For days after the election, I fielded phone calls and texts and DMs and IMs from friends near and far, offering support, asylum and solid advice. I got a text from my German sibling in Berlin that made me very happy. I've chatted with lots of musicians who say they're not working or associating with anyone who voted for Trump. One friend couldn't stop crying. Another didn't know what to do about her Republican relatives. Because Thanksgiving.
No one wants to spend the holidays with parents who voted for a bigoted, racist white supremacist. No one wants to buy Christmas presents for anyone who put the alt-right in The White House. No one wants to spend any quality time with someone who refuses to acknowledge that by campaigning on hate and fear, Trump created this climate of
violence and open hostility against people of color, women, the disabled and LGBTQs. This is what we're left with: everyone getting bullied, even children (it's become a disturbing trend); women getting groped when they least expect it; African-American college students, harassed; and yes, murder.
Like a monkey gleefully flinging it's own excrement, way too many white people are spewing all kinds of racial epithets in every direction and smearing their ignorance all over everything with a fervor that is nothing short of stultifying. A friend in his 50s told me that he didn't recognize his high school friends anymore. He couldn't believe the things they were saying. When I hung up the phone, I remembered that his ex-wife was Jewish. His daughters -- both in college -- were at risk. One of them was in a march somewhere on the west coast and some guy hit her in the head with a rock.
He felt helpless, scared. "How do you know who the good guys are?" he asked me. Welcome to my black world, I must have said. Or something like that. And then I laughed.
"But she's my Mom," a gay friend whispered tearfully.
"Does she know who Mike Pence is? Does she realize what she's done?" I said flatly.
"Yeah," he said weakly. "She keeps going on about how Trump is going to bring morality back..." And then his voice trailed off. He's a musical theater performer. His husband is a musician. They've got Obamacare. They've got a great life. And it's over.
The moon hasn't been this close to the earth since 1948 -- when African-Americans were at the mercy of home-grown terrorism by the Klan (all over the country, not just the South) and the federal government did nothing to stop them. There'll be other supermoons that will make you press pause and look up and wax poetic, but it won't be this close again until 2034 -- and God only knows what this country will be like when that happens. We won't be where we were in 1948 -- but where are we going?
Hopefully, you did something momentous on Sunday night. (If you didn't, tonight is your night.) MPB and I had a mutton chop at Keen's and ate like it's 1889. Then we went for a walk in the moonlight and this depression rose and floated away from me like smoke. By the time I got home, something had shifted.
As this new reality sets in and the climate of hate refuses to go away, it'll be interesting to see and hear what your favorite artist has to say about any of this in 2017.