Swimming with Deplorables

It’s a beautiful world, so sayeth the dream-like song. Unfortunately, not under today’s scarlet sea, which I discovered when down in Florida recently for a securities conference. We were all there in the pristine resort pool, all laughing and drinking in the sun before the onslaught of the storm to come. I sat under a poolside waterfall and was eventually joined by a house roofer from Georgia who, on the surface, seemed like a pleasant fellow. As our chatter progressed from the temperature in Canada to the hard edge of US politics, we began to gather opinions from other voices hailing from Tennessee and North Carolina. As the “storm” barrelled across the nation, the rhetoric in the pool began to hit TV levels along with vitriol, which crawled on all fours to depths not seen in days gone by. As the sun began to fade under a thick layer of ignorance, the beautiful world became wrapped in an impenetrable haze.

I’ve seen these faces and heard their voices on TV and elsewhere, but I have never been confronted by them in the flesh. The “stealing” of the 2020 election was the common ground for the southern set who brayed and prayed at the feet of their saviour. One of the tattooed, bearded disciples with a mane that has never been kissed by Brylcreem insisted that Trump was the living representative of Christ on earth. Sadly, he was probably confusing the paper towels, which Donald loved throwing to his flock, and loaves of bread from the Last Supper. And when I asked the roofer from Georgia what evidence he had that confirmed the ” fix ” in 2020 he answered that it was all there in print. Pushing forward to see if “in print” included the cartoons in The New Yorker, his eyes bored into mine like hot coals; I had suddenly found myself on a deplorable hate list. “Just wait,” he said, “your days are coming,” and the southern contingent, showing their best smiles (broken teeth and the rest yellow), paddled off to a place in the pool where they could continue to rave about their miserable lot in life; double negatives abounded.

How can these people believe that fat Donald could walk on water is beyond me. When John Kennedy was shot and killed, the misery and grief were palpable at all levels. It changed everything. When the wannabe autocrat was nicked in his ear by a wannabe assassin, it was the deplorables who cried that the shooter was wearing a blue baseball cap with a big “D” imprinted on the front. It changed nothing. The impenetrable “fake” belief system, perfected by Joseph Goebbels, was an insatiable nightmare fed and nourished by a very stupid man.

As the pool boys began removing the mattresses off the chaise lounges around the pool, the deplorables packed together, swilling their beer and singing “We’re all here ’cause we love ya” as an ode to the one who would deliver them the justice they believed (within their grade school education) was far overdue. From the far end of the pool, a lone figure wearing a red maga cap hurled himself out of the water, muttering, ” Just a quarter of an inch.”

Later, as the day descended into night, I stood on the balcony of my room and peered into the empty pool. I could not imagine that there was a “someone” with staff in hand who could part these waters.