Thomas Rowlandson:
The Corsican and His Bloodhounds at the Window of the Thuilleries Looking Over Paris
(April 16, 1815)

"Such impudence in the face of decency deserves its demise, just as we will deserve our long-awaited celebration."

Not since the death of Fascist Spanish dictator Franco has public interest been so focused upon a leader’s demise. In Franco’s case, the reports continued to proclaim that he was still dead, reassuring those who remembered his brutal, illegal coup that undermined Democracy in Spain and served as a practice round for Fascism’s WWII takeover of Europe. Now, the reports proclaim that our incumbent seems ever closer to his demise without yet actually arriving. He has aged into an apparently asymptotic relationship with his death, inching inexorably closer without ever actually arriving. The tension seems at times almost unbearable, as one specialist then another insists that they really mean their prediction this time, and their conclusions seem imminently reasonable, given the obviously terrible condition our incumbent actually seems to be in.

Contrary to his own doctor’s sworn assessments, he is not really leaner than the actor who plays Reacher. He appears ever blotchier, and the outline of his industrial-strength adult diaper dominates his pants’ posterior. He appears clearly zombie-like, if not quite dead yet, then certainly standing on its porch, adjacent to the door, at best still undead now.

DeathWatching has become one of the idle occupations practiced by an unsettled nation. So recently seemingly liberated by the midterm election results, we might forget that our incumbent remains in office, if not necessarily holding as much power. A few in his coerced coalition have started leaning toward the nearest exit, though they largely haven’t made their opposition terribly explicit yet. The media expects them to flip in the same way that it anticipates our incumbent’s death, teetering on a knife-edge, certain, if not yet quite finished. Some of the opposition have begun behaving as if the Big Bad Wolf had already been extracted from Grandma’s stomach and axed, but he hasn’t. He remains a danger, if not apparently so clear or apparent, and probably a greater danger for that. Some commentators have resorted to the inevitable Cornered Animal metaphor, reminding anyone they catch gloating that the voting only set the stage for our incumbent’s demise. It didn’t actually kill him, and he might, if anything, prove to have been even more dangerous once he no longer had anything of real substance to lose. We jeer at our own peril, they caution, yet we continue jeering.

Jeering feels like freedom after so damned many dog months suffocating under his irrational thumb. It was one thing to anticipate how oppressive he might become, and quite another to feel that inexorable pressure from under. Yes, he was extremely dumb in the way he set about dismantling the very government he had sworn to uphold. He still did damage, for his slashes were never surgical, but radical and unprincipled, the sort that requires skilled surgeons to mend. Yes, he largely damaged himself, his own already much-maligned brand, but with considerable collateral damage. Each of us felt the lash. We all lived under unreasonable uncertainty, apparently deliberately inflicted by our supremely indifferent incumbent. His actions were more than mere insults, but assaults with obvious malice, not because such cruelty was in any way necessary, but more likely expressly because it wasn’t. In Tudor England, a leader would have been drawn and quartered for less, after a short death watch spent in the Tower. Since the advent of television, most of us can get more than our minimum daily requirement of blood sport just watching whatever we might find streaming on any odd evening over dinner. We no longer require scaffolds and public spectacles. We have to hold our hopes a little closer to our vests, yet we still spend some of each day DeathWatching, wishing, privately hoping, and retire each evening so far, with one unifying unrequited wish. Perhaps tomorrow, we pray, knowing but no longer caring, we commit blasphemy.

Death is also watching us as we engage in our DeathWatching. We are not immune from the same prosecution we not-so-secretly wish upon our incumbent. His sins were somehow the greater for their vehemence. Had he not so enthusiastically separated immigrant families, had he not so insistently maligned his innocent victims, and had he not so viciously attacked the obviously innocent, then most might have hoped for a simple removal from office followed by a generous pardon, but he never offered quarter to any opponent. He protected convicted criminals and worked hardest to put them back on the street, even offering some lucrative government assignments where they could practice their former criminal activities under the protection of our government. Had he not turned his administration into a crime family focused solely upon robbing the public purse for their own aggrandizement while murdering innocents, he might have been worthy of something South of the death penalty. Something inside me seeks justice, knowing that anything short of what others might consider the ultimate sacrifice just won’t suffice in this specific instance. His administration represents the worst kind of civic cancer, and he served as the infecting agent.

Of course, all of this remains in God’s hands. A Wisconsin Brewpub was threatened with losing its liquor license for offering free beer in its taprooms on the day our incumbent finally meets his demise. That didn’t dissuade them. They made up in T-shirt sales, I guess, what they might have lost by not selling beer. They continued selling beer. The human spirit persists regardless of the insults inflicted, or, more precisely, more likely because of those inflicted insults. Decent people won’t tolerate even a tin-pot despot for long, and even if that despot wins a few rounds and manages to stay in power, he won’t live forever. Once finally dead, he becomes famous for staying dead, not for anything he achieved while living. I warmly anticipate the day when the headlines scream the news that will cause that brewpub to open its taps, for if this world arcs in the general direction of justice, that day will see justice done right for the first time in longer than I care to remember. Such impudence in the face of decency deserves its demise, just as we will deserve our long-awaited celebration.

©2026 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Comeuppance, #PureSchmaltz