We are seeing, in my opinion, an outbreak of idiocy. It’s like the Spanish Influenza outbreak of 1918 on these Internet streets. But there’s a special, terrifying form of idiocy found in people whose understandings of presidential politics are based on “what would be most entertaining for me.”
A dark side of me wants to see what happens if Trump is in. There is going to be some kind of change, even if it’s like a Nazi-type change. People are so drama-filled. They want to see stuff like that happen. It’s like reality TV. You don’t want to just see everybody be happy with each other. You want to see someone fighting somebody.
No, we don’t. We don’t want that at all.
You want to “see stuff happen” politically? Then get your ass down to a city council meeting. Start yelling about mayoral elections. But don’t think for a second that a Donald Trump presidency would make your life more “interesting.”
A Donald Trump presidency would make your life worse. Even if you’re white. Even if you’re working-class. Even if you have been urging him to run for office since the first time you read The Art of the Deal. There is no part of your life that a Donald Trump presidency would not turn to ashes. From a trade war that could cost 4 million jobs and billions of dollars to the racist molepeople most engaged by Trump’s pandering, there is no good to be found, no entertainment, no “reality television” to be made out of a “reality television” candidate who is unfit for most basements, let alone the Oval Office.
Donald Trump’s candidacy lies on the malleable clay of “he’s making all this shit up as he goes along.” There is no principal, no guiding light, nothing beyond “only I can fix whatever it is that you believe is going wrong.”
That’s not a candidacy. That’s a cult.
That’s seeing the blight around you, of a changing economy and the shifting sands of time and globalization and communication technologies too fast to be imagined, and reacting by moving into a compound, putting on a pair of Nikes, and killing yourself so you can hitch a ride on the back of a fucking comet.
If your life is so devoid of meaning that “even a Nazi-type change” sounds at all appealing, I invite you to go outside and hug a tree or find a friend or, dear god, something, anything to push back the yawning chasm that must be inside you. The lack of connections you must feel to believe that the most horrific events in human history would be “entertainment” for you should concern everyone.
Don’t bring that darkness to us. Don’t bring darkness to me and my family because you can’t feel anything, or because you’re so enraged that your chosen presidential candidate didn’t win the nomination that you want to doom us all for our perceived sins.
We’re all in this together. Really. Even if you’re not in D.C., even if you’re not on Twitter, even if you’re as alienated and discouraged as you keep telling the press you’ve been made to feel. If Trump wins, you’re just as fucked as the rest of us.