And I Think to Myself, “What a Tumultuous World.”

Back again, back again. We’re now 29 days out from the wedding and I’m spinning tiny plates on top of other spinning plates. I have to write two Climate Corner articles before we wed (as I can only imagine I won’t have the bandwidth to crank out an article over our celebratory weekend) and I also volunteered to write a brief article on local food security for SAFE (Safe Alternative for our Forest Environment). Oh, and I’m choreographing three separate dance pieces for the showcase in June! I like to stay busy.

I suppose I should start by saying a tentative peace has been agreed upon by all parties and that my parents will be in attendance for the wedding. Last weekend my mother asked me what I thought about the war in Ukraine and, as almost always happens, the conversation devolved. She called Biden weak, demented, and disappointing (I agree with the last adjective) and defended Trump’s “Putin is a genius” comment by insisting he meant, “Strategic genius.” To that, I simply said, “Why couldn’t Trump just call Putin ‘strategic’? It is a neutral term, one that doesn’t imply admiration the way ‘genius’ does.” She called me a fascist when I pointed out that the GOP is being pulled further and further to the right by (mostly) white men chanting things like, “Jews will not replace us!” in Charlottesville, and “Hang Mike Pence!” during the violent Capitol insurrection. Then, the cherry on top, she told me to “Move away” if I didn’t like receiving death threats from Truth First. That last comment pushed me over the edge. Rather than condemn the bad behavior of an adult man threatening to shoot me, she victim-blamed me and suggested I up-end my entire life to flee from the deranged monster.

For full transparency, I reacted as badly as I possibly could. She went low and I took it to the floor. I (verbally) punched back as hard as I could, with every bit of frustration and vitriol I could muster. I told her to never call me a fascist again, that I displayed no militant, hyper nationalist behavior, and that I didn’t think her aging brain was as rational as it used to be. To add insult to injury, I linked to a study that ties leaded gasoline exposure to loss of IQ in older generations. It was only a 1-3 points, on average, but for some specific populations, was as high as a 7-point IQ drop. In response, she threatened to skip the wedding. We spent six days in silence, and she has since reneged on the threat. As unwise as it was, I threw that vicious grenade in an attempt to explain away my parents insistence on defending what I believe to be the worst president in history, because without a clear reason for their behavior, the only other conclusion I can draw is that they are choosing to act like this. Choosing to defend a child rapist. Choosing to defend people like “Truth First” who can’t use their first amendment well enough to sway people into seeing their perspective and who resort to threatening people who challenge them with death by the second amendment. People in this nation disown their own children for things that can’t be helped, traits that one is born with, like being gay or transgender. I, by contrast, am absolutely enraged, utterly livid, that my parents choose to cling to a party that is being overrun by flat-out violent, dangerous extremists. Why can they not change their minds? Why can they not shift their loyalties to a third party, since they loathe and despise Democrats more than any other group in the nation?

In that moment, I was a cruel bitch to my own mother, I’ll be the first to openly admit it. But only because I felt attacked by the person who gave me life, the person I always thought I could count on to protect me from the dangers of this trigger-happy country. Oh, how wrong I was and still am. It’s an ugly, brutal task to realize that my parents aren’t nearly as deserving of my unquestioning adoration as I had always believed growing up, and then to have them demand that I still love them unconditionally, despite repeatedly making what I believe to be very bad, damaging choices. The more I challenge them, the more our collective resentment grows. And yet, here we are, all planning to see each other in April to celebrate my commitment to Jack and his commitment to me. Alls well that ends well? Jack recently said, “It’s not a true wedding without some drama.” And now I realize, the drama is coming from my own nuclear family. At least we’re all hard-headed enough to keep talking to each other. None of us are estranged, even though we’ve said things that cut right down to the heart of who each of us are. We’re hard-headed, not hard-hearted. And what we say hurts, deeply. But somehow, we’re still here, still on speaking terms, still usually able to converse about most topics in a civil, productive manner. I think, unfortunately, we will never be able to discuss politics. Ever. Never ever. Never again, never in the future. The gulf between us is too wide and that entire sphere of discussion is closed to us. It could be much, much worse. I will take what I can get. Many families have fully imploded from all of this. It’s a miracle we’re still talking. Regularly. Go figure.

I wish I could understand the appeal of Trump if only to understand my own father, and by extension, my mother who defends his choices… and Trump’s choices. It seems like there is no line that Trump can cross that would change their minds, convince them to back-track, convince them to step away from the lying, stealing, grifting, raping demon. If I spend too long dwelling on it (yes, I recognize the irony of writing this all out), I become consumed with grief and a sense of betrayal. It feels like they’re siding with Truth First, like they believe he has a senior right to be heard, like his freedom of speech, however violent and inciting, is more important than mine. My parents call me intolerant. I agree only to the extent that I am intolerant of hate speech, and even more intolerant of hateful acts and policies that oppress and brutalize marginalized populations. But yeah, let’s just call me the intolerant fascist. It makes my parents feel better knowing how shitty I turned out to be. It frees them of their guilt. “We’re good people and we can think whatever we want!” That’s the best understanding I can reach.

My parents are good people. As are other folks I personally know who voted for Trump. My parents worked in healthcare, my dad a surgeon, my mother a medical social worker. It is grueling, emotionally, mentally laborious work. It requires compassion, intense focus, and unwavering commitment and dedication. They volunteered time, money, and resources to numerous community projects, from musical concerts to art shows. They are good parents who give their best advice, their fullest energy, their fiercest love. Which is why this schism, this yawning maw of a chasm, is all the more confusing and upsetting.

I know I’m not the only person who feels this way. I don't see my parents or any Trump voter as the enemy, but I do believe the policies of the GOP are insidious. I think the enslavement of female bodies is sickening. I think the scheme to cut Medicare and Social Security is evil and going to hurt the very constituents who vote for the GOP, just as ignoring COVID wiped out a lot of older, white, conservative Americans. The lack of self-preservation, the unwillingness to face our very real problems (climate change, the wealth gap, civil unrest, political violence and extremism) and the eagerness to substitute fake problems (Q-Anon is a bullshit factory) to whip up mass hysteria is going to kill all of us, for generations to come. And yet we all have a burning desire to survive, a flame that compels us to keep moving in the darkest of times. My parents aren’t my enemy, but they most assuredly are not fighting alongside me against very real, very angry men who would shoot me without hesitation or remorse. It is for that very reason I look beyond my blood family to find allies, and I count myself among the very fortunate to have found extended family wherever Jack and I go, wherever we live. It’s unfair to my parents to spend so much time airing out these conversations, but this is the way these discussions are unfolding. These are the things being said. This is what’s happening in my personal life during an unprecendented historical period of time. It’s exhausting living through all of these monumental events. Everyone my age is ready for something resembling stability, something resembling peace. But as long as our elders cling to the beliefs that have led us into the lion’s mouth of this unsustainable society, we will only suffer the consequences of its collapse. Things are bad now. They’re going to get a lot worse.

Whatever it takes to maintain the spark of life, the flame of survival, I hope we’re all taking those necessary steps. We need good, nonviolent people to continue living. We need peace-makers and creators to make it to the next generation. We need to stand up against violence and injustice lest it consume every single person in the final apocalypse of this species.