A Ride The Day After The Day After

 The other morning I took a ride to Fort Totten before work. Those 45 miles (72.5 kilometers) of pedaling—into the wind for most of the way out—were just what I needed to help me with my post-election trauma. It might be a reason why the class I taught was easier than the two I taught the day before, the day after the election.

I am happy to report that some things haven’t changed

yet.  I hope that someone doesn’t discover petrol under Long Island Sound or anywhere in this area.  I don’t want to see El Cheeto Grande’s campaign donors “drill, baby, drill.”

The Aftermath , So Far

 Orange Crush (i.e., the election) left me crushed. People who know me could see it; some of them, I am sure, felt the same way.  One of our building’s managers, however, said, “It’s gonna be OK.” I wonder whether he believes it.

Since Tuesday night’s testament to treachery, I have taught three classes: one last night and two on Wednesday.  I barely heard a peep from the first group. Were they merely stunned, or did they feel resigned. Since most of them are of traditional college age (18-19 years old), I hope it’s not the latter.

The second class is smaller: 7 students. As you can imagine, it’s easier to get everyone to participate. At least, on a normal day it is. But the other day, they seemed as stunned or mentally weary as my first class, save for one student. He, who emigrated as a teenager with his family, became a citizen through US Military service. Interestingly, when we discussed The Trial and Death of Socrates, he was as zealous as anyone I’ve met in his defense, if you will, of the peripatetic philosopher: “He thought for himself. He questioned authority. That’s what we must do.” Thus, I am not surprised that he lambasted Trump as he did; what surprises me is that anyone who wears, or has worn, the uniform could support a career criminal who called the permanent residents of the Aisne-Marne American Cemetery “losers” and “suckers” after skipping out on a D-Day commemoration .

Last night class, on the other hand, was lively, even feisty. Most of those students come in to class from work, and all of them were upset that Trump won the election. One student mentioned Project 2025 which calls for, among other things, dismantling the Department of Education. Others mentioned their fears about health care, immigration and women’s and LGBT rights. Most interesting or all though, was the participation of one student whom I hadn’t heard before. “This whole country will be like Texas!” she lamented.

That wasn’t an idle statement: She was born and raised in the Lone Star State, “near Dallas.” She has spent time in other parts of the state: Houston, El Paso, Lubbock, San Antonio. The latter is home to The Alamo. “It’s all they talk about,” she said, “as if there’s no other history.”

I interjected that I was taught it was a “battle for freedom:” Texans wanted to liberate themselves from the yoke of Mexican oppression and become part of the Land of Liberty. “That’s what we were taught”—about half a century after I was so indoctrinated—“but we were also taught that it was part of Manifest Destiny, which was part of God’s plan.”

“They actually told you that God wanted the US to take Texas?” She nodded. Never was it mentioned, she explained, that Texans were fighting to keep slavery, which Mexico abolished four decades before the United States.

“We have to do away with American exceptionalism,” she intoned.”

People like her are the reasons for whatever hope we may have. She has obviously taken the time to learn what she wasn’t taught and questions authority and received wisdom. I can only hope that people like her aren’t brought before kangaroo courts on trumped-up (no pun intended) charges and don’t have to suffer his fate.

About Last Night

Today I will once again invoke my "Howard Cosell rule." That means today's post won't involve bicycles or bicycling.

By now, you know what happened last night.  During the previous two Presidential elections, I admonished friends, co-workers and other people I knew not to be so confident that Donald Trump "didn't have a chance" to win.  Ironically enough, I was, in my own way, pointing out  exactly what the right-wing pundits and media accuse them of:  not seeing anything outside of their liberal/New York/academic "bubble."

The first time, in 2016, I was accused of being "alarmist," "too sensitive" or even "paranoid" for expressing my fear of a Trump victory.  Even in the 2020 contest, held during the worst of the COVID pandemic, I didn't think another Trump victory was beyond possibility:  It seemed that his mistakes emboldened him, and his supporters, precisely because he seemed not to learn from them. Those same supporters believed Trump had a second term "stolen" from him and the Capitol riot was a "peaceful protest."  

Some of my friends and co-workers who couldn't or wouldn't see the world (or, more precisely, the USA) beyond the Hudson simply didn't understand someone in a moribund small town or rural area who saw his (or, in rarer cases, her or their) place in this country threatened by immigrants or people of color. Or why they believed that they were losing their rights as women, racial minorities and LGBTQ people were gaining those same rights.  

I could, because I was once one of those white males who believed I was being told to "shut up and pay your taxes" so that others could "sponge off" the system and, through "affirmative action," was being denied jobs that went to people who were less qualified than I was.  And throughout my life I have remained in contact, partly through family ties, with people who believe people like me and others different from themselves are getting "special privileges" when they are simply afforded the same consideration for education, jobs and other things cisgender heterosexual Caucasian Christian men (and, to a lesser degree, women) could take for granted, even if they weren't wealthy.

My views have changed, in part because of affirming my gender identity (what some people still call "gender transition" or "gender change"). Donald Trump's hostility toward transgender people is obvious.  Now that he is older and less inhibited than he was during his previous term, I fear that he will have less, if any, compunction about  targeting us in ways that Ron de Santis and Vivek Ramaswamy couldn't envision--or, at least, couldn't execute because they don't have the governmental and other resources available to them that Trump will enjoy as President. He has talked about ending protections equality for us. And too many of his supporters simply hate us, whether for religious reasons or because of their views about "masculinity" and "femininity." Worst of all, as we saw in the Capitol riots, they feel emboldened by his rhetoric and personality to commit violence against us, and anyone else they see as a threat to their world-view.

The last clause in the previous sentence, unfortunately, illustrates the political and intellectual climate of this country.  I am old enough to remember when if you were of one party and debated someone from the other, you could at least have a fairly civilized discussion of economics, foreign policy, social issues or even the arts.  Now it is a fight over your right to simply exist.  And that is what I fear most about the upcoming Trump term:  For me, and others like me, it will be simply about staying alive, much less out of prison or a mental hospital (to which we could be committed involuntarily). 

I also fear that too many of my fellow Harris supporters will understand why she lost this election even less than they could have fathomed a Clinton defeat/Trump victory in 2016.  That is the biggest reason--not the "low information voters" or people who "vote against their interests"--why Trump won again last night and why his second term could be more ominous than his first.