It was quiet… a little too quiet on the night of April 11th, in this most wretched year of our Lord . I sat with friends in our usual booth in a nearly empty restaurant. Someone a little familiar caught my eye, as he made his way toward the side of the bar. I used to work retail. It was awful. I’ll tell you more about it some other time. I remembered the guy from when he came into my old job with his mother. I was there long enough that I could still remember him as a kid. I remembered the boy as a polite, considerate young man. I didn’t know him very well.
Then… he spoke. Not to me, but to those around him. More people started to flood the restaurant. They’d gotten out from a recent Trump rally on the other side of the river. They were excited. Rhetoric is the same no matter when or where you hear it. It’s a simple equation: Insert belief + Nonsensical Conclusion + A lot more belief = Fuck it we’re bad at math anyway. They could say it with smiles and jeers and as if it made sense. They gave a toast led by the young man I’d known from my retail days. He lifted his glass and said “We’re gonna build a wall!” I laughed, but they were being serious. They were dead set. That bothered me more than the rhetoric. They believed that an issue as complex as immigration could be handled by building a wall.
We left early, because… why not? There were more taglines thrown around, but I couldn’t stomach much more. That one tagline about building a wall always got to me and I still can’t wrap my mind around it. Then, I realized I was thinking too much. It was a simple solution that would have catastrophic consequences, but my problem was… I was thinking too much. These people aren’t thinking of any more than what seems right (in their minds). They see the issue: people enter our country illegally. They see the solution: build a wall. Simple, logic in its most archaic form. The complexity of immigration isn’t something they were built to handle. They don’t care that the people you want to keep out of this country build massive underground highways. They don’t care. Then again, I’m thinking too much. I’m thinking they don’t want the bad immigrants, like the drug lords that are helping to keep Mexico in chaos. That’s too much thought. They just don’t want brown people in this country. They don’t want to think of who’s good or bad. They just want the good thing done (building a wall) so the bad people (all immigrants) can’t ‘ruin’ our great country.
Another idea I heard was that they’re gonna have all the illegal aliens shipped out of the country. If building a wall doesn’t bankrupt us this idea definitely has the potential. Then, it doesn’t matter the cost; it matters what’s right.
I could ignore their madness up to this point, when I watched bits and pieces of the Republican National Convention and was amazed at what I heard and saw from the ‘Grand Old Party’. It’s something I realized that struck me in the point where my heart should be, somewhere there, poking at my gut. Mr. Trump is an obnoxious little cunt that sits in the pit of my chest, just below the cavity where my heart should be… and just above my gut. He’s a worm, but that doesn’t matter. He’s embedded into the future of America. He’s rooted like a tapeworm in our digestive tract. It isn’t going to matter if he wins. I doubt he will… sincerely, I doubt, but it no longer matters. He’s exposed something that America hasn’t accepted about its true nature. It’s a legacy of racism and simple-minded ideals. America is a country of idealists that take all shapes and sizes. We believe in fair market, while corporations bleed the world dry. We believe in saving the planet, while we destroy it.
We’re at capacity for foolish, sincere, idealists of all breeds. The ones that follow Trump are a particular strain of antiquated racists whose gram-pappies founded this country. They seemed relatively docile, dormant and, dare I say, serene around the turn of the twentieth century. They had no more armies, although they still clung to their rotten ideals. The ones that follow Trump aren’t going away if he doesn’t get elected, because they’ve been here since time unremembered. They’re here to stay. They’ve always been here and now they have a voice. It’s an old troll with tiny sausage fingers and a horrible (HORRIBLE) Toupee… and yes, there will be… ‘hell toupee’…
What I’ve learned from eight years of Obama is that the diluted gene pool of the inbreeding white supremacist has suddenly taken on myriad forms. It’s become more of a Ocean of Life. Where once it used to be entrenched in its bunkers out west waiting for the day the government sends the black helicopters to take their land, now it’s in our backyards. Obama struck a nerve for these people. They would’ve hated him no matter what he did. They hated him for what he stood for (in their minds). He was a symbol of racial decline. They were losing power. To them, he became a symbol of the final nail in the coffin for the dominance of the white male in this country. They cling to their guns. They cling to their traditions. They don’t accept change. Change means the collapse of something their ‘gram-pappies’ built. Obama exposed it simply by being who he is; there is a cult that went unnamed in America made up of white, Conservative Christians. It wasn’t spoken of before, because it wasn’t real. It was just a bunch of people with the same ideals who weren’t a unified group.
Even if Donald Trump doesn’t become the president, he still serves a role that is more fitting. He’s a figurehead. He’s a relic. He’s like the ‘spear of destiny’. When the Crusaders found the spear, they charged toward Jerusalem and killed everything in sight. Zealots only need a rallying cry. They don’t need scientists telling them the planet’s on fire. They don’t need economists explaining how currency works. They don’t need the logistics of building a wall, deporting millions of people and plunging our country into greater debt. Thought is the enemy. They live off of belief. It pollutes them, like toxic waste, telling them that all is well. You see them close their eyes and worship within, seeing the void and something deeper. They have something that calls them to a place of eternal peace. They hear a soothing voice channeling them to the center. It calls them unto a world without violence or strife or ‘coloreds’. The voice belongs to Donald Trump. He’s in their minds now, but he’s always been there. It just never had a name.