From Henry VIII to Trump: Power, Patriarchy & the Hunger for Praise

The Suffering of the Innocent and the Lust for Power

What do a starving bear and a modern political strongman have in common? More than you think. This is a story about power.

The bear.
The elephant.
The cranes and flamingos.

The image of all the animals captured and shipped thousands of miles away into a foreign land, far away from their natural habitat, their known environment, and their native lands that provided the food they needed to survive.

Confused, frightened, sleep-deprived, their terror of this moment justified their fear lashing out as rage toward their captors, pleasing the humans gathered around to gawk at these rare animal species that they had never seen before.

Their king would be pleased. This was certain. He was easily bored, and his subjects quickly learned that boredom was dangerous. Boredom would often mean he turned to humans for entertainment. Jousting, bare-handed fist fights — the bloodier, the better.

Outside the castle walls, they would line up early in the morning, pushing the heavy cages that held the animals captive. Exhaustion threatened those entrusted with caring for the animals, many of whom were barely alive. Now days without sustenance, the animals refuse to eat the foreign foods offered. It was as if they welcomed death over this inhumane existence.

Hours would pass slowly before they were finally able to be in front of the one who they all had come to see. The one who they all were desperate for his favor. Desperate for his alliance. His money. Some were nervous as they approached His Majesty. They knew that a dying bear would not entertain the king, so they rushed by quickly in case the animal expired while the king’s court clapped and offered their pleasure with ooh’s and aah’s at the passing animals. As they passed in front of the king, the Herald would announce who sent the gift to His Majesty with an expression of gratitude for his genius and power as a great ruler.

It was always best to stroke the ego of the man who had become addicted to praise and honor as much as he was addicted to food and women.

Once the caravan had moved outside of court and out of sight of the King, the cage handlers could breathe a sigh of relief. Their job now done, their cargo was transferred to the responsibility of those within the monarchy — those with even less experience and less desire to care for what they often saw as wretched and frightening creatures.

The outcome was inevitable. Many of those ‘wretched and frightening’ creatures would not survive to nightfall. Some would say they were the lucky ones. The ones who did were often forced into an inhumane existence as the people looked to them for entertainment in the most cruel and unimaginable ways.

My Season of King Henry VIII Obsession

Sometime after leaving church, I became obsessed with the history of England and its monarchical rule. I read everything I could find, researched at the library, and attended lectures. I even devoted a section of a wall in our unfinished basement to a lineage chart to map the royal family lines that led to King Henry VIII’s rise to power.

I wasn’t sure what I was searching for, but I knew I had to see this through. I recall one morning sitting on my porch and unable to put down the book as I read about King Henry’s decision to split from Catholicism and become the head of the Church of England so that he then had the power to divorce his wife and marry again.

I sat on the porch reading about the establishment of the Church of England through Queen Ann Boleyn’s execution. Then I put the book down and stared at my bird feeder, watching all the activity. It was early spring. Birds, squirrels, and rabbits partook of the smorgasbord of seeds and nuts we sat out for them. It was an honor to witness and a balm to the rage building inside of me.