Vol. 158: In Trump’s mailbox

So you want a Nobel Prize?

News item: On January 18, President Trump sent a message to Norway’s prime minister, Jonas Gahr Store, saying that one reason he is pushing to acquire Greenland is that he was not awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. “Considering your country decided not to give me the Nobel Peace Prize for having stopped eight wars PLUS,” Trump explained, “I no longer feel an obligation to think purely of peace, although it will always be predominant, but can now think about what is good and proper for the United States of America.”

And the replies:

Dear President Trump,

This is a joke, right? Surely you know that the Norwegian government has nothing to do with the Nobel Prizes. That’s handled by a private foundation that was established more than 130 years ago by Alfred Nobel, a private citizen (whose name you misspelled at least once). We in the Norwegian government have enough on our plates without worrying about who among the 7 billion people walking this planet most reminds us of Albert Schweitzer or Mother Teresa so we can festoon them with awards, publicity, and money that most of them didn’t need or want in the first place.

But now that you mention it, are you sure that you’re talking about the Nobel Peace Prize? In the past year alone, you’ve ordered bombing strikes in seven different countries. Those eight wars you claimed to have stopped are still going on. You recently described yourself as “the most militaristic person there is” (despite your own utter lack of military experience). Upon your order, the U.S. Department of Defense this year changed its name to the Department of War. Your Secretary of War, Pete Hegseth, promised to give “America’s warriors” the freedom to “kill people and break things.”

Better you should try for the Nobel Prize for Wine Tasting— oh, wait, you don’t drink. But you’d be eligible for many others. There’s a Nobel Prize for Bankruptcy, for Lechery, for Armchair Braggadocio, for Golf After 70… the list is endless.

And surely you know that Greenland belongs to Denmark, not Norway. It’s been Danish for more than 300 years. I know, I know— all us Nordics look alike, right?

Oh, and by the way, you confused Greenland with Iceland a couple of times. All frozen islands look alike, too?

That said, I must tell you what a lift your message brought to the harried diplomats and bureaucrats who work in my office. Every day here it’s like we’re looking at a blackboard filled with nothing but grim news and frustrations from sunup to sundown. And then we get a funny letter like yours, and we get to laughing, and it’s like you took an eraser and wiped the whole slate clean. To me, that touch of humor is what makes life worthwhile. La Rochefoucauld was certainly on to something when he wrote, “The man who lives free from folly is not so wise as he thinks.”

So thanks for that. Have a great day!

Yours very truly,
Jonas Gahr Store

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Dear Mr. Trump,

The Society of Creative Vegetarians welcomes your application for our annual Novel Peas Prize. We stress that, its title notwithstanding, the award applies not just to new strains of peas but to all green vegetables, including string beans, broccoli. spinach, kale, Swiss chard, collard greens, cabbage, romaine lettuce, iceberg lettuce, mustard greens, turnip greens, and watercress. But we draw the line at cauliflower, eggplant, avocado, and rutabagas.

You disagree? It’s a free country. Start your own prize contest.

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Dear President Trump:

We’re very excited by your interest. Since the industrial revolution, the Interfaith Society of Serene Clergy has been dedicated to finding alternative methods of summoning congregations for worship without relying on the external noises that can ruin otherwise tranquil urban life. Our annual No Bell Priest’s Prize, first established in 1784, has been expanded since then to cover not only those damn bells but also honking horns, brass bands, sound trucks, boom boxes, barking dogs, yowling cats, kazoos, and many other big-city disturbances. And eligibility has been extended from priests to ministers, rabbis, imams, secular humanists— the whole religious schmear. But we’re having trouble spreading the word about our important work. The participation of a big shot like you could be just the jump-start that we’ve been yearning for!

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Dear President Trump:

The Georgia Peach Growers Association appreciates your application for our annual Notable Peach Prize. We can say without fear of contradiction that, as far as we know, no one has ever grown a peach in Greenland. If, as you claim, you are the first, that achievement by itself would put you among the front ranks of candidates for this year’s award. And if you won, you could rest on your laurels from that day forward!

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Dear President Trump:

The Society of Professional Journalists, dedicated to promoting the highest standards for our profession, naturally welcomes your interest in our No Bull Piece Prize. This annual award recognizes factual reporting in articles and other reportorial pieces for their absence of sensationalism, opinionizing, flights of rhetoric, or personal asides. Unfortunately, it’s only open to members of our society. Would you care to join?

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Dear President Trump:

Thank you for your inquiry about our Royal Society of Urology, which was founded during the reign of King Henry VIII to establish the legitimacy of descendants of kings and queens by tracking their bodily fluids. Today this important work continues under the aegis of our prestigious Noble Piss Prize. The competition is open to anyone of royal blood, but what with marriages to commoners and the passage of centuries, thousands or even millions of people could qualify. So, all applications must be accompanied by (a) a certified genealogical chart, attesting to your descent from a noble family, and (b) a urine sample provided in the morning on an empty stomach. We look forward to hearing from you.

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Dear Donald,

You want my what? But I didn’t win the Nobel Peace Prize. I won the Nobel for songwriting or storytelling or playing a guitar and harmonica simultaneously— something like that. Looks just like the Peace Prize. I’d give it to you if I could find it. It’s probably up in my attic somewhere. Or maybe I gave it to Joan Baez to make amends for the way I mistreated her.

The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind. What does that mean? Beats me. But the judges, and a lot of my fans, thought it was profound. Go figure.

Bob Dylan

Enjoy Dan Rottenberg’s new memoir, The Education of a Journalist: My Seventy Years on the Frontiers of Free Speech. You can also visit his website at www.danrottenberg.com