JULY 2, 2024 – As another Independence Day approaches, should we be worried about the state of our country and its prospects? Some would say . . . Strike that; a lot of people would say we should be worried. Democrats, for example. And Republicans, but not for the same reasons that Democrats are worried. Then there are the voters that have tuned out and . . . the folks on the fringe.
Today while driving into town from my isolation in the relative wilderness, I tuned into the local public radio station, WOJB, transmitting from the heart of the local Ojibway Reservation. Its political slant is about as leftwing as you’re going to find in the U.S., in the current era, anyway. Whenever I’m driving within reception range I like to listen to what’s “on air”—which is often protest music or leftie guests talking Marxist-Leninist dogma. I’m kidding about the Marxist-Leninist part, of course, but not by much. During today’s 20-minute trip to the center of town (and into the heart of holiday week traffic in the metropolis of Hayward, “Musky Capital of the World”), I got to hear Gertrude Stein, Cornell West, and a Native person critiquing Stein and West from the perspective of “what they’ll do for Native people.” More Republicans should listen to WOJB. If they did, they’d stop calling Democrats—even progressive Democrats—“extreme, radical, leftwing socialists.” One small step for a Republican, you might say; one giant leap toward re-unification of the country. (Well, maybe not, but I like the sound of it.)
According to Beth’s instructions, I stopped at the “meat place” to pick up more (quality) brats and hot dogs for the Fourth extravaganza. I’m not a member of the Vegan or Vegetarian Parties, but I felt a bit odd entering a retail establishment that sells nothing but MEAT (and a few small bags of chips in modest acknowledgment of a food group besides MEAT). I mean, holy pigs and cattle! All the other patrons, I decided, were definitely beef and pork eaters. How did I know? I could tell—mostly by the high ratio of pick-up trucks and oversized SUVs to regular cars out in the parking lot. (Actually, “How did I know?” was a trick question: people patronizing a MEAT store are presumably not there to buy chicken, seafood or . . . vegan or vegetarian fare.)
On my way out of town, out of convenience I stopped at the super-Walmart. The place was besieged with shoppers loading up for their respective Fourth of July shindigs. Once inside, I felt as if I’d entered a grocery-cart Bumper Car park. No one, it seemed, could avoid even a fender bender. I soon devised a workable technique for minimizing cart smack-ups and end-cap cart-jams. I parked my cart on the side of the unoccupied “frozen fruits and vegetables” aisle, then on foot maneuvered around all the bumper carts in the adjoining rows to hunt and gather items on my list.
The DYI checkout queue snaked around an island of s’mores ingredients, but the line moved fast enough to preempt discord. Actually, folks seemed fairly calm, despite the crowded conditions. If the MEAT patrons were all about the beef, the Walmart crowd, I noticed, were all about dogs and Dew, chips and cheese. One older middle-aged woman, however, was pushing a cart full of paper cups and plates, with a pre-made red and black sign sticking out from under the picnic supplies. I could make out “ware” on the right side and the letters “og” right below it. Clearly, she was thinking more about her guard dog and hot dogs, and her priority made me glad I wouldn’t be attending her picnic.
Once I’d cleared the checkout area, a great sense of relief swept over me. I was now free of the madding crowd, and I could head back to the cabin where nature reigns supreme. Filled with delight, I challenged my cart in a race to the car. The cart fell for the trick, not realizing that I had total control over both the process and the result. As I chuckled at this lame form of humor, however, it reminded me of the presidential campaign. What control do we have over that process and result? A lot less than I had over the cart.
Political scientists are having a field day, while Democrats are having a cow—first over Biden’s “senior 90 minutes,” then over the recent Supremes’ decision in the Loper Bright case overturning Chevron and in the Trump immunity case, overturning whatever limits might have restrained autocratic rule should he win in November.
I’m in favor of Biden stepping off the ticket—I still think. The stakes this time around are so high and the polling margin so close, a distinction must be made between (a) Biden’s actual fitness for office; and (b) his electability based on perceptions of his fitness for office. Of course, the two considerations intersect, but if carefully designed and conducted polls can provide reliable insight into Biden’s electability and the conclusion is that his re-election is now in much greater jeopardy, calls for him to leave the race are warranted. If Trump loses, he’s already intimated that he will challenge the result. In that event, life in this country will become infinitely more interesting than it already is. But if Trump wins . . . I fear it could be “game over” for the Great American Experiment, just over a year short of its 250th anniversary.
Back at the cabin, I put away the groceries and headed out for a long walk down the lakeside trail. Not a single tree along my route or a single wave landing on the shore seemed to share my concerns—no matter how deep they coursed. Before I knew it, however, the steady breeze had blown my cares away.
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
