Road Trip

Americans love to drive. We do it every day, usually for no reason, and even as we increasingly complain about traffic and parking we actively divest from railway and bicycle infrastructure that would alleviate those very problems. For better or worse, to be American is to drive, and few things are more ingrained into the American Spirit than the road trip.

It’s just you and the wide open road. This vast expanse of Interstates and highways leaves the world at your fingertips. You can go to California. You can go to Alaska. You can cruise south and have a look at this border wall for yourself. When you press on the throttle you are a god, beholden to no man, woman or child, no one can stop you. No one except that dickhead driving slow in the left lane.

This is no mere inconvenience. The right-lane-is-for-driving-left-lane-is-for-passing rule is as clear and transparent as the meaning of a red octagon at an intersection. This is not simple, well-meaning ignorance, no, but neither is it an explicitly deliberate effort to undermine the system that allows for our very notion of Americanism. Left lane driving is a symptom, like a runaway financial class and unprecedented income inequality, of the final, gasping throes of a late-stage capitalist state.


Interestingly, the natural flow of driving on the right, passing on the left is a naturally socialist concept. We move forward together; and as a need arises for an individual to excel, she may take what she needs from the collectivized left lane. When her pass is completed, she is back in line and moving forward so that others may reap the benefits of our communal foresight. It provides a safe space for passing, and to make room for merging traffic.

It is only when drivers see that that can get marginally ahead by never merging back to the right that the system falls apart and the highway slows for everyone. Like our failing capitalist state, it is when individuals appropriate the means of efficient traffic movement for themselves that things fall apart.

Driving in the left lane represents the same failure to see the whole picture as advocating against single-payer healthcare and collective bargaining. It is selfishness and an inability to see that when we all move forward together, we do it more quickly, more efficiently, than everyman hustling to save a second.

So if you’re well-meaning person who drives in the right except for sometimes when you don’t, I encourage you to give the DSA a look, you might really like what they have to say. And if you’re a left lane driver then I suppose you represent a desperate bourgeoisie, clutching to the remnants of our late capitalist oligarchy and I beg of you simply to consider: where will you hide when the revolution comes?



Pray for Montana

As I write this, on Monday morning, the air quality in Missoula is bad. Hazardous, actually. The most recent measurement of air pollution registered 451 µg/m3 of fine airborne particulate, the kind that causes respiratory and cardiovascular illness, and led the Department of Environmental Quality to advise that no one really go outside. Right now the air in Missoula, Montana is three times worse than in Beijing and fifteen times worse than Los Angeles, and not slated to improve any time soon.

The cause, of course, is wildfires. In Montana alone there are currently more than 45 active forest fires, and by the time it finally snows, perhaps some time around Valentine’s Day, they will have burned more than a million acres. Thousands of people have been displaced. Homes have been burned, livelihoods ruined. Two firefighters have died.

August is, in the best of cases, unambiguously useless, but this is something special. We see fires every year, and this is an especially bad season. These fires will cause many millions of dollars in damage, and prompted Governor Bullock to request FEMA assistance to assuage the costs of protecting homes and lives*. It’s also prompted calls on social media to “Pray for Montana.” Specifically, there’s a set of the population here who seems to feel like this fire season in Montana somehow compares in scope or scale to the fallout from Hurricane Harvey.

This is ludicrous**.

Montana is having a pretty bad fire season; what happened in Houston is unprecedented. Guys, 51 inches of rain fell in a day. NOAA had to come up with new colors for their Doplar display to show that. Over the course of two months 11,000 square miles of Montana has burned – three times more than that, 28,000 square miles, of Texas flooded in a single weekend, including Houston, which has 6 times more people than this entire state.

Comparing the 450,000 Texans who will seek Federal aid to the thousands of people displaced by Montana fires is like if you lent me $100 and I paid you back $1 and called us square. It’s not even close. “Pray for Montana” is the “#AllLivesMatter” of Federal disaster relief. Sure, pray for Montana if you want, but don’t think for a moment that what we’re experiencing compares to the newfound refugee situation down south.

That doesn’t mean that these events have nothing at all in common. For instance, they both come amidst a new wave of “Hottest Year Ever” awards, and they’re exactly the kind of anomalous weather event that those pesky climate scientists have been warning us for decades will become more common. Both the fires of Montana and Hurricane Harvey are the result of our collective unwillingness to confront the fact that Earth is a dynamic place and that we’re messing it all up.

So yeah, pray for Montana – if that palliates your angst, then great, pray for Montana. But if you want to help with the issues that Montana is facing right now, how about we actually fund the Forest Service?

Members of our Congressional delegation came together a few weeks ago to whinge about environmental groups gumming up forest management with frivolous lawsuits. They blamed Wilderness advocates, they blamed institutions that allow citizens to hold the government accountable. They blamed regulations and oversight.

Conspicuously, they did not blame a warming climate or our newfound culture of celebrated ignorance. They did not blame decades of suppressed climate research. They reverted back to those same trite, cynical platitudes about small government and lax permitting that are as untrue now as they were when they triggered the labor movement.

Montana doesn’t need prayer right now, and neither does Houston. These places affected by climate change need us to act on the advice of experts. Thoughts and prayers will not stint sea level rise. They will not stop the thaw of arctic permafrost. They will not keep our firefighters, homes, and businesses out of harm’s way.

The extreme weather of the last two months were foreseeable and, at some level, preventable. Save your prayers. Fund professionals.


*Interestingly enough on July 17 our Republican controlled state legislature slashed $30M from the firefighting budget to help balance the state budget. Bullock’s call for FEMA assitance came on July 27, which kind of makes you understand how Congress initially told us to pound sand. Three cheers for small government amirite?

**This is Ludacris.




It occurred to him, not much after the fact, that he could still just drink the poison. A few blue robes still stood around him, waiting patiently for the cool liquid to begin to burn. Most of the room was kneeling, though, and coughing up a pink froth that specked their crisp, white, Adidas tennis sneakers. A few had expired.

Around the room the adage held, the one that goes something like you’ll worry less about what people think of you when you realize how infrequently they do. Everyone around him was somewhat too preoccupied with their own demise to notice that his cup still brimmed with the chalky purple liquid and that he had no trouble breathing.

He admitted to himself that he was moved by the toast. “We’re the vanguard of the Rapture!” Gene preached. “”The brave few who have looked beyond ourselves to see a cruel and twisted world, where evil men trod unscathed across the unborn skulls of the righteous!” It was a bit dramatic, perhaps, but then of course it was a suicide pact. The host could be forgiven his attention to aesthetics.

The darkness came at 11:24, or it was supposed to, and at any rate by 11:26 on Gene’s watch the last sliver of sunlight was snuffed out and the windows went finally dark. It seemed odd, to him, that they should be inside of doors for a cosmically catalyzed death accord; he would have liked to have seen the Coriolis and feel the sudden cool stillness sweep across their Nebraska compound and hear the birds go silent and the crickets stop and stand awed beneath improbable daytime constellations, but nonetheless at 11:26 when the darkness finally came, all manners of slurping and gulping were followed by the hollow tapping of empty styrofoam cups striking the cracked linoleum floor.

Then, for a moment, it was quiet.

The wailing and breast beating began shortly thereafter as the true believers prepared themselves for ascendancy and no more than two or three reluctant saints induced vomiting in a last minute change of heart.

In school, as the tide of hormones swelled to consume the children there, he had seen every effort to fit in and be a part of the main. He recalled that that desperate brand of tribalism carried on past schoolyard taunts and became a fixture in the cul-du-sac. The glistening rows of leased SUVs surrounding the shabby doublewide trailer were testament to that. And he was not immune. Even in that room he felt the frantic affection of the commune, though it still struck him as queer that a person would drink a cocktail of sodium pentathol, potassium cyanide, and grape soda just to join a club.

Totality is fleeting, at their latitude it lasted a mere minute and thirty-four seconds. They had weighed themselves that morning and mixed their pungent potions to act on each of them in 80 seconds, to allow for a moment to swallow and depart together through the darkness. They had fasted since lunch the day before, and as he looked around the room it seemed that Gene’s math was more or less correct. No one else was standing; a very few still gasped for air amid the folding chairs and littered cups when the far side of the sun peaked out again from behind the moon.

He missed it, he supposed. His friends had left without him. For a moment he thought that if he tried that he could still catch up, a straggler toward a new frontier. But he hadn’t eaten since yesterday and his stomach growled. The small disposable coffee cup suddenly felt very heavy in his hand.

He set his cup carefully on the folding card table in the center of the room, walked to the door through a maze of stilling bodies, and stepped out into the midday dawn.





He did it. He really did it. He walked out to the parapet overlooking as many as dozens of supporters, staff, and journalists, waved to the people, and gazed directly into the sun.

You may have heard that there was a rare celestial event yesterday. Hundreds of thousands of stargazers flocked to the swath of American countryside graced by a total eclipse of the sun, bringing with them snarled traffic, various stages of emergency preparedness, and, above all: persistent, dire warnings not to look directly at the fucking sun.

And so when President Trump walked outside and barely hesitated to stare at the thing, the internet response was as swift as it was pointed. And why shouldn’t they be? We’ve been warned about that all day every day for months, and also the photos are objectively hilarious:

(Photo by Mark Wilson/Getty Images)

That is funny. Full stop.

But then like so many things the video tells a slightly different story. Have a look.

Yes, the guy is a goober. Yes, just seeing him stand and move makes my skin crawl. Yes, he glanced up at the eclipse with only those pasty, neglected eyelids squinted against its fire and fury. But stared? No. Certainly he didn’t do anything that any of us haven’t done on any given day.

Don’t get me wrong: this doesn’t mean we can’t ridicule the guy for it. But we need to be careful that we don’t believe it. Because taking snippits of stories (or non-stories) out of context and sensationalizing them is, while satisfying, only harming us.

Seeing what we want to see led us to mis-judge the tenor of the election. It’s led us to underestimate the underpinning class issues in the US that gave rise to Trumpism in the first place. We cannot (accurately) describe our President as a Nazi sympathizer one day and lampoon him like a reality TV celebrity the next.

We, the resistance, fancy ourselves as scientists and critical thinkers. The intelligentsia. We are those who prefer reason and logic to knee-jerk emotional reactions. We value data, and evidence-based policy. Easy, out-of-context jokes palliate very real angst, but they don’t bring us closer to changing the tides in 2018.

Presenting President Trump as a stumbling baffoon is satisfying, and makes us feel better. It’s undeniably hilarious. It may even be true. But it sells short how dangerous he really is. On the same day that he went outside and glanced at the sun, he also held a press conference where he kind of, sort of, described his regressive plans to decrease transparency and accountability from our war in Afghanistan. Less than a week ago he defended Nazis as they carried torches through the streets of our cities.

There may be a time to laugh about this, but now isn’t it. Stay mad. Stay focused. Don’t stare directly at the glowing orb of misdirection.



Fuck Nazis: Preach Beyond the Choir

We’ll never all agree on everything, and who would want to? Our vast array of different opinions are what make you all so interesting (your taste for mayonnaise is what makes you so disgusting). Differences of opinion drive meaningful conversation and make our communities strong. There are, however, a few things that we probably can agree on, like what the left lane is for, and that Prince was a genius.

Universal common ground is hard to come by, but I like to think that we’re all pretty much on the same page about what happened in Charlottesville over the weekend. Of course I also like to think that the United States of America wouldn’t elect a Nazi sympathizer as president. Maybe I’m naive. Maybe I live beneath a stone. Maybe we should talk about this.

Hating Nazis is right up there with bald eagles and apple pie as fundamental tenets of wholesome Americanism, and that fact is as practical as it is symbolic. It was our role in defeating this ideology in World War II that laid the groundwork for the US to emerge as an economic and diplomatic superpower. It’s the foundation of our position in the world for the last three generations. Hell, even Orrin Hatch is unequivocal:

Here, we have an opportunity for common ground: fuck Nazis. If nothing else, we can agree on that, right? Speaking out against Nazism doesn’t make you a bad conservative, and voting for Donald Trump in the last election doesn’t make you a Nazi. Agreeing on this doesn’t mean that we can’t disagree about every other single thing on earth, like heath care, education, guns, mayonnaise, public land, oil, nuclear oblivion, coal, or emails of any stripe. Let’s keep fighting about all of that, because somewhere in the middle probably lies the truth. But on Nazis let’s skip the gray area. Fuck Nazis. That’s baseline.

And here’s where you might become incredulous, because this is my thesis: Nazis are our safe space. It’s one thing that we can all agree on, that we can all be comfortable with – the fact that White Nationalism and the Nazi party have no business on American soil.*

This is an image of America in 2017. We cannot deny or ignore that.

This is important. It’s a pretty low bar but we have, with Nazism, established a position from which we can start talking about race in America without dissonance on square one. (Even Ted Cruz and Jeff Sessions have acknowledged that these guys are terrorists.) From here, we can start having the more difficult, more meaningful conversations.

American Nazism is out in the open now. Well-meaning-but-squeamish white people have seen, now, what people of color, Jews, Muslims, and the LGBTQ community have known since they were born: that a degree of racism and white supremacy is woven into the fabric of our nation. Remember that the riots in Charlottesville began over the decommissioning of a statue of Robert E Lee and migrated to a visage of scrivener/slaver Thomas Jefferson, and that this country was built, both figuratively and literally, on the backs of slaves. Like it or not, this is a part of who we are.

Extracting race inequality from class, from immigration, from policing, from education, from any tenet of American life is not something that is going to happen overnight. It’s not something that we’re going to agree on every step of the way. But now it’s unavoidable, undeniable. To look away from what we saw this weekend is beyond convenience and privilege; it’s a willing indifference not only to the consistent, pervasive injustices that minorities live with every day, but to an unambiguous assault on the sanctity of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This is not something we can deny. This is not something we can ignore. And we can start the conversation from common ground: fuck Nazis.

Agreeing that Nazis can go fuck themselves is not enough. It’s preaching to the choir, and we’re all singing that refrain. Non-Nazi white folks need to take the next step and confront the reality that White Nationalist ideologies and Nazi pride parades cannot exist without some level of tacit approval (you may know it as “I’m not a Nazi, and I really try not to be political, and I’m really busy with work, and . . .”). Pursuit of the egalitarian society that rests at the heart of American ideals begins with the acknowledgement that we do not currently live in one.

Examining our own racism is uncomfortable. I love the idea that I harbor no prejudices, but the fact is that in a racial society like the United States, that’s simply not possible. At least I’m not a Nazi, and neither are you (or you probably would have stopped reading by now). We’re imperfect Americans, and being better starts with recognizing that we have a problem.

And so this is a call to action, I guess. Not to continue sharing WashPo editorials and Raw Story pseudonews, but to take a moment and consider what you can do to fight Nazism at the environmental level. Condemning what happened in Charlottesville is as essential as it is easy. The work comes with with self-reflection and difficult conversations about what more we can do.



*If that’s not something you can get behind, then, well, shit man. I don’t know.