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We are at a precipice.
When it is far more important to shield an amendment prepared 231 decades ago — a time when other people ended up regarded as livestock and our technological comprehension had not yet made even the cotton gin — than it is to safeguard 3rd graders from staying blown aside like empty whiskey bottles on a split rail fence with ungodly powerful navy grade weapons, the photo is very clear.
We are at a precipice.
When, concurrently, females are dropping the sacred reproductive sovereignty of their own bodies and even threatened with murder costs to fulfill the judgements of fanatical martinets, (quite a few of whom are sans uterus), who wail and keen with leather-based-lunged sanctimony for the salvation of innocent lifetime, except if, of course, it interferes with the aforementioned modification, the evidence is obvious.
We are at a precipice.
And when the temple of our democracy, the U.S. Capitol, is violently attacked and overrun, at the public prompting of the Commander-in-Main, by a frothing cosplay mob of murderous, self-appointed vigilantes and then vandalized and desecrated like it was a bus station men’s home, at the same time chanting for the Vice President to be grabbed by this posse comitatus and lynched favored a common horse thief, the handwriting is on the stall.
This goes way over and above spirited discourse or acceptable dissent. This is a septic human body politic. This is a pretty authentic risk to the republic, a metastasizing, cultural ailment of which there can be no doubt.
We are indeed at a precipice.
Jon Apple
Bethlehem
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