It opened with glissandi, repeated sweeps of fingers across
Keys, but like waves seen from a distance, making their way
Along the shore, the machine guns that ripped through the village
Can no longer be heard. Even the church bell lies on the floor of the
Sanctuary, tongue melted to the cheek of its mouth like the fingers
Of Thomas pressing the holes in Christ’s side in order to
Believe. Batter-batter, batter-batter, we’d all start to chatter
When someone on the other team got up to bat. The deep red dye
Made from wild madder, when eaten, turned the bones
Of animals red, the claws and beaks of birds, too, and cloth dyed
With madder was used to wrap Egyptian mummies. By candlelight
Between the reemergence of right-wing red-baiting and Donald Trump’s use of the chilling National Security Presidential Memorandum–7 to criminalize left political organizing, we’re seeing McCarthyism reborn before our eyes.
This assault on democracy cannot be ignored or wished away. Resisting it requires bravery in the face of threats and repression, a steadfast commitment to the truth, and the unwavering belief that we can—and will—overcome this darkness.
We must have an independent media that sets the record straight, unearths corruption and abuses of power, and advances a politics of justice and dignity for all if we’re to win this fight.
That’s why I’m writing to you today. This September, The Nation needs to add 100 monthly donors to sustain our progressive journalism. Your contribution makes the next investigative report, the next truth-speaking column, and the next pathbreaking essay all possible.
I hope you’ll support our work with a recurring donation today. If you donate $10 or more a month, we’ll send you a brand new “Hands Off the Free Press!” sticker to recognise your commitment to our cause. Please, donate today.
Onward,
Katrina vanden Heuvel
Editor and Publisher, The Nation
In the Villa des Brillants, Rodin loved in the evenings to linger
With his fragments of ancient statues—hands, heads, fingers,
Arms, and feet—because they held some trace of a former
Life. He cast small nude female bodies in white clay and placed them
In antique terracotta pots: we still watch them struggle to climb out
Of the past. Before they were taken out to be executed, the women held
In Ravensbrück put on lipstick, pinched their cheeks, and arranged
Each other’s hair. The women and children of Oradour-sur-Glane
Tried to escape from the village church after the soldiers shut
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The doors, set fire to the building, and began to shoot. Only one
Woman escaped, broke glass and climbed out of the window behind
And above the altar, the stone altar now pitted by the rounded heads
Of bullets, niches into which you can place the tip of your forefinger as if
You were waiting at a counter, in quiet light, about to be fingerprinted.
Angie Estes