By on August 2, 2016

When political engagement brings people ‘together.’

JACKSON HOLE, WY – My Republican lover Alice, assistant to the media chair for the Teton County Trump campaign, stopped by my trailer last week. She was in an agitated state.

“There was a Black Lives Matter rally in the square,” she raged. “They better enjoy it while they can. After November 8, the only protests allowed will be for ‘Make America Great Again.’ It’s Trump’s America now and he believes in freedom!”

Rage brings out the fire, passion and lusty hunger in good ole Alice. I was looking forward to an entertaining evening with her and her favorite toys: black lace, hydrated oil, electrode prods, and Tabasco (don’t ask).

“Sure, unarmed black people are killed by the police at a much greater proportion than white people, but so what?” she seethed. “According to a report released by the GOP—but suppressed by the press—heart attack victims in Trump Tower’s Luxury Suites are almost three times as likely to be white. Yet you don’t hear old, rich, white people bitching about racism.”

Alice had a way of explaining things that could simplify any subject.

After the evening’s titillating adventures, Alice headed for party headquarters to check the latest Trump tweets while I struggled with my conscience. I had attended the Black Lives Matter event on the square. My feelings of guilt over the obvious duplicity were quelled somewhat by the fact that, being from Hog Island, I did not have a clear understanding of the word “duplicity” and honestly shouldn’t even be using it.

I had arrived just as the Black Lives Matter rally was starting. I remembered what Susie, my Healthy Being organic juice girl once told me: “Offer your desires to the universe and she will respond.”

I noticed a cute blonde with a low-cut Columbia tank top, shorts, and a “Feel the Bern!” pin (thank you universe). I worked my way next to her then slipped on a bracelet I had made from an old shoelace. “I vow to not remove this bracelet until America sees racial equality!” I yelled.

She looked at me and said, “You’re so brave. And you’re right. You can be anti-racist, but no one knows unless you’re out here. It’s like having a new Patagonia pullover and not going to the bagel shop.”

I nodded in agreement as she continued. “I graduated with an inner-city cultural and race anthropology degree from Columbia. I know I can effect change and increase awareness using community initiatives, promoting visibility, and advocating for cultural proficiency to empower the disenfranchised.”

Not to be outdone, I replied, “I dream of a world where there is no racism, no discrepancy between rich and poor. Where greed is replaced by compassion, and every morning neighbors gather to sing and share a breakfast of organic juice, whole grains, and yogurt. Where children are given instruction in visual and performing arts, in pottery making, and learn how to create a heart design with the steamed foam of a latte.”

Her eyes teared up. “Do you want to share a moment of freedom in my apartment?”

I love divisive politics. PJH

About Clyde Thornhill

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