Lately I’ve been thinking quite a bit about U.S. politics, with the presidential campaign going off like a fireworks display down south.
This thinking is mainly because I’m reading Hunter S. Thompson’s book Fear and Loathing On The Campaign Trail, which he wrote after covering the 1972 presidential election for Rolling Stone. A distillation that seeps through is that anyone good-looking enough on TV with enough money can be the president of the United States.
It may be the paranoia induced by Hunter, but the pronouncements made by Donald Trump strike a fearful chord in my gut, one of sadness at watching our southern neighbours degrade further towards Republican control.
In October 1890, Yosemite Valley became a national park thanks to the efforts of John Muir championing is as the “Range of Light.” As the crown jewel of national parks, Yosemite exists under strict regulation, as the U.S. National Park Service doesn’t fiddle around when it intends on preserving a wonder of the world; one’s got to keep the RVs rolling in while maintaining a tight grip on those wandering the back country doing whatever it is they do back there.
Unfortunately, Yosemite’s most impassioned patrons, its climbers, have always been relegated to the latter. Viewed as incomprehensible radicals, vagabonds and misfits intent on trying to kill themselves, authorities felt their activities just barely fit within the confines of acceptable-use plans while not contributing to park coffers.
It’s as true today as it was then, maybe more so. Outfitted with firearms, Tasers and total authority, wardens search out even the most humble offender, whether she’s using free Internet in her van outside the library or he’s refilling his coffee cup before paying, and they can make their lives feel like a scene from midway through The Trial by Kafka.
If Trump ran Yosemite, a vast concrete wall encircling the park would already be erected, with attendants posted at Checkpoint Charlie to make sure you are a successful and large contributor to the economy, banning any who hail from foreign countries not on the list and who have not already mounted and passed over his initial wall blocking Mexico from existence. A worse future looms if Trump plays his cards right and becomes president.
Picture a scene where your jalopy lurches up to the window at Peace Arch Border Crossing. After some cold conversation concerning your employment, financial worth, social status, friends, place of birth and recent past travel, you quickly realize that Trump’s Yosemite has grown to become Trump’s USA. “Son, I see that you’re a climber, a ‘conquistador of the useless’ as it were.”
And there you have it. Once they know you aren’t in search of helping them “make America great again,” they kindly turn your jalopy around and you chuff and grind home. As you roll and belch away in the slow lane, grumbling about the oppression and judgment you faced, you realize that you are one in a long line of steaming, smoking vans slowly making their way back into Canada.
The U.S. has many of the most beautiful and wild places you could ever hope to encounter, and my hope is that Donald Trump decides, mid-campaign, even mid primary to take a little road trip and get out on the road where the travelling climber is. By doing this, he might see the width and breadth of human worth a bit more closely and decide to moderate his views
If not, then let’s hope Hunter’s wrong about TV looks, wealth and the U.S. presidency. Clearly Trump’s no Bobby Kennedy or our man Obama, but he does balance the scale with his dollars. If all goes south down south, then Canada may feel another wave of displaced immigrants crest as thousands of vans, from old jalopies, Previas, 4x4 Sprinters to E-250 Fords, begin to line our borders to find shelter from the storm.