It’s a few minutes before 5pm, and I’m waiting a moment before going outside to drink a beer, eat some peanuts, and watch the sun set behind the Tucson Mountains. It has been another shamefully terrible day for the United States. After a decade of preparation, it took Hitler only 53 days to subjugate Germany, and this old/new American administration is right on schedule.

     I live on the east bank of the Santa Cruz River, where the Tohono O’odham had their fields. Life changed fast when the Apaches arrived, then the Spanish, followed by the Anglos. Each brought different types of aggression: terrifying raids, suffocating domination disguised as beneficence, or outright racial contempt. The O'odham are still here, all around me, in person and in spirit. My neighbor says his ancestors protect me, and I want to believe him, but I have my doubts. Maybe there’s something in me still waiting to be found, the courage of conviction regardless of consequence. You know, all the foolish Hollywood stuff that romanticized what a “true American” is. Certainly, I’ve lived an incredibly soft and privileged life, so we shall see. 

     I’ve never owned a flag of any nation, but I recently bought one. It’s not Ukrainian—although that would be a good one to display—but American, and it flies upside down facing the river and “the loop”, the bike and pedestrian path that circumnavigates Tucson. From there it’s easy to see my house, and the flag of distress hanging from my clothesline. The loop gets a good cross section of Tucson. My favorite regulars are the walkers: solitary, in pairs, or families. There’s one guy, he looks like the late great Canadian actor John Candy, and he strides purposely, determined to save his life. He doesn’t know it, but I cheer for him, and he’s shed at least twenty pounds since I first saw him. Next are the bicyclists, number one a gal who takes care of her stabled horse at my neighbor’s corrals. I admire her dedication, and her choices of transportation. I invent all sorts of narratives for her, she’ll surely wind up in a short story. Of course, the homeless come and go in different states of despair, their shopping carts full of lost dreams, and idiotic snowbirds on e-bikes going twice as fast as they should. Last on my list are the low to the ground fancy trikes, powered by grimacing boomer males, flying banners spouting various patriotic drivel. That they are utilizing a public amenity largely funded by federal grants is amusing I guess, but I’ve lost a good chunk of my sense of humor since November. 

     For my sanity and civic duty, I’ve been to a few protests. The first was at Saguaro National East, part of the National Park system. This magical place has been devastated by budget cuts orchestrated by an unelected ketamine fueled billionaire and his crew of far right edgelords. It was windy as hell, but I found smiles and joy, real people outside in the physical world, making some good and necessary trouble. Most of the cars entering and leaving honked in support, but the look of hate from a silver haired shrew giving us the finger is frozen in my mind. Afterwards, I went to a birthday party for a five year old, the bi-racial daughter of a nephew. They live in a middle class northeast neighborhood, not far from where I grew up. I was struck by the rainbow of families there, the Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion so vilified by a loud and powerful minority, who now control all three branches of government. Sixty years ago, when I was her age, the gathering would have been predominantly caucasian, even in the most liberal of families. Positive change has happened, and with it, hate towards those who have benefited. The other side of the coin is economic, with Reagan’s trickle down theory (previously known as horse and sparrow) forcing more and more people to fight over an ever shrinking pie. Class war, culture war, take your pick, ugly doesn’t begin to describe it, and it’s all many young people have ever known. Can you blame them for being so lost and susceptible to brain changing messaging algorithms flooding their senses? Makes cocaine seem like child’s play.     

     Right now, I cannot imagine what sort of world my niece will grow up in, or whether there’s a future at all. Of course, I did not say any such thing, but smiled and laughed and enjoyed a slice of cake. We have to pretend to live, even as Rome burns. One thing is certain, there are millions of other Americans who are as angry as I am, and will not roll over and play dead. What that will look like is anyone’s guess, the Democratic Party is currently worthless, with a few exceptions in their ranks. It will be up to us to save ourselves, to find a way through the wilderness, and emerge battered but not broken by the worst sort of leaders mankind has to offer. We are not afraid, despite the clickbait headlines. It’s the bullies who are cowards, that much never changes. We shall overcome, get ready you bastards.

To be continued….