(I can write this, since I carry an Irish passport, courtesy of my grandmother, along with my beloved American passport)
Stephen K. Bannon runs our country, pushing the buttons of the distracted oaf who is technically the president.
Trump shows what is under his personal rock when he refers to Jon Stewart as “Jonathan Leibowitz” (the comedian’s original name) after a TV gig.
Guess Trump forgets he was passing as Swedish as long as he could, neglecting his family origins as Drumpf.
Behind him is Bannon, pulling the strings, telling him how to keep Muslims out of the country.
I looked it up.
Bannon means “white” or “fair” – in the complexion sense, you may be sure.
As an Irish passport holder, I can say, some of Trump’s closest advisors are named Flynn and Kelly and Bannon.
It was not that long ago that “real” Americans considered people from Ireland the unwashed, the others, the threat.
The Flynns and Kellys and Bannons were not considered good enough to haul trash or dig graves for “real” Americans, who had, of course, killed and dislodged as many original Americans as they could.
There is reasonable debate about how many Irish ever encountered signs that said NINA -- No Irish Need Apply. Butongoing research proves it was there, in some windows, some newspapers, many hearts.
The Irish persevered, and a descendent of Fitzgeralds and Kennedys became president.
Now another president talks about a “ban” of Muslims, a registry of Muslims. He backtracks, but we know.
In a dangerous world, the U.S. was already vetting people from dicey parts of the world. But with his tiny attention span, the new president tries to stop legal residents of the U.S. from coming home. Doctors. Scholars. Husbands. Wives.
He is unashamed. He knows no history. Knows only fragments of things that flutter in front of his eyes. Knows only what Bannon tells him.
It’s easy to spot the sneer on Bannon’s face. We want this guy advising our shallow president?