Eating Cats and Dogs: This Derangement Requires Scrutiny, Mockery, and yes, Empathy

They’re eating the dogs. They’re eating the cats. They’re eating the pets of the people that live there.

There were, predictably, innumerable moments that went viral, will be studied, and live on as indelible snapshots of the debate (and Trump’s debasement), but this quote, astonishing, appalling, almost but not quite unbelievable, became an instant meme, a touchstone of what the GOP has wrought, making the party into not only a cult of personality disorder, but finally, inevitably obliterating what’s been an ever-finer line between full-on rightwing conspiracy theorist and the Republican candidate: Trump, by spouting the equal parts despicable and risible fantasy that Haitian immigrants are eating peoples’ pets, has become the apotheosis of every Nazi-curious incel, force fed a steady diet of Fox News (and further out propaganda outlets we need not name) like brainwashed geese being prepped to become pâté. (That the cynical, opportunistic, shameless and soulless VP JD Vance, who undeniably knows better and understands exactly what reprehensible forces he’s awakening all in the pursuit of stirring the pot, riling up the base, all in the hope of more power and undiluted privilege, is par for the course and where, say, a candidate like Dan Quayle—albeit in a remarkably saner time—became a shorthand avatar for every lightweight, feckless wannabe way out of his depth on a national stage, JD Vance will endure as the ambitious cretin who, like Ted Cruz on meth, epitomizes what T.S. Eliot—in a remarkably saner time!—immortalized, with maximum disdain, in his poem “The Hollow Men.”)

The slightest bit of research will confirm that, aside from being merely racist (!!!), this latest talking point, while desperate and deeply embarrassing (for those parroting it; those embracing and promoting it), is also taken right out of the fascist playbook: NPR breaks it down here.

I’ll leave the more performative outrage to those who do it better (and get paid to do so, on TV), and reluctantly chalk up this latest affront as yet another in a ceaseless series of instances suggesting there’s absolutely, impossibly, no bottom; that Trump’s mendacity, stupidity, and relentless drive to prove that in America one can be not only devoid of shame and thrive but that, in fact, the more shameless one is, in politics, the better a career move it can be (see the clownish and despicable Nancy Mace), and how that fact causes me to consider Charles Baudelaire’s immortal observation that “the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist” (stolen/borrowed in The Usual Suspects), and deduce the greatest gift Donald Trump has given the world is removing all doubt, with every utterance and action—all solely in the service of his self—he obliges, he forces the people who persist in supporting him, at long last and after all this (!!!!), for their own sexist, racist, desperate, and equally self-absorbed reasons (especially the cowards in elected office who continue to delude & abase themselves, after decades of evidence to the contrary, that accommodating him and covering for him will in some way advance their careers or make them money or grant them influence–and it usually will, if only to set them up for the ultimate, spectacular betrayal), reveal, for everyone watching, that they have willingly offered up their broken, morally bankrupt, wholly owned souls; those who, after all this, still carry water and carry on, are living evidence of how not to live. Imagine believing the sewage that spills out of his mouth. Imagine being inspired by his example. Imagine aspiring to be more like him. And imagine the inner worlds of the sad people who look at this cartoon rendering of human fallibility and see a hero.

So…aside from pushing back on idiocy, hoping (and hoping those with a platform will implore if not shame (ha) the media into pushing back on idiocy and reporting it as such) that Truth can still crowd out Fear & Evil, and, oh yeah, voting, what else can we do to improve our sociopolitical reality?

Well, we always have Story (Much more on that, here).

Art has the possibility of teaching us so many things, and in ways that cut across economic, geographic, and even historical barriers. An exceptional poem, song, story, painting, or photograph can present experiences from a life we don’t know or could only imagine, or it can remind us that most human beings are desperate for the same things: love, peace, understanding, justice, compassion, community, beauty.

Art reveals recurring themes (good, bad, ugly) in human history, and homes in on what makes kings, soldiers, parents, orphans, the working poor, and the wealthiest one percent identical: we all, after a fashion, are seeking meaning in our brief time on this planet. Stories heal and inspire when they force us to ask questions, understand there are often many answers to any question, and that by seeing ourselves in others (and vice versa), we’re less likely to be intolerant, lazy, or unkind. There is a quiet power in the ways art unites us.

Creative storytelling is never a static act. Whether intended to unify or disrupt, the reaction, when it’s received, is an antidote to solitude (sometimes even despair)—and instigates progression, on personal or societal levels. The impact of art can be empowering, and a human being has changed, invariably for the better, having been part of the connection.

Reading writers who have helped change the world changes you. You come to appreciate what William Carlos Williams meant when he wrote “It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there.” Certain seminal works alter your perception of the big picture: cause and effect, agency vs. incapacity, and history vs. ideology. 

Writing from different cultures and different times inevitably denotes truths (even if couched in fictional narratives) that are outside of time and agenda. It is, then, easier to make connections between Irish immigrants who worked the coal mines in Pennsylvania, Lithuanian immigrants who worked in the meatpacking plants in Chicago, and Mexican immigrants—especially the illegal ones—who labor in sweltering kitchens and frigid fields all across our country. It’s impossible not to put human faces and real feelings alongside this suffering and start connecting the dots that define how exploitation works. We discern the uneasy lines connecting our shared histories and possible futures. And then, at last, there’s a chance for recognition, empathy, culpability. 

Why bring politics into it, one might ask (and a certain political party reliably does)? Short answer, duh. Longer answer, courtesy of the ever-reliable (and prescient) George Orwell: “The opinion that art should have nothing to do with politics is itself a political attitude.” As someone who writes fiction and poetry but also reviews and champions art, I’m cognizant of my status as a straight white male, while also feeling the desire to showcase traditionally under-represented voices is imperative, and consistent with the mission of any critic with integrity: broaden dialogue and celebrate marginalized voices. If we’re made to see others it’s possible we’ll see ourselves. Bearing witness requires listening as much as speaking out. This is one meaningful way writers can hold others— and themselves—to account. Without engagement none of this is possible and, in 2024, it seems not only irresponsible, but immoral to look away. 

Our duty, as individual creatives and fans, is to tell our stories, listen to other’s stories, and do whatever we can to generate awareness and enthusiasm. One thing I’m certain of, after a lifetime of learning, failing, and falling, is the belief—no matter what the cynical or soulless insist—that art matters. What art provides is the reason we toil, struggle, and refuse to surrender. Art is what redeems the occasional silence and solitude. As ever, for those keeping the faith and staying true to their vision: the deeper drive is to connect, to put something unique into the world and see how it lands. Can a connection be established? Can a dialogue be initiated? Can a debate begin? Can our world be saved, one exchange at a time?

TO BE CONTINUED…

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About Sean Murphy

I’m Sean Murphy, and you might have heard me on NPR’s “All Things Considered” or seen my name in The New York Times or The Huffington Post, among others. As a contributor to outlets ranging from The Good Men Project and PopMatters to The Village Voice and The Weeklings, my aim has always been to connect, provoke, and celebrate the stories that define us.

I founded 1455, a non-profit dedicated to celebrating creativity and community, and I direct the Center for Story at Shenandoah University, but I’ve been telling—and savoring—words for as long as I can remember. Since I first began writing, I’ve been obsessed with the ways powerful narratives explain our world while creating new possibilities, how art broadens awareness and builds empathy. I think we’d all agree that understanding how storytelling works—and why it’s important—has never been more critical, for our collective and individual well-being.