It’s over

The spontaneous cheering that broke out minutes ago is still happening in my neighborhood. I’m sitting upstairs listening to whistles, cowbells, car horns and drums. It is louder and more sustained than last week when the Dodgers won the World Series. I know there is SO MUCH WORK to be done.

Four years ago I remember feeling dread and shock. How could this be my country? How could we go from Obama to Trump? What was going to happen to me? What was going to happen to my friends, my students? There was the dread of the months leading to his inauguration and then that speech he gave, filled with dark images and anger. As soon as Sean Spicer came out and lied about the crowd size, as soon as spider lady Kellyanne Conway came out and spoke of alternative facts, I knew the damage was done. We were moving into a world of two realities.

Right now Trump supporters assume a communist or socialist or woke takeover of their country has taken place through some illegal process. They’re scared they’re going to be put into truth and reconciliation camps. They are shocked, sickened, angry. I don’t know if Trump supporters can ever be reached. I don’t know if we can ever get them back into reality. They believe in high numbers that Obama is a secret Muslim. They elected in Georgia someone who believes the Q conspiracy theories. They’re sleepwalking and to wake them is dangerous. It’s well studied and well understood that you cannot defeat delusions with facts. You can’t chart and graph your way out of ideological entrenchment. So what to do? I suspect it involves offering a face-saving off ramp. Can Biden do this? With McConnell doing everything in his power to undermine him even if it harms the country (maybe especially if it harms the country)?

I have woke up every morning for the past four years to sickening anxiety. “What did he do while I was asleep?” Because he never seemed to sleep. The fact that I can’t honestly dismiss my most outlandish fears about Trump — that he would lob a nuke at California. Sure, why not? I can’t rule it out — it’s not unthinkable with an unthinkable president. I have gone to bed every night with the thought, “I can’t believe the worst man in America is our president.” At least for four years I won’t have that thought.

Trump is like every monster in every horror film. The Last Girl assumes she’s killed him. She put him in a shredder. She ran him through with a pitchfork. She set him on fire. But then, in those last seconds before the credit crawl his eyes blink open, his hand reaches out and we CUT TO BLACK.