In 2015, I met a retired lieutenant commander in the United States Navy who had purchased a small townhouse about a block down the road from mine. He was often in the yard doing renovations and walking by on my way home from work I’d sometimes stop to talk. From the start of our acquaintance, he was extraordinarily candid about his life.
It only took a few chats to learn that his ex-wife and three kids were still in Rota, Spain. According to him, she’d divorced him for verbal abuse. He’d called her a “chupón,” which in Spain literally means “sucker,” figuratively a self-serving manipulator, and in sports slang a “ball hog.” For this, the courts granted her full custody of the kids, their home, both cars and everything else they owned. Before the divorce was finalized, she had installed another man and put a restraining order on the LCDR.
He’d been back in the States for several years and hadn’t seen his kids since he’d left Rota. I said, “That’s sad.” He said, “It is what it is.”
He had a herniated disc from a Hummer accident and numbness in his foot. He wasn’t exactly sure what was causing the numbness, though he suspected that it had something to do with the disc injury. So I told him how a herniated disc at that part of the spine can pinch the nerve that runs to your foot. He told me that the VA hadn’t done anything but give him pain killers. I suggested that he try physical therapy and I think he did.
Despite the injury, he was extremely active, carried a combat dagger on his belt and talked about his guns a lot. I gathered that he had quite the arsenal. Though he seemed to appreciate my company, we only hung out in the yard. I admit that the knife, the guns and the meds made me a bit cagey.
In 2016, the day after the presidential election, I was walking home and he was planting shrubs out front.
“Hey, so Trump won,” he said.
“Unfortunately,” I replied.
“You didn’t vote for him?” He was surprised. I got the impression that I had betrayed our proto-broship.
“Well, I wasn’t happy with either candidate. But I couldn’t vote for that guy.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Well, for one thing, he’s a reality-TV scammer who’s got no experience in government. For another, he lies like nobody’s business.”
“But they all do that shit,” he said. “Look at Clinton.”
“Did Obama do that shit?”
He didn’t have anything on Barack. But our front-yard convos changed. He made it a point to praise Trump every time I passed. He claimed that Trump was the best president the country had ever had.
“He’s great,” he said once. “He’s got balls.”
If he thought that having balls sufficed for greatness, then there wasn’t much I could say to change his mind. Besides, Trump’s ball-tripping was all over the news and his arrogance, mendacity, bigotry and vindictiveness were more blatant than ever. What could I say that the news agencies weren’t reporting all day long?
Later I realized that we probably weren’t getting the same news, or that the only news he got issued from Trump’s Twitter account. So, whenever he glorified Trump, I’d rejoinder with a bit of news that Fox had either distorted or ignored, or Trump had denied or obfuscated.
It went on like that for a couple of years. He praising Trump and I shaking my head and delivering some comeback from the world of fact. It became a routine: ribbing liberal guy and liberal guy obliging with an amusing rejoinder. It was all in good humor. Jocular and friendly-like. Nothing personally insulting or offensive. Just banter between proto-bros.
After the Stormy Daniels scandal broke, he started sitting on his stoop in the evenings wearing a “Trump 2020” T-shirt. I’d sneak by on the opposite side of the street and he’d yell some shit about how El Don was going to win.
When I brought-up the hush money, he said, “What did he do wrong? If Stormy Daniels wanted to suck my dick I wouldn’t say no.”
Eventually, I got tired of the razzing and his delusion that Trump could do no wrong. By that time, the prospect of the tyrant sociopath winning another term was nothing short of dystopian. And I was actually afraid that it might happen, because it was two years out and the republicans were already marching down the campaign trail, while the democrats would take a year to put their socks on.
My wife got a job in Northern California and we decided to move. I told my neighbor and he seemed annoyed. “Why would you move out there with all those Pelosi liberals?”
Being a NorCal native, I reassured him that there were plenty of Trumpers out there to tip the scales.
Before I moved, he told me that he’d quit his job at the Navy Yard. When I asked why, he said that they had hired a new office manager and, “She didn’t know shit about the Navy. Goddamned liberals.”
Despite his anger at the goddamned liberals for hiring someone unqualified, he invited me over to eat crawdads on Veteran’s Day. I declined. Why? Not because he was a goddamned Trumper and I was a goddamned liberal, or that I hated crawdads. Personally, I thought he was a decent guy with legitimate grievances. I just didn’t want him to rub Trump in my face for two hours. Nor did I want to be one of those goddamned liberals who failed to acknowledge his legitimate grievances.
But there was more to it. Since the nineties I hadn’t been comfortable with being a goddamned liberal. I was ashamed of the smug superiority that had allowed a fascist demagogue to step in, hog the mic and steal the liberals’ rightful constituency. I was ashamed of how they had ignored what most Americans cared about. I was ashamed that they had wrapped themselves in identity politics and put people’s differences before their similarities. Most of all, I was ashamed that they lacked the sack to get out there early and use every available pulpit to tell Americans what they proposed to do about real problems.
Who would have known that they gave two shits about inflation, illegal immigration, drug addiction, medical debt, student debt, climate disasters, election influence by foreign adversaries, public health crises, contaminated water and air, expensive and futile wars, social media disinformation, domestic terrorism, wealth stratification, corporate malfeasance, gun violence and the national debt? Were they aware that people are not special interest groups but individuals who mostly want the same things?
It’s been more than half a decade since I’ve seen my former neighbor and not much has changed in American politics—with exception that the goddamned liberals are more humble, considerate and divisive than ever, while the fascist demagogue is more powerful and rapacious than ever. At this point, I’d consider using tax dollars to sew a sack on the goddamned liberals, if that’s what it would take for them to lift a bigger bullhorn. Because, as David Corn said, “If they are not matching Trump and Musk syllable for syllable, they are losing.”