grocery store, the tourist attractions we visited, the dog park, at public gatherings and civic meetings. We were quiet when asked to be, stood in lines and chatted with others; our kids went to school and listened to the teachers. We had trust in our institutions, mostly, and in each other.

That trust has eroded and I can clearly see society falling apart. I can see every tiny nuance of it in the behaviors too obvious to ignore. Too many are needlessly stepping on people like they don’t exist. My heart is broken by what I’m witnessing. I’m talking to strangers for solace because we’re hungry for connection. I have more fun in a grocery store than anyone has a right to. Thank you my friendly fellow shoppers and store employees, you know I love you!

We could have voted for that trust. Our government is far from perfect, but we could have had faith in it and strived to fix the broken parts together. Instead, the majority voted for the one or two things that appeal to them.

We could have voted like we were in kindergarten and recess is in 10 minutes. We all want to play. We all want a turn and our teachers taught us that in order to do that we all had to behave and be nice. And if we weren’t all well behaved, nobody went out for recess. Remember that? Yikes. We learned a lesson, didn’t we? I’m pretty sure we’re in for recess for the next four years. With the mean teacher — 1,459 days. Maybe. He hasn’t been sworn in yet. Time will tell.

In the words of poet Archibald McLeish: “Democracy is never a thing done. It’s always something that a nation must be doing. Voting is nothing less that an act of love and insight, an investment and a prayer for democracy to continue long into the future — and that energy radiates into the world, no matter the result.”

I know it. Wow, Archibald! Thank you for putting it so beautifully.

Ellen Villani lives in Greenfield.