It doesn’t have to end in a bunker: an open letter to Melania Trump

It doesn’t have to end in a bunker: an open letter to Melania Trump

Dear Melania:

In the madness of this unusual campaign season, too much time has been spent comparing your mate, Donald Drumpf, to Adolf Hitler, and far too little time dedicated to the parallels between you and Eva Braun. Let me explain: I’m in no way seeking to vilify you, Mrs. Drumpf. Quite the contrary, I’m hopeful that we can save your life. In fact, I should acknowledge that you two women are really more different then you are alike:

  • Eva was born in Germany; you, Melania, were born miles away in Yugoslavia
  • When Eva met Adolf, she was 23 years his junior, and was working as a model – yet there are 24 years difference between you and The Donald (although, as this election cycle has shown us…what a difference a year makes!)
  • While both of your husbands have a spotty record in terms of their treatment of women, to date only one of these lucky fellas has actually murdered millions of them.

What you ladies have in common are the worrisome trajectories of your beaus. Let’s set aside the violence taking place at Donald’s live shows – the NC Sheriff’s Department has already cleared him on those possible incitement charges, and as hubby himself has explained, the clashes are part of the entertainment. You don’t see Civil War reenact-ors suing the Gettysburg Foundation over the occasional bayonet prick! Too soon? Anyway, the problem isn’t the women-bashing, racist, xenophobic rhetoric, or – on the other side – the hurt feelings of people who just can’t take a joke (they should learn from Donald, by the way, who doesn’t even remember being called a short-fingered vulgarian in Spy magazine more than 25 years ago. That’s how thick his skin is.). The problem – and the question – dear Melania is, “Where is this headed?”

Not the White House. Much as his Nationalsozialismus (the clinical term for “diseased minions”) would love to see white sheets in the White House, that isn’t going to happen. Simple math, really: for all his efforts at outreach, Don still hasn’t nailed down the Hispanic vote. He needs that to win, and while he’d hoped attacking black people would shift Latino focus away from his rapist-resistant wall, it’s just not working. What about after the election? This feud with FOX has been decent theater, but when it comes down to advertising dollars, the mister’s doubling down on hate would relegate him to radio, most likely broadcasting from a Southern enclave where the Confederate flag still means something, having been ejected from New York society for a sin no greater than being outed as a bourgeois conman. By the way, I’m not calling your husband a bourgeois conman…but I’m hearing that a lot of people – A LOT of people – are. We’re getting ahead of ourselves, Melania. Because that scenario isn’t going to happen, either.

We all know (Donald’s supporters better than most) that as the Third Reich collapsed toward the end of the war, Eva joined Adolf in the Führerbunker beneath the Reich Chancellery. Obviously, Donald has kept the location of his Drumpferbunker private, though reports are surfacing that an unusually large order of mayonnaise was just delivered to Mar-a-Lago. All I’m saying, dear, is….your husband has crossed a line. This border – not to bring all of that up – but it’s a buondary from which there’s no return. You’ve noticed it, I’m sure: what used to be a commitment to the “pitch” (some call it pathological lying, we prefer “salesmanship”) has turned into something darker. A kind of mania, and not the good kind. There’s a tough bit that happens, with paranoia rising incurably as reality rapidly sets in. You’ve seen it in Donny’s peers David Koresh, Jim Jones, and Saddam Hussein. You tell yourself, “He’s fine, it’s just the pollen,” But you know that soon his lovable orange hue will grow into an inflamed, fire-engine red. But by the time that happens, you’ll already be in Mar-a-Lago, in that “special room” under the 9th hole. And the creature before you will no longer be your sweet lovable Donald…he’ll be a cross between a rabid bear and a lobster with Grave’s Disease. And in an even darker turn, I sense the Drumpferbunker has stadium seating, because…well, you know.

On the 29th of April 1945, Eva married Adolf. So moved was the groom, it’s been reported, that his short fingers trembled as he placed the ring on the finger of his bride. Less than 40 hours later, they committed suicide together. That’s not rhetoric. It’s not some words carelessly tossed about by an overgrown bully who salves his own self-hatred by spewing belligerence onto others. It’s not even the tyrannical rant of a sociopath whose moral compass is so absent that he cannot distinguish truth from fiction, a being who cannot bear the former nor resist the latter. What this is, dear Melania, is the END. Donald J. Drumpf has dictated the terms of his own denouement, and sealed it, choosing to call it “destiny”. Everything from this point is mere formality. But you needn’t resign yourself to this fate. You have a sliver of time – and a greater obligation – to escape, to continue your philanthropic efforts, and to write a new page in an otherwise dark chapter of history, not through fabrication…but through a coda of goodness and light.