And the sun still rose on the sixth of November. I’d all been up late the previous night, vibrating with anxiety as the state-by-state results were broadcast on the humorously giant screen behind Brian Williams’ head. As soon as I felt sufficiently awake, around 6:30 a.m., I pulled myself out of bed and made a cup of coffee. Not the sludgy kind that tastes like tobacco, the foamy kind produced by my beloved Nespresso machine. I released the dogs into the backyard for their morning pee, and stood there for a moment, admiring a beautiful orange sunrise glowing through the trees. The race had been called in the wee hours of the morning, and as Americans wiped the crust from their eyes, we awoke to learn of our impending fate. Some of us were quite happy about the new arrangement. Others, well…
It should’ve been obvious that the night would unfold as it did, though it’s admittedly easy to claim obviousness in hindsight. Here are two factors that, in retrospect, made the result seem inevitable: First, the man whose last name rhymes with “glump” had outperformed the polls in his previous two attempts to secure the presidency, and this year the polls were showing a dead heat between him and his opponent, a woman who shares a last name with the guy who caught the Immaculate Reception. Secondly, the aforementioned woman was part of an administration with a historically low approval rating, and when she was asked what she’d do differently from her predecessor, what improvements she might make during her potential term, she answered “nothing comes to mind.” That may have been the cannonball that sunk her campaign, but who can really know with any degree of certainty why things turn out the way they do?
The race had been called in the wee hours of the morning, just an hour earlier, actually, and as Americans wiped the crust from their eyes, we awoke to learn of our impending fate. Some of us were quite happy about the new arrangement. Others, well…
There are other reasons, of course, but I’m not going to delve into them. I’m no pundit. If I were to sit down in a swivel chair across from Brian Williams and have him pepper me with questions about politics, I’d go mute. But by simply knowing the two facts listed above, which I gleaned from a New York Times article on election day, the eventual result seemed to be staring us in the face all along. In reality, it was only one of many possible outcomes, yet since that potential outcome became the actual outcome, it has now been solidified as inevitable. Fate can be used to explain a lot of things, but I’m not sure I believe in it. Or justice, for that matter.
I drank my coffee while the dogs went for a tinkle in the yard. I did not go to work as planned, because my son had walking pneumonia and I’d have to take care of him on this day, another day on which the sun did, in fact, rise. Some of us weren’t sure if it would, given the previous night’s events, but there it was. I can’t speak for January 20, because that day hasn’t happened yet, but I can confirm that, on November 6, the earth once again rotated to the precise point in which the sun assumes the illusion of rising. The world started to heat up. An unseasonably hot November day awaited us. Everyone went about their usual morning routines, no matter what campaign sign, if any, they had pegged into their front yards, no matter what kind of coffee they’d drank, the superior foamy Nespresso kind like me, or the cheap grainy kind that tastes like the ashes of a scorched New York Times.
It was a new day, yet the sun somehow looked different. Everything looked different. In what manner, I can’t quite pin down, but undeniably different, like when you glance in a mirror after not seeing yourself for a while and notice something a little off. On this morning I’d learned what answer Americans had for the following question, which had been implicitly posed to them when they filled out their ballots: Are you OK with, for the second time in eight years, electing to the most powerful office in the world, a guy…
- Whose last name rhymes with “glump.”
- Who stoked an insurrection that led to six deaths, while showing total indifference when his own vice president’s life was in danger.
- Who was convicted of 34 felonies.
- Who concocted and maintained a dangerous lie about the previous election being stolen despite the fact these claims have been debunked in numerous court cases.
- Who was apparently good buddies with a man who famously preyed on minors.
- Who mocked a disabled person.
- Who bragged about grabbing women’s genatalia against their will.
- Who said he wouldn’t mind if journalists were shot.
- Who paid a porn star hush money for having an affair with her.
- Who has disrespected war veterans.
- Who said he would not be opposed to using the military against “radical left lunatics.”
- Who said he would be a dictator “only on day one” of his presidency.
- Who bragged about going backstage at his beauty pageants so he could watch the contestants change.
- Whose misgivings and character flaws are too extensive to list in their entirety.
When the sun rose on the sixth of November, 71.9 million people had issued a resounding reply: “Yeah, I’m cool with all that,” they said. “Milk is way too expensive right now. Let’s give the guy another chance.”
It was a new day, yet the sun somehow looked different. Everything looked different. In what manner, I can’t exactly say, but undeniably different, like when you glance in the mirror after not seeing yourself for a while and notice something a little off.
Which I get! Milk is, in fact, too expensive. A lot of things are too expensive, metaphorical milk isn’t the only issue. It’s apparent that something needs to be done at the southern border, because I don’t think anyone, Democrat or Republican, is comfortable with the way things are being handled right now. I even sympathize, to a certain extent, with the mild pro-life crowd, though I stand firm with the old liberal refrain that abortion should be “safe, legal, and rare.” It’s understandable that a lot of people have been feeling insecure about the state of the country, and uncomfortable about their place in it, so I understand the urge to vote for a guy they genuinely believe, right or wrong, will make their lives better, the country a “safer” place. I disagree vehemently with their assessment and decision to support him, but I can’t say with absolute certainty that our collective quality of life would have been better by the normal objective measures if the other candidate would’ve won. I strongly believe it would’ve been, and I definitely believe this country is much better off without an impulsive narcissist in charge, but what the hell do I know?
I know a lot of people who voted for him, as I’m sure you do, too, given he won the popular vote by nearly five million ballots. Several of these people asked me, in the weeks leading up to the election: why not him? I never had a good answer in the moment, because I’m a slow-thinker who’s averse to expressing my true feelings, but had I been more quick-witted and courageous, I would’ve laid it out something like this: even if he was a legitimate political magician who could solve all of our economic woes with the flick of a McDonald’s french fry, does content of character (or lack thereof) carry no weight whatsoever? I’m not so naive to believe that liberal politicians are angels, because no one who climbs to the highest level of politics is innocent, but when you contrast someone like Mrs. Harris with a guy who’s done the terrible things he’s done (see: the laundry list above), I can’t think of a single scenario in which putting him in power for another four years would be in the best interest of our nation. What does it say about our country that we’ve elected a man who stoked a deadly insurrection then called said insurrection a “day of love?” That gross mischaracterization of one of the worst days in our nation’s history is reason enough to keep him light-years away from the White House. Yet nearly 72 million people threw open the door for him, and many proudly broadcasted their elation on social media in the wake of his victory.
I can almost, almost, sympathize with the reluctant Trump voter, the quiet Republican who sided with him because there were no other options, but I’ll never understand the people who are proud to support him, the ones who post their admiration for the man all over the Internet. It’s disheartening, disappointing and confounding. The emotion I felt most strongly when he won in 2016 was anger, but this time around the chief feeling is a mixture of disappointment and curiosity: how were so many people able to ignore, perhaps even accept, the truly abysmal things this man has done,while enthusiastically supporting him? The main reason I didn’t vote for him, could never vote for him, would vote for a wet sock over him, is because I could never justify to my son, or my future grandchildren, supporting a morally bankrupt individual capable of such vile and callous acts. Even if he did have a magic french fry that could make metaphorical milk 10 cents a gallon for the rest of eternity. Even if he promised all of us free gas for the next four years. Sometimes it should be about more than the economy, though this election seems to prove that most of the time, it isn’t.
The emotion I felt most strongly when he won in 2016 was anger, but this time around the chief feeling is a mixture of disappointment and curiosity: how were so many people able to ignore, perhaps even accept, the truly abysmal things this man has done and enthusiastically support him?
I was talking with a co-worker a few weeks before the election. We were sitting outside on a warm fall day. He asked me who I thought was going to win.
“Him,” I said.
He paused for a moment.
“Will you be OK with that?”
“Not really,” I said. “But I suppose I’ll have to be.”
I’m still not, but this is just the way things are now. The country we woke up to on the sixth of November is a very different country than the one many of us were hoping for. It’s also the one the majority of us were hoping for. Trump’s victory is inarguably the will of the people, and we must accept and respect the results of the democratic process. It’ll be OK, I hope. Maybe it won’t be. It’s only four more years. Just four. One thousand, four hundred and sixty days. Christ, it feels like forever when I put it like that. How about two hundred and eight weeks? Forty-eight months? Does that sound better? No, I don’t think it does. Oh, geeze.
I sat down on our big comfy couch in the living room and stared at the wall like a dull-witted goon. I heard a school bus thunder past outside. I didn’t pick up my phone, nor did I turn on the TV, even though I had a strong urge to do so. I briefly wished baseball was still on so I’d have something to distract me, but the season had faded away with the summer. The cold days of winter were nigh. I just sat there in the half-dark, the sweet bitterness of espresso on my tongue, a dab of foam adhering to my upper lip, waiting for my sick son to wake up, for another day to begin.
Ourland 
Leave a comment