‘A Poison Apple’

Dear Editor:
I love my neighborhood.
I loved growing up on a barstool at the Harbor Light, watching Jeopardy with the other patrons, being taught a magic trick with the number 11 by a fellow barfly while I sipped my Shirley Temple. I imagine not everyone can equate the smell of scotch and beer on men’s breath with a sense of safety. But I’m fortunate enough to say I do.
I love what I learned from the hours I’ve spent growing up inside the walls of St. Francis de Sales. That Catholics see their God as a God of humility, of sacrifice, of justice. That loving thy neighbor, not to mention thy enemy, is the hardest work there is but it is what we are called to do.
I also learned that you have to be careful when someone offers you a shiny apple. When someone suggests you replace your God with a golden calf. And every Good Friday, joining in on the Passion Play, I have learned that it’s not just the good guys versus the bad guys. All of us have the potential to get caught up in the electrifying nature of mob mentality. To crucify that which is good because it brought a rush.
Demagogues rise to power by harnessing his personal charisma, and by playing on the legitimate frustrations of the people. They take their valid rage, say about inflation, direct that rage at human scapegoats, and steal the power of the people in the process.I love my country. I have always loved my country, and will continue to, even if that love causes me pain. I pray that it and its people don’t forfeit everything that has made it beautiful for the sake of a shiny but poison apple.
Clare McCarthy