Donald Trump did not wreck the Postal Service. Not alone, anyway. It’s been headed toward calamity for decades, yet another consequence of digital revolution.
When did you last write, really write, and mail a letter? Or pay a bill by mail?
Right. Your internet service provider delivers most of what we still quaintly call email.
And when did you last walk to your mailbox with eager anticipation?
Uh-huh. The 1990s.
The toddler-in-chief is not blameless. About the Postal Service, as with everything, he’s been as helpful as a hippo farting in a flower kiosk, poisoning all space where actual, important work must be done. So, pity new Postmaster General Louis DeJoy, who must labor in that kiosk.
But pity him only a little. He brought the imperial CEO’s love of secrecy to the task. His secrets encouraged distrust, especially because he’s the imperial postmaster and a megadonor for the president’s cowering political party.
DeJoy should have adopted radical transparency, including maximum prior disclosure. Instead, we got Sir Flatulence and his little Wizard of Oz playing with secrets. There’s the pity.
