I suspect I am not unique in experiencing an overwhelming sense of dread since the election was called for The Orange Troglodyte™. I’ve had a knot in my stomach since the polls began closing last night. I don’t think I drifted off to sleep until after 0400 Paris time. By then it seemed like it was close, but still winnable for Kamala Harris. I woke up a few short hours later and it was obvious, if not officially called, that she would not win.
I was texting two of my best friends as the realization set in that we were getting another nightmare four years. The three of us were stupefied. There were tears.
There is anger.
I’m on a cruise back to the U.S. as I write this. I spent the rest of today avoiding the news and people on the boat. Instead I surfed social media, checked on friends, and walked around my suite in a haze. I’ve only deleted a couple people off my socials so far, but I plan a purge later. I just can’t trust that anyone who would support a man who shit all over the things I hold dear; who rails against anyone he considers other and consistently punches down against those who cannot fight back. The people who could support a man like him – those people are not my people.
I answered questions from strangers and friends about moving to another country and pointed people in the right direction to help get them started in their process. I talked with friends who are worried about their kids in a country now run by a man who has singled them out as less than because they are gay, or female, or trans, or black. I talked with a trans friend who is afraid of losing access to healthcare.
And I thought. A lot.
I thought about the little gay presenting boy at the library who was afraid to say too loudly, lest his father hear, how much he liked my pink shirt. I thought about the little black boys and girls who used to come in to the same library the first time The Orange Troglodyte™ was in charge and the overwhelming sense of protection I felt for them. Now some of them are adults and I fear for them in a country that has elected a man so racist literal fucking Nazis endorsed him.
I even spent some time worrying about some of my own family that were dumb enough to vote for him despite the fact that his planned mass deportations will likely only pay cursory attention to differentiating between those brown people who are born here, here legally, and those who are not. But then I thought, fuck it, if they get deported it’s their own goddamn fault.
I caught myself staring at my wife, wondering what it is that she’s thinking about. I remembered her being excited at the prospect of having the first woman president sign her Air Force retirement paperwork. I remember her not really giving a shit when that paperwork, signed by DJT, was destroyed by a hurricane. “What do you expect?” That’s the thing The Orange Troglodyte™ said about women who are sexually assaulted in the military. I think you can understand why she didn’t give a shit that it was blown away.
A lot of people who have thanked each of us for our service voted for him. That is such a strange juxtaposition; here you are thanking us for serving while voting for a man who was too cowardly to serve and has a nasty habit of shitting on those who do.
And I thought about the felonies, and the rape, and the racism, and mocking of so fucking many people. I thought about the treason. A lot. I agree with him, by the way, about what we should do to traitors. I just also happen to believe he is unequivocally a fucking traitor.
I even thought about jumping on a train in Lisbon and going back home to Paris instead of going to the United States. But then I thought about Springfield, Ohio. There are Haitian immigrants there that The Orange Troglodyte™ singled out with his hateful vitriol. I can’t imagine what those immigrants must be feeling after last night’s election results, but Springfield is only about a half hour away from my wife’s family farm. We are planning on heading there for a meal at some Haitian restaurant with some friends.
So I won’t be getting on a train in Lisbon. But I cannot wait to get home again.
And when I get home again I don’t plan on going back the United States. Not for some time at least. But possibly not ever.
It’s not me, it’s you, United States. You understand.
My knot will dissipate before my anger.
