Trumpian America ~ A Tale of Whitewashing

Blood red…bruised purple…these are the only glimpses of color that you’ll find in the wake of the Donald Trump tsunami. The roiling sea of Trump supporters, whose only variance of color is the degree of red on their necks, tells the tale of what we can expect in a Trumpian society–a Trumpian America.

On those shores, there is no diversity. There is no heritage, ethnicity, uniqueness, culture, or class. There is only the whitewashing of America.

As many of us sit, completely bewildered by what we are seeing and wondering how the rise of Donald Trump cannot be seen as a parallel to the rise of Hitler/Stalin/Mussolini, the flood of his supporters seems to be growing; swallowing up everything in their path and leaving the complete and utter annihilation of what stood before…compassion, unity, kindness, love, community.

Scenes of hostility hearken to the days of the past that we thought we had fought so hard to turn away from. Rallies today look like clips from archaic news reels of civil rights violations and protests. Though the clips are now in color, they still appear to be black and white. Most certainly devoid of any colors other than the color of bruises inflicted on protesters or the red faces of angry rally attendees.

Donald Trump has taken the hate and violence that has been synonymous with the mainly shunned KKK culture and has brought it into “tolerable” mainstream. He gave a voice to a group that should have been silenced long ago because it no longer had a place in our America. We are a country of diversity, cultures and freedom. Or at least we used to be.

With each rallying cry to “Build that Wall!” we tear down the foundation of what makes America great right now. We rip apart the fabric of her uniqueness and tolerance and open arms. We dim the lamp that she held, lit, to welcome the people of difference saying:

“Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

That was our America. That is not the Trumpian America.

In Trumpian America, there is only the art of the deal; what he tells you to close the deal with no regard to the product he’ll actually deliver. He sells the idea of a wall that can only be built by the labor of the people he is going to throw over it or bury with it. He offers the culling of immigrants from the nation. His supporters give little thought to who is providing the labor for the food they eat, for the businesses they run or patronize or the homes they live in that get built with cheap labor.

He sells a world where big business offers little-to-no living wages, with no opportunity to advance or attend college because everything is privately owned and operated with a goal of big money–of which his base has little-to-none. All they want is their reality TV. They want a world where they can scream in people’s faces, shove and kick, tear and stomp; something that resembles Survivor rather than the Apprentice; the idea is to kick everyone off the island, scramble for meager scraps, starve and yet find some sort of hollow victory in being the “last man standing.”

In this world, we have no clean water, air, or earth because regulations are bad for business. It matters little to the CEOs, SEO’s and COO’s because they can afford to have their water shipped in or they can live abroad.

Trumpian America is full of factories with no unions, weapons on every hip, and hate on every mind. It’s a colorless world with no beauty in it; just varying shades of grim nothingness.

That’s not my America nor would I ever want it to be.

My America is full of color. My America has diversity, culture and class. My America is red-blooded, true blue and a virtual rainbow of possibilities. Mine is painted with freedom and independence while having regard for others.

Much like a storm, where normally bright and beautiful clouds become darkened and “angry,” it produces results that dampen our days, yet once the disturbance passes, the light hits it and gifts us with a rainbow;a beautiful, full of color, rainbow. It is a message of hope for brighter days and sign that the storm has passed.

I’m waiting for the storm to pass and the rainbow to appear once again.

That rainbow…that’s MY America.

About Dawn Emerson 34 Articles
Dawn Emerson is a mother of two and happily married to the funniest guy she knows. When not raging against the Republican machine, she creates graphic artwork for several websites.

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