Spent almost a month in the United States. A few things I observed.
Saw lots of cars with Trump bumperstickers when I was in the coastal area of Virginia. All of them were driven by white people. Mostly old white people. Lots of old white men. Driving alone.
* * *
Whenever I was in a restaurant or public place, I spent much of my time obsessing over the people around me, trying to figure out who was an ally and who was not. I was in a Wendy's off Interstate 95 in Virginia and everyone in the place was white. "Which of you voted for Trump?" I asked myself. "All of them," I replied after scanning the camouflage-dressed, bearded men and tattooed women, many also in camouflage. What invader are they camouflaging themselves from and do they realize that their choice of cover actually has an identifying, rather than disguising, effect?
I ate my burger and fries quickly and left as fast as I could as these folks were no longer random strangers, but representatives of all the worst impulses of my country. Am I guilty of stereotyping? You wouldn't accuse me of that offense if you had overheard a few of the conversations and utterances emanating from the people in that Wendy's.
* * *
When I was dropping off my rental car at National Airport in Washington an older couple from West Virginia was yelling at the employees, all African Americans. "Where's our rental car?" they demanded.
One of the employees tried to explain that they could just pick any car out of one particular aisle, but for some reason the couple couldn't comprehend and kept angrily demanding their car.
"You can go pick up any damn car in that aisle over there," I growled. "The keys are in the ignition." Only then did they drop their anger and comprehend, when I, the fellow bearded white guy intervened.
"You both voted for Trump, didn't you?" I asked them as they left for their car.
"Yes, how did you know?" they replied, visibly surprised by my insight.
"Because you are being very unpleasant and angry for no good reason," I said.
Scowling, they scurried toward their car. It was the only time I made any anti-Trump statements to strangers, despite the many temptations. Good thing I'm headed back to Kyrgyzstan because eventually I would have made a comment to the wrong Trumpian and I would have ended up, sooner or later, getting punched in the face. Or worse.
I really need to get over the election, but I know I can't.
* * *
I used to travel the road from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania to Selinsgrove, PA quite frequently and I had to make this drive again earlier this month. There are seven large flagpoles in yards along the way. In the past all of them displayed American flags. This trip I noticed one empty flagpole, four with American flags, and two with Confederate flags proudly unfurled.
Question: when has Pennsylvania ever been a Confederate state? I would expect this sort of nonsense in the backwoods of Arkansas, but Pennsylvania?
Concern: next time I make this trip will all the flagpoles be displaying Confederate flags? Who knows, maybe someday someone will be bold enough to fly a swastika? Yes, the sample size is quite small, but the trend line is still rather worrying.
* * *
I had forgotten how bad traffic can be on the roadways Back East. One 30-mile stretch of I-95 was so congested in took me almost four hours to navigate.
To pass the time stuck in this stalled traffic, my car at a complete standstill, I put a mental picture of my daily Kyrgyz commute in my mind. In my head, I literally calculated the distance and counted how many steps it takes me to walk from my apartment to my office. 175 steps taking two minutes to traverse. That knowledge comforted and soothed me as I sat in that horrific traffic jam--remembering the life I would return to.
No wonder everyone in America is so angry. Going nowhere very slowly. It's not a good way to live.
* * *
Why are my random observations so bleak? Have I cherry-picked all the bad moments of my trip? Am I by nature a pessimist? A cynic? I don't know, probably, definitely, and sometimes (but I prefer to call it realism).
Yet somehow something feels different to me today in America, and it doesn't feel good. Certainly, America is not the place it was when I was a child. There was something a little more carefree, it seemed like things were progressing, people weren't so stressed and uptight, not nearly so angry, and we all were less fearful back then. Maybe the shock of Trump is influencing my perceptions. Yes, it is influencing my perceptions. But Trump wouldn't be about to enter the White House if something wasn't profoundly troubling and so completely wrong in America. And the antidote that's been chosen by the angry whites seems as though it will be the worst medicine ever devised.
As my plane took off from Los Angeles, leaving the country, I realized that what I viewed over the landscape during my month in America was a vision of sorrow and a premonition of disaster. We're now a completely divided country where one side is angry and the other side now very depressed.
I can only hope that I am mistaken, thrown off by misperceptions and a mournful disposition. Yes, let us hope.
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