I Wish I Were Angrier

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Astute readers of this newsletter—especially the paid subscribers—may have noticed that I write less about my anger these days. In the early essays, waaaay back in November of ‘24, it was all I hate this and Fuck that and I’m PO’d at the Muppets. Lately, however, I’ve been on a different track. It’s still kind of pissy and sad, with disconcertingly sentimental moments of hope and joy, but the anger is not as up front and wild as it used to be.

This has surprised me as much as, surely, it has shocked you. Who is Matt Gross, after all, if he’s not spluttering with omnidirectional fury? Even weirder, how could such a dangerously emotional volcano have been tamed? Reader, I have you to thank: Simply writing, every single goddamn day, about the things that inspire me to murder has palpably lessened that desire by transmuting my inchoate rage into Zen calm. Relatively speaking, of course. I no longer want to kill; now I merely wish to see my enemies die. This is called progress.

I have also consciously dialed back my expression of violent feelings in anticipation of this very week. Ever since November 6, 2024, I have figured that the new guy’s inauguration would bring with it a full-on resurgence of my all-consuming anger. I would, I thought, be sending dozens of spittle-flecked emails every day, every hour, apoplectic over the idiocies he and his cretinous hangers-on would unleash. And how, I worried, would I be able to turn those emotions into the fine, well-structured words my subscribers, even the free ones, have come to expect?

It’s a question I now no longer have to answer, because, dear reader, I do not find myself angry at all.

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Let’s be clear about things: I am not happy. Nothing the new president has done or will do is pleasing. In fact, I oppose all of it: the attempt to end birthright citizenship, the pardoning of January 6 rioters and their white nationalist leaders, the nomination of manifestly unqualified and erratic people to important posts in government, the order to use the U.S. military to enforce immigration policy on American soil, the suspension of refugee programs, the accidental antiscientific redefinition of everyone as female, the ending of subsidies for electric vehicles and the infrastructure needed to support them, the tariffs, the threat of tariffs, the withdrawal from the World Health Organization, the withdrawal from the Paris climate agreement, the axing of DEI offices within the federal government, the pressure on civil servants to fink on colleagues they suspect of harboring DEI sentiments, the motherfucking Department of Government Efficiency, the removal of guidelines around the development of artificial intelligence, the promised renaming of Denali and the Gulf of Mexico, the retribution, the pettiness, the kowtowing, the memecoins, the bottomless corruption, the shamelessness, the bad taste, the flat-out, incontrovertible, unrepentant villainy and cruelty, and—most of all, above all—the bullshit.

Whew, I was getting a little worked up there!

But not too worked up. Because as awful as that list is—and it’s of course only partial, and only the very beginning of a miserable four years for almost all of us—it does not inspire in me the same volatile emotions it did eight years ago. Instead, I’m disappointed, dismayed, annoyed. A little bored at the nefarious predictability of it all. Where’s the surprise and the shock the fascists of just a few years ago were able to produce in us? There’s nothing new here to provoke, only the same tired phrases and “policies.” Why should I bother to get angry about the same stuff I got angry about when I was in my early 40s? Haven’t we all grown up a bit?

And frankly, I wish I were angrier, just like I said in the subject line of this email. I am so accustomed to having that fire within me, slow burning me toward action, driving my words, inspiring you, my devoted subscribers (yes, even the non-paying ones!), to fight back alongside me! Without that, does this become a bland intellectual exercise? Are we playing for mere points? Where, without anger, is our sense of urgency? How, without the roiling of our guts, can we win the battle, let alone the war?

Earlier this week, I tried writing an “angry” essay. I called it “Put Me on the Enemies List,” and it was an attempt to attack the new administration from a place of fury so profound the authorities would have little choice but to add me to their roster of dangerous individuals. But I couldn’t do it—I gave up 300 words in. It felt artificial. I’m not dangerous, and we all know it.

At the same time, I do feel rebellious, ironic, and determined. I will (I tell myself) resist the actions of this new, reprehensible government any and every way I can. There may not, however, be many of those ways! I am just one guy, without much power, whose life may not even be too directly impacted by these changes and who needs to take care of basic things like supporting his family and encouraging his newsletter readers to become paid subscribers out of the pure, shining goodness of their blessed hearts. There are not too many ways (yet) for me to oppose the administration.

For now, it mostly means writing. It’s what I’m best at, and what I can produce in volumes no one, not the Trumpists nor even the paid subscribers, can keep up with. To write in opposition for me means to write thoughtfully, to encourage complexity, to check and correct and humble myself with every sentence, to extend charity toward whatever I’m considering—and to encourage you all to do likewise. These are the modes, processes, and values that the monsters in power despise, because they cannot understand them. They don’t read, they can’t read, and therefore they cannot think. To engage with words, to argue about ideas, to care about something other than cash and fame—these instantly elevate us all above them, into a realm they can’t touch. They can take a lot away from us, and we can be sure they’ll try, but the words that linger in our heads live beyond their grubby grasp.

Can I help more? Can we all? The time for real action will arrive soon enough. In the meantime, we can observe, coolly and without the fury that has accompanied us for so long, and simply think and plan and wait. We will be angry again one day, I’m sure, and when that day comes, we’ll know what to do with it. And they will feel our wrath¹. 🪨🪨🪨

Notes

1. But not in, like, a scary, psychotic Trumpian way! More like we make them go, Oh damn, we been defeated, let’s go hide under a rock and never ever try that shit again.

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