Alienated

I had tempered hope for the 2020 election.  I hoped that it would be a sound rejection of the hatred and transparently authoritarian bent of the previous four years.  This election would prove that we are primarily a nation of good people and that 2016 was not a harbinger, but a blip.  A moment in time that we, as a majority, were caught napping.  It would never happen again.  The real silent majority would rise up and put things properly in their place.  I had no allusions that this would be a quick and painless process but we would at least be headed in the right direction.  Unfortunately, these comforting thoughts do not reflect reality.  

Donald Trump is not a man. He is not a business person.  He is not a president.  He is a litmus test.  The 2020 Presidential Election was not an election of an American president, it was a raw, uncomfortable stare into who we are as a nation.  If you are any combination of fearful, racist, bigoted, misogynistic, sociopathic or fascist then Donald Trump is irresistible.  If you are devoid of these things, Donald Trump is, quite simply, the absolute embodiment of the worst of our species.

When we have half of any population that wishes to indulge their worst instincts, replace reality with narrative, and revel in the discomfort they have caused, we as a society are in deep, deep trouble.   Regardless of who wins, today isn't a sad day for our nation.  It isn't a sad day for democracy.  It's a sad day for humanity.  

My hopes for this nation are nonexistent.  My only sliver of solace being that the overlay of these people is not homogenous across this country. In fact, it is quite the opposite.  I vividly remember when the first relative I was close to died.  I had this overwhelming urge to be with family.  To be with people I shared a common bond with.  To be with people that shared my grief.  Today, the day after the election, I have the exact same feeling.  Yes, these people exist where I live.  But we are a minority.  We are lacking the critical mass to shape the world in which we live.  I can no longer be here.  I don’t want my son to grow up here.  If there is no  hope for this country I need to, at the very least, live out the rest of my days amongst a majority of people that share with me, in some small part, a general idea of what a decent and just society requires from its citizens.  This cannot be said for my current home.  It cannot be said for many places south of the Mason-Dixon line and it is why, today, I feel the overwhelming need to head north.  It is why, once departed, I will make no plans to ever return.