06.11.2024
Examination Day
Early this morning a short notification arrived on the phone. I read it squinting in the dark.
The newsletter was intended to lighten the load of anxiety that, at the time of this writing, is creeping through the veins of many hundreds of millions of people, toward a possibly dreaded crescendo—despite any sense of optimism that at least half of the citizens hold—on both sides: an examination of the country’s psyche through the numbers at the ballot box. In a brief paragraph the sender of the newsletter acknowledged the weight of the US federal election, offered well wishes to his recipients, and as a solace, left us with a poem by Alison Luterman. The poem, Holding Vigil, is nothing less than a pure and much-needed salve to the burning sensation of unknowing. I commend it. The newsletter on which it was sent was titled: Today. Holding each other’s hands. It seems nursing duties are among today’s essential responsibilities.
At this moment, the US voting map on my phone indicated that the polls had closed in the US states of Ohio and Kentucky, and that reporting would soon commence. Also at this time, a glimpse was seen of commercial properties in Washington DC, their windows defensively boarded up. I’ve decided not to go back to check on any reporting until this piece is ready to post. There’s no sense in sending the tongue to a split in the gum. It will only bring hurt.
The low bamboo clonk of the email notification at 2.14am went unheard, but on my waking at 3.54, words swirled overhead because that’s what they do when I uncharacteristically come out of a coma-like sleep, begin to recall the evening’s discussions and thoughts. In this morning’s case, it was all about the madness the US is going through, and how it has been the most talked-about subject of the last few years. The US is a country that is reaping a whirlwind, largely the result of its own many decades-long neglect. Built into their system are its failings because the essence of good faith no longer holds the currency it once had. Where mal-intent is brought into the political hand-to-hand with a complete abandonment of civil behaviour, to be right and true carries no weight. The siloed Right has been out of earshot for more than ten years. What matters most, it seems, is to be carefree, fast and loose, incessantly seduced, to inflate the exceptionalism fairytale to ever keep talking up a superiority, while the whole parade of crooked covered wagons bump along on corrupted wheels, manufacturing poverty, homelessness, ignorance, sickness for the growing many (while obscene wealth for a very few), and, it must be noted, the finest fears that such an industrial behemoth can churn out. Still, it’s a country with more promise than any other place on earth. Or so it is said—ad nauseam. This is not to discount the bounce-back in the most recent term. But the land of the free, the home of the brave, and the malls of unspeakable truths are shouting delusions while a blonde white Jesus waits in the wings to rule a western caliphate. It’s in the new nine-hundred page Project 2025 instruction manual. Societies of even a slightly more genteel complexion have been aghast.
An old friend, and former colleague, has been certain for some time that Trump hasn’t a chance. ‘He’s a goner!’ he would say. I hope that in writing this, while ignoring exit poll data and the count itself, his assessment turns out to be the case.
It’s been said that a delusion will have its believer do anything to maintain their delusion. The United States of America has been showing itself to be an industrial powerhouse in that regard. The tightrope of freedoms pitted against superstitions and ignorance is showing itself to be as potentially poisonous as any lime Kool-aid in a steaming jungle.
There’d been a lunch gathering a couple of days back. One of the treats was ice cream and strawberries. Last night was leftovers, with leftover ice cream and strawberries. I like strawberries, but I had always, since early childhood, preferred refrigerated tinned sliced peaches with my ice cream. This humble recollection somehow sanitised the close of the day before the opening of the day of the US election.
In the heat of this morning’s sun, blossoming with humidity after last night’s storm, the feeling came back of the worry I’d had as I walked up to the echoing assembly hall of my high school. My mathematics was first in line for the testing. Examination Day has always been a poisoned pill, and we have another of our very own coming up next year.
TA