There Are Literally No Words for Trump

The first president I remember clearly is Ronald Reagan. And what I remember is that he was a crook and a liar and a heartless bastard.

I’m not sure who told me this. I probably overheard it from friends of my parents during routine political discussions. But no matter where I heard it, I spent many years certain that Reagan was one of the worst things to ever happen to America.

At least until the Gingrich revolution, which, of course, was going to end civilization. Although, wait, no, the buffoon George W. Bush was the real apocalyptic threat. He was evil. He was Hitler. He was going to stage a coup and claim a third term with the help of his four horseman: Cheney, Haliburton, Diebold and Rove.

No, wait, no, there’s worse. The Tea Party is ripping apart the very fabric of the universe, shredding the laws of physics so the Koch Brothers can build thrones out of the bones of the 99% and force-feed the survivors Monsanto until their souls dissolve into piles of collateralized debt obligations.

Okay, I may have gotten carried away in describing the exact nature of the criticisms. But it is true that, for as long as I can remember (and I’m middle-aged, mind you), the opposition has been a grave enemy and something to fear, and often hate.

The exact same dynamics have, of course, been at play on the right for just as long. A peek into the way many conservatives speak about Obama will reveal a shit-stream of fear and hate roiling with such frequent comparisons to Hitler that the slur has become weightless, part of the miasma.

You can even see this rush-to-demonize happening in intra-party contests. A small but vocal percentage of Bernie Sanders supporters spend countless hours online portraying Hillary Clinton as some form of corporate-powered Kaiju beating the poor with bags of Goldman Sachs money. Meanwhile, hard-line conservatives are regularly portrayed by their harder-line Tea Party opponents as traitors to cause and country.

Over the last few decades, we have become increasingly incapable of reasonably criticizing the failings of our opponents, or appropriately defining the stakes in front of us. Every opponent is the WORST human being to ever live. Every election is the difference between American ascendancy and the End Times.

That’s not to say important things haven’t been at stake or that certain leaders haven’t been less than beneficial for the country. But it is to say: we’ve wasted all our words.

Now we have no way to describe the force that is Donald Trump.

Both sides have exhausted our language in an attempt to portray the other side as evil. Now our vocabulary is bare, our metaphors exhausted, our dire warnings dead on the road. There is nothing we can say about Donald Trump that hasn’t been said about far lesser threats. And that means there’s nothing we can say that will make his supporters pause and reconsider. Why would they pause at warnings they’ve heard all of their lives about every other politician?

Trump is an existential threat to the character of our nation. He has no respect for the dignity of the office he’s running for and no interest in protecting the Constitution or following international law. And by allowing the space for white-supremacists to move freely within his movement, he is giving power to a dangerous element that threatens the well-being and lives of millions of our citizens.

He riles up fear and hate in a way that is truly comparable to Hitler. And yet that analogy is useless. It won’t convince a single Trump follower to reassess because we’ve rendered the analogy meaningless. Indeed, everything I said is meaningless to anyone who is predisposed to support Trump. It’s all been said before, and said louder, and said with more rancor and spit.

When we overuse our words, we choke out our ability to speak truth. For the first time in my life, there is a real monster rising within our political system. But we’ve already named a thousand lesser threats monstrous. What do we call Trump? How do we find words that hold any meaning? Where are the words that will stop him?

In Support of Indiana

A lot of people are upset with Indiana right now, thanks to an anti-gay (or, I guess, a pro-bigotry) “religious freedom” law passed by the Indiana legislature and signed by the governor. Despite this being a political matter created by a select group of politicians, a lot of the comments I’m seeing on social media conflate “the government of Indiana” with “the people of Indiana,” damning everyone who lives in the state. As a Texan, I know what it’s like to be damned for the decisions of politicians.

If you have left-leaning Facebook friends or read comments on stories in liberal publications, you’ve likely seen more than few remarks that go “I would never set foot in Texas” or “Texans are all a bunch of idiots” or “I hope Texas secedes; I hate them.” Usually, if pushed, people will grudgingly acknowledge that maybe Austin is okay. Of course, thinking Austin is the only “okay” thing about Texas is the first sign that someone knows nothing about Texas.

I know nothing about Indiana. I’ve never been. And the only aspect of the state I can discuss with any authority is a fictional town. But I’m willing to bet Indiana’s governor did not win with 100% of the vote. And I’m willing to bet that 100% of the people who did vote for Indiana’s governor aren’t super happy about the state’s newest law.

Which is to say: I voted against Ted Cruz three times before he was elected to the U.S. senate. Once in the Republican primary (we have open primaries), once in the Republican runoff, and once again in the general election. And yet I’ve seen people imply or flat-out state that the man should make me ashamed to be Texan. Why? Because I live in a state where 56.5%  of people who bothered to vote did so for a less-than-qualified man with some seriously wrongheaded ideas?

“Well, you’re okay,” people have said to me. Great. I’m the Austin of my coastal compradres. But, let’s be clear, I’m not in Texas because I have to be. I’m not suffering through it or yearning for the blue lands of America’s love handles. Nope. I choose to be here. In fact, I absolutely love it here. I love heading down to the Pearl Brewery for a drink. I love hiking Big Bend National Park. I love camping in Marfa. I love kayaking the Colorado River. I love sitting on the beach in Port Aransas. I love taking my kids to the Houston Museum of Natural Science and the Fort Worth Zoo and the Dallas Museum of Art. I adore Fiesta. I have a blast at Dallas Cowboys games. And at Spurs games. I look forward to my neighbor’s crawfish boil. I’ll take any excuse to stroll past the old homes up the street, or walk along the Museum Reach. And I am proud of Gemini Ink and particularly their Writers in Communities program.

Oh, and yeah, Austin is okay too.

I could go on. Seriously, the list of things I love about my home state would exhaust you. The list of things I don’t like is a heck of a lot shorter. The eternal construction on I-35 sucks. August temperatures over 105 are not enjoyable. And a fair number of the decisions made by our state-level and national politicians do not conform to my political leanings. That’s all I can think of to put on the dislike list right now. And yet that third one is supposed to make me want to run screaming from my state? Heck, that third one is the only one that I have hope can improve!

When I see someone spitting vitriol about Texas, I have several reactions. First, I am irritated. Then I feel sad that someone would deny themselves the openness to love such a lovable place. Then I end up feeling disheartened that so many view politics as The Defining Thing About a Place. Or: The Defining Aspect of Who We Are. In the past, I’ve been guilty of making politics too central to my enjoyment (or lack of enjoyment) of life. So I know how it happens. But I try not to let it happen anymore.

Don’t get me wrong. I do care deeply about homosexual and transgender rights (and many other political issues). And I do think Indiana’s law is a harmful law. But I am also convinced that the politics of Indiana is a tiny fraction of what Indiana really is. If economic pressure helps right the wrong of that law, I’m all for it. Let’s do it. Let’s just do it without labeling all Indianans as some lesser species and their state as some cesspool.

We can’t allow politics to deaden our empathy or shut us off to the rich complexities of people and places. When our desire to reform a law—or when our disagreement with a politician—causes us to send a surge of hate into the world, we’re making the world less. There’s no sense in that. Not when there’s so much out there to love. In Texas, and in Indiana too.