Some cocktail hour thoughts.

As a human in the world who pays attention, I carry around a lot of anger.

As a journalist trying to remain a trustworthy messenger, I generally keep it under wraps.

The more I learn about what transpired on Wednesday, the harder that becomes.

The cynical, self-serving lies of this president and his family and the Hawley-Cruz caucus.

The stubborn unwillingness of law enforcement to prepare for the plain-as-day threat of white violence.

The tepid, too-late response by social media companies that fanned the flames.

The scrambling by enablers to save themselves from a sinking ship they helped build.

We're in the middle of an economic crisis, an environmental crisis, a public health crisis, and now a political crisis all brought on by the fact that America elected a would-be authoritarian grifter whose main talent is digging a hot iron in the sores of the American psyche.

I'm actually shocked Wednesday didn't turn into a mass shooting, and terrified that one isn't far off.

If anything good comes of this week, it will be finally breaking the spell Trump holds over the GOP. But I fear the damage is done, his supporters are only emboldened, the disinfo runs too deep, and some other demagogue will just rise in his place.

I truly believe principled journalism is an essential weapon against injustice. But we're awash in great reportage, and our republic is in as much trouble as it's been in its short life. Something just isn't connecting, and it makes me wonder whether what we do even matters.

I don't think there are quick answers. I'm pretty sure they begin with rebuilding local news so we can return to some semblance of shared reality, and local governance so that good people rise to power.

But I'm so worried about how long that will take.

with grief --

Lydia