The meaning of a facial expression and the making of a new New York
By ANAND GIRIDHARADAS
Anand Giridharadas
Reposting this essay from this week live from Zohran‘s campaign headquarters, where we just learned that he won.
I begin with a confession. On more than one occasion (OK, three), I have finished watching a video of Zohran Mamdani speak and hurried to a mirror to work on my smile. I have no plans to run for office, but the Mamdani grin is so striking, so politically potent, so confounding to his foes, so distinct from the projected affect of many of the New York mayoral candidate’s own allies, so full of sun in the dreariest timeline, that I have wondered about my own. Do I smile enough? Do I ever smile? Was my grandmother right that I look angry in my book jacket photos? Am I angry? Why am I so angry? What kind of life could I have had if I could smile like that guy? And in the mirror I try it, and what my brief study has found is that a smile so broad physically hurts. It doesn’t seem to hurt Mamdani, though. It may be why he wins.
Before you say that’s ridiculous, let me explain. With a smile. Ow.
To be clear, the heart of the campaign was always substance. A million New Yorkers could probably name his key policy ideas: fast and free buses, universal childcare, and a sweeping rent freeze. His opponents have struggled to offer much more than fearmongering about his substance. Mamdani is running as a Democrat who wants to do very specific and understandable things to make life more affordable, and therefore uncork the dreaming and creation that can spill forth when life becomes more than a struggle merely to sustain itself — at a time when, nationally, Democrats are struggling to figure out who they are and how to be more than just Not Trump.
As a result, I kept noticing Mamdani’s smile and minimizing it to myself as any kind of important theme. Because, naturally, it’s about the policies; it’s about the big ideas; and it is. But the question is how he has been able to turn the “capitalist capital of the world” into “the epicenter of an ascendant and impatient socialist-led rebellion,” as The New York Times recently put it. And how he has been able to rouse 90,000 people to volunteer for his campaign — a staggering figure that translates into the sight of Mamdani canvassers everywhere in New York. And how he has been able to win over enough skeptics to get to this historic precipice.
And into the mix of factors I’d throw the smile.
You know the smile. It is a face-filling, muscle-tensing, high-octane power beam that flares every time Mamdani comes to a podium, every time he is in between sections of a speech, every time he approaches a prospective voter on the street, every time he is filmed dancing in nightclubs in the dead of night, every time he hears someone in the crowd yell “Habibi!” Like every politician’s smile, it is more than a facial expression. It is rhetoric. In his case, it seems to project a mix of things — genuine joy in the process of campaigning itself, confidence and a certain aboveness, accessibility to all comers, refusing to mirror the demeanor of those who traffic in fear of him.
Ronald Reagan’s smile put an aw-shucks, gee-whiz patina on a policy agenda that would wipe smiles off millions of faces. Barack Obama’s smile cast him as cool as a cucumber, a rock star whom you wanted to follow as a fan as much as a citizen (and who would let you down if he turned out to be merely mortal). Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s smile on her thronged Instagram lives is the smile of up-close-and-personal relatability in the social-media age, an insider bringing you on her strange ride.
At a moment when everything seems so dark, I find it helpful to immerse myself in ideas of how America will rise again after this time. The immediate stretch of the road is grim. But there is a future we can fight for beyond it. And The Ink is committed to airing and exploring ideas about how we get there. This interview with Dr. Abdul El-Sayed has stayed with me, and I thought I’d re-share it today. If you enjoy what we do here, support us by subscribing. — AG
Here is a strange thing about politics. It’s a competitive arena in which people win by distinguishing themselves from others. And it’s an arena so lacking in originality. How often do you hear a political leader say something truly inspired, or even just slightly fresh? How often do you notice them actually thinking out loud, the mind still active, still with questions, not answers given to them on Post-It notes by an aide?
It is rare enough that, when it happens, it sometimes takes me a second to realize it. But that’s what happened when I interviewed Dr. Abdul El-Sayed. He is a doctor and public health professional in Michigan who ran unsuccessfully for governor in 2018 and is now running for the U.S. Senate.
What took me time to register was that El-Sayed was doing something more interesting than explaining why he should win his primary. He was laying out a vision for how America can finally be done with Trumpism. Like, actually done.
I don’t think I’ve heard these ideas put together like this in a package before. Each one will have its share of critics. But I think the whole package is worth a look.
The bottom line is this. A lot of what Democrats have ended up offering is contempt for Trump voters and moderate policy ideas. Dr El-Sayed is suggesting a reversal on both counts: radical empathy for Trump voters (which will rankle progressives) and radical change to eradicate the social conditions that enabled Trump (which will rankle moderates). Let them be rankled.
1. The bully and the posse
Growing up with the name Abdul, the son of immigrants from Egypt, El-Sayed knew a thing or two about bullying.
What he sees in Trump is a bully par excellence. But bullies are often secretly weak, El-Sayed observed. What props them up is their posse. Trump’s posse is millions of voters. Without their allegiance, he is a childhood-scarred, semi-literate, narcissistic bully halfwit. With their allegiance, he has a path to making himself Caesar.
El-Sayed argues, therefore, that the pro-democracy movement must obsessively seek to separate the posse from the bully. Which means adopting a posture that some fellow Democrats may not like: showing what he calls “radical empathy” for Trump voters, and viewing the choice millions made as an expression of desperation in an unresponsive system, a shout into the void.
That means not lapsing into the condescension toward lay voters that feels so satisfying and, oftentimes, so justified. It means not calling them Magats and brainwashed and irredeemable racists all. It means strategically biting your tongue and opening your arms. For winning’s sake.
Confront the bully. But woo the posse.
2. Don’t prove them wrong. Get them to right
Winning movements don’t humiliate potential followers. They fix them a drink.
Trump’s chaotic and economy-quaking opening months are already causing lots of pain for his own supporters, let alone all the other people in his policy crosshairs.
Open any social media site, and what do you see these days? Gleeful Democrats sharing stories of MAGA types now being hurt by the policies they voted for.
Understandable psychologically? Yes. Smart politically? No. Not even a little bit.
Dr. El-Sayed framed the approach he favors instead succinctly: “We’ve got to get folks to being right, not prove them wrong.”
What’s the difference? It’s about creating, he says, “a space within which you felt safe enough…to say, you know what?, I made a mistake.”
So next time you hear a veteran who voted for Trump complaining about benefit cuts, or a shopkeeper complaining about tariffs, or a CEO complaining about the stock market, resist the temptation to gloat. If you want to save your country from hell, invite these potential newcomers to the pro-democracy cause in. Pour them a drink.
3. America is good, actually
In some of the progressive circles Dr. El-Sayed travels in, well-earned critiques of American policy and history can sometimes devolve into contempt for America.
Progressives have a patriotism problem, often conceding the flag to those who would break the country rather than share it. They become so consumed with what is wrong with the country that they forget to say whether there is anything they love about it, and they leave the impression, sometimes true, sometimes not, that they think it irredeemably flawed, rotten at the root.
This is fine for your academic seminar. But please keep this pose out of politics. Because it’s risking the republic itself and plays right into Donald Trump’s hands.
Dr. El-Sayed, as a child of Egyptian immigrants, has a way into this issue that is compelling and worth listening to. He knows all the critiques leveled at America; he levels many of them himself. But his dualness — being from here and being from there — gives him another way of seeing.
He spoke in our conversation about going back to Egypt in his youth. He would sit with his grandmother who, he said, half-jokingly (or maybe not?), would sit with him and tell him that this cousin of his was better looking than Abdul, and this one more athletic, and this one smarter. But you know what Abdul had, his greatest gift that would matter more than any of these others? He would soon be leaving Egypt.
It’s a bittersweet truth that many of us with similar experiences of dualness know from childhood. And many of us who, like El-Sayed, would grow up to have criticisms of how America functions would also, like El-Sayed, never forget that America has real and profound gifts, that it offers many, many people — not enough, but more than most places — life chances and an opportunity to flourish and create and speak and become the fullest version of yourself. That this is a great country, which is, sadly, language many progressives would find way too cringe. Enjoy autocracy, guys!
What El-Sayed reminds us is that to be a progressive who comes partly from somewhere else can be to hold two competing ideas in tension: that America is flawed, and is built on ideals and ways rare in history and worth defending.
“America sucks” is a lazy shrug too often heard in progressive organizing spaces, and it is weirdly provincial in its obliviousness to how life is in other places around the world, and what El-Sayed is pointing toward instead is a progressive patriotism.
“I love America because I know exactly what my life would have ended up as if I didn’t, but for the accident of history, get to grow up here,” he told me. And: “My critiques about America are about the difference between what she gave me…and what she has not given too many kids.”
His advice to Democrats and progressives: “Wrap yourself in the flag as you demand the flag represent the things that you believe are best about this country.”
4. Fighting Trump isn’t enough. Win the peace
Since Inauguration Day, I, like so many of you and so many across the country, have argued that Democrats need to show fight.
Boneless and skinless is fine for chicken thighs. It’s not adequate for a party that purports to be interested in beating back an attempted authoritarian breakthrough.
But El-Sayed challenged my thinking on the fight point. A former team captain in school sports before he became a Rhodes Scholar and a medical doctor, he pointed to scars on his face and spoke obliquely about not being afraid to fight when needed.
But he argued Democrats need to be more interested in winning the peace than the war: “Nobody fights the war to just win the war. You fight the war to win the peace.”
What he means is remaining focused on healing the causes of the pain that made Trump possible, instead of over-fixating on Trump as the sum total of the ill.
The mantra to fight more and fight harder, which I have touted as much as anyone, risks fetishizing fight for its own sake. The real goal, El-Sayed says, must be creating conditions where the fighting is unnecessary.
And how do you win the peace?
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5. The age of insecurity
There are a lot of ways to frame the times we live in. But El-Sayed offered one that stuck with me: this is an age of insecurity.
What’s powerful about insecurity as a grand unified theory is that it encompasses all manner of sentiments, from all sections of the political spectrum, some based in reality, others more in fantasy, but all with emotive, often explosive political effect.
Brutal hyper-capitalism creates insecurity. Not being able to afford things creates insecurity. Feeling vulnerable to crime creates insecurity. Feeling deluged across a poorly managed border creates insecurity. Racial and gender progress, when you are not well prepared for your own new role and standing, creates insecurity. New and unfamiliar ideas about history and the meaning of your country create insecurity. New technology and the threat of obsolescence create insecurity. The loss of control over one’s children and their vulnerability to outside influences creates insecurity.
You will no doubt identify with some forms of insecurity listed above, and not with others. El-Sayed’s point is that insecurity in general has been roiling our hearts and politics, and has achieved what he, a public health doctor, calls “epidemic” status.
“The thing about insecurity is that you may have what you need right now, but you’re constantly at risk of losing it.”
So part of winning the peace beyond Trumpism, rather than just making war with Trump, is addressing the roots of insecurity.
And how bold should Democrats be in doing that?
6. Abolish vanilla
Some of El-Sayed’s arguments above — the radical empathy part of his solution — might strike some Democrats as too solicitous of Trump voters, too eager to make accommodations. But El-Sayed is not a mushy moderate. Rather, I think of him as being in the mold of many of the organizers I wrote about in my book The Persuaders: advocating more flexibility on how you reach out to and court moderates and MAGA voters, but more stridency in policymaking.
A lot of what you see from Democrats right now is the opposite: Snideness and condescension toward MAGA types, but mushy moderate policies. El-Sayed wants to flip that script: Gentle, openhearted outreach and aggressive, even radical, policy.
“You can’t beat something with nothing,” he told me. “And, love him or hate him, when it comes to Donald Trump, he’s always saying something. And the problem that folks have with Democrats is that we say nothing, but we say it with a lot of enthusiasm. It’s like somebody screaming ‘Vanilla!’ at you. You’re like, Well, I don’t know, what if I like cookie dough? What if I like cookies and cream? What if I like Rocky Road? The folks are like, ‘Vanilla! vanilla!’”
El-Sayed has advocated aggressive policy responses to America’s overlapping crises — including Medicare for All, which he wrote an entire book about. Whatever you think about individual policy questions, the larger point is worth grappling with: that the proper place for moderation is in the stance one shows to potentially politically adrift Americans. The place for unbending passion is on substantive policy ideas that would drastically change the country, drain some of the insecurity, and therefore heal the conditions that enabled Trump, so that we don’t keep returning to square one.
7. Reclaim common sense
Listening to El-Sayed, it struck me that he was pushing against both his fellow progressives and the more moderate wing of the Democratic Party, in distinct ways.
His message to progressives is to ditch the label. I am referring to him as a progressive, but he didn’t call himself that, although his policy vision lines up with any conventional definition. But he seemed determined to frame ideas like clean air and water, healthcare for all, ending wasteful wars, and such as basic common sense, not radical or out of the mainstream. (Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez has been making similar arguments on her “Fighting Oligarchy” tour stops.)
But he also has a bracing message for those moderates so singularly fixated on Trump that they think the goal of political struggle should be to return America to the day before the golden escalator ride in 2015. “That’s our own version of Make America Great Again. It just happens to be 2015 instead of 1930-something,” he told me.
America wasn’t working for most people in 2015. The way to move past Trumpism is to champion drastically, boldly upending what wasn’t working, and to do so with an openhearted posture toward converts who will have many reasons to seek a new political home in the days that are coming.
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An AI created a podcast of your paper,” the email said. I blinked and read it again.
The paper was a work I had written in graduate school and uploaded to the website Academia. The subject was digital freedom and social control in authoritarian states.
I uploaded it in 2010 to thwart the paywalls that blocked academic research from the public. I wanted people to grasp the digital dangers of surveillance, censorship, and impersonation. I wanted them to understand that no one was safe from the future.
It did not occur to me that in 2025 a robot would steal my words and make a podcast out of them and try to charge people, including me, $170 to listen.
I don’t know what the podcast says. I ain’t paying no doppelganger ransom.
In 2010, I sought to debunk the widespread belief that the internet was an inherently democratizing force. In that halcyon era, when Google’s “Don’t Be Evil” motto did not yet prompt bitter laughter, this was a controversial take. It came from researching the internet in authoritarian states, where dictators used it to monitor dissidents and torpedo their rebellions.
* * *
I miss those days, because the people were real: the dissidents, the government, the infiltrators. The latter two were liars — but real liars. They had not yet been replaced with AI. When someone ruined your life, they had to make an effort. There was more “human” and less “inanity” in the “inhumanity”. (Am I doing it right, AI? We’re supposed to shove woods into a virtual woodchipper and mimic coherence, right?)
No one should feel nostalgic for this time. It’s a sign of ours that I do. Now the journals are defunded, the programs where I got my degrees have been cut, and I live in a semi-authoritarian state where podcast-producing robots steal my speech.
My research was on dictatorships of the former Soviet Union: countries where no one trusted anyone. Their political culture is now indistinguishable from that of the US. How can we trust anybody when anybody might be nobody? We no longer tilt at windmills but shoot at the wind. Shoot the breeze, shoot in the futile hope that the robots don’t take the shells and piece them into a funhouse facsimile of conversation.
“In America, bad news breaks you!” Yakov Smirnoff’s voice whispers as I close my laptop. This is a joke I invented for a fake Yakov Smirnoff, a Yakov Smirnoff that only lives in my mind. I give my fake versions of real people privacy. I wish others would extend me the same courtesy.
Like many technologies, AI is designed to kill humans, but in the most soulless way possible, stripping away even our ability to own and express our pain.
In 1938, the poet Bertolt Brecht, living in exile from Nazi Germany, wrote “In the dark times/ Will there also be singing? / Yes, there will be singing/ About the dark times.”
AI steals even that option. When I was discussing the Brecht poem, a commenter wryly noted that AI could write a song about its own thievery. But it can’t. A song written by AI isn’t a song any more than dust is skin.
AI wins not when it becomes more human, but when humans become more like AI: disengaged and devoid of original thought.
What began as a threat to creativity and critical inquiry has moved into tragic terrain. Sacred rites are being outsourced to machines. AI is used to write obituaries and for pundits to profit off murder by pretending to commune with dead children. Chatbots give cold comfort to real grief, exploiting an empathy deficit that has soared since covid appeared.
Meanwhile, AI spits lies, steals jobs, and destroys the natural environment. Tech companies sell it hard so it can be integrated into daily life before buyers realize they have purchased their own replacements. Extinction is being marketed as ease of life.
I used to be frustrated by people’s lack of imagination. Now I’m frustrated by their rejection of it and replacements for it.
Imagination is nothing to take for granted. It is one of the main qualities that fascist regimes attempt to outlaw. But they do not need to outlaw what is surrendered.
AI is soul stripping.
* * *
In 1990, the Kyrgyz writer Chinghiz Aitmatov popularized the term “mankurt” in his novel This Day Lasts More Than a Hundred Years. A mankurt is a Central Asian zombie who, due to imperial domination and war, has lost touch with his history, his family, and himself. He is a former person with an enslaved mind.
“They can take your land, your wealth, even your life,” wails the agonized mother of a mankurt in the novel, “but who ever thought, who ever dared to attack a man’s memory? Oh God, if you do exist, how did you give such power to people? Isn’t there evil enough on earth without this?”
In interviews, Aitmatov explained that a mankurt did not recognize himself as a human being. The term spread across the USSR as it crumbled and citizens from colonized nations like Kyrgyzstan tried to rediscover their culture, religion, and roots.
The mankurt is the sort of topic I wrote about in my graduate school papers now being vomited up by AI. That is the terror of the post-existence age: I have taken pains to avoid this fate, but it got me anyway.
I have never used ChatGPT. I have never streamed music, used a QR code, or taken an Uber. I leave home without a phone and boycott cashless establishments. I avoid apps, including the Substack app. I am behind the times and determined to stay there.
It is easy for me to live an analog life in Missouri, which tends to be about twenty years behind the rest of the country. But we’re at about 2005 now, the last year the internet was good, and big tech has come to make me its mankurt.
AI articles with fake Sarah Kendziors are all over the internet. In the past month alone, I was fake-quoted about Jeffrey Epstein in an AI publication purporting to be a Haitian newspaper; about Trump being crazy in Dean Blundell’s AI slopstack; and most distressingly, about how Americans should leave the country in an AI-generated rag called Canada Resists. I found out that Trump was in Scotland from an AI article in which Fake Me was asked for comment.
I neversaid these quotes, nor would I tell people to leave the US. One reason I keep this newsletter unpaywalled is because my views on topics like that are clearly stated and can be used to debunk my AI doppelgangers. My own words are my best weapons — so long as people recognize they are mine.
An irony of my AI ubiquity is that I am sometimes banned from what’s left of mainstream media, thanks to my books about the mafia, the government, and Jeffrey Epstein. But AI doesn’t know. AI cannot tell fact from fiction or the popular from the pariah — or what to do with someone who is both.
I am used to people making up quotes from me and repeating them. It happens out of malice or to distract from what I actually said. For example, when I brought up Nancy Pelosi’s corrupt finances and disturbing proclamations of loyalty to Israel over the US, a brigade of bots appeared to falsely claim that I called her a “Russian agent”, when I stated point blank that she is not. The goal was to make me seem unreliable and discredit my accurate claims.
This fake “Russian agent” quote was repeated on social media thousands of times over six years — even though it could be debunked in seconds. I could not understand why it persisted until people told me chatbots were saying it in 2025. Social media repetition was necessary to make the false claim land.
By contrast, my new fake quotes are slop. They are trite statements that often appear in a list of quotes from other writers — with no source links for any of us. I have yet to discern the point, except to destroy the notion of reporting itself. I suspect that the other quotes are also fabricated, since I am not the only person with an AI doppelganger making the fake news rounds.
I had a nightmare recently that I was not admitted into a building because I am not “AI compliant.” I trust dreams more than reality these days, and I fear this is the American future: social credit scores, digital currency, mandatory tech. I refuse. I am AI disobedient, and I will stay that way.
But I will admit to a pang in my all too human heart. A longing for bygone days when nightmares ended when we woke up — instead of just beginning.
* * *
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Thank you for reading! I would never paywall in times of peril. But if you’d like to keep this newsletter going, please consider becoming a paid subscriber. That ensures every article remains open to everyone. This newsletter is the main source of income for my family of four, so I appreciate your support!
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America is not its government and normal does not mean right
By Sarah Kendzior | July 7, 2025
t was a nasty, low-down week so I bought myself a 38 Special. I got it from a peddler down by the river. “Look to the sky before you buy,” the peddler warned. “No refunds!”
I was way ahead of him. There are no takebacks on the Fourth of July in 2025, only take-froms. No refunds, only defunds. AI takes jobs and ICE takes people and cruelty takes its toll.
That’s why I got a 38 Special: fifty ride tickets for thirty-eight dollars, to be shared by me and my husband and our two children, for one last round of memories.
We were in St. Charles, Missouri, the town where Lewis and Clark departed for their 1804 expedition. Their westward journey led to the creation of the contiguous United States and the genocide of indigenous tribes and, ultimately, to the Riverfest Fourth of July celebration my family was attending with thousands of people from hundreds of backgrounds, all now called Americans — a designation the Trump administration wants to strip away.
I wondered what Lewis and Clark would think of the festivities. Clark would probably approve. He was governor of the Missouri Territory and as such loved pomp and violence. Clark is not merely buried in St. Louis, but, as his tomb proclaims, “interred under the obelisk.” As for Lewis, he blew his brains out on the Natchez Trace. No one knows why. Maybe he could see America coming.
My carnival ride ticket package was named after the .38 Special revolver cartridge. Gun culture is inescapable in Missouri.
Every Fourth of July, St. Louis plays a guessing game called “Guns or Fireworks.” The goal is to detect whether the explosions we hear are sky sparklers or deadly weapons, both fired in celebration. A St. Louis child can tell the difference by the time they are old enough to talk and horrify adults with their newfound skill set.
“Guns or Fireworks” isn’t normal? the child asks, and I say, Normal’s what you’re used to, and you know nothing else. Then I pack up the car to show them other ways of life.
Normal has been given too wide a berth, one I try to narrow when I discuss history or current events. Normal is often a cover story for wrong. Slavery was normal. Genocide was normal. “White-collar crime”, “collateral damage”, “ethnic cleansing”: normal. Euphemized, euthanized, eulogized.
The concentration camp the Trump administration built in Florida is being marketed as normal. It has a cheeky name and merchandise. Right now, it disgusts many Americans. As concentration camps become more common, they will offend fewer people — and they will be called normal. When this happens, you must remember that normal is not the same as right, no more than law is the same as justice.
* * *
Riverfest was full of fun, unsafe rides. My daughter and I headed for the Ferris wheel. Comforting dad rock blared from the speakers. “You don’t know how it feels,”Tom Petty wailed, and I sang along, “You don’t know how it feels—”
“No, you don’t know how it feels,” a carnie joined in, pointing at me and grinning.
“To be me-e-e-e-e-e-e!” the carnie and I sang in unison, pointing at ourselves, then high-fiving each other. My daughter watched us in fascination and horror.
“Tom fuckin’ Petty!” the carnie exclaimed. I agreed.
He told us to buckle in for a real good ride. I wondered if he always wanted to be a carnie or if it just happened. He looked around my age. Our generation didn’t have dreams: we had circumstances. Boomers bought the ticket and we took the ride, round and round on a rotting wheel. On the rare occasions we hit the top, we treasured the view before the plunge.
I felt happier on the Ferris wheel than I had in a long while. I was sure this was not wasted time. There was a breeze, there was my daughter, and a view of our future plans below. The Scrambler, a decrepit sun-torched spinner which burned me as it thrilled me. The homemade Plinko game run by a charity where we all won free prizes and bought a bottle of hot sauce to compensate. The halal food truck staffed by hijab-wearing women blaring country music. The man in star-spangled suspenders playing the saxophone in a blissed-out groove. The Black BBQ stands, the Thai ice tea shacks, the Germans offering “the best wurst”.
We could see all of America from St. Charles. The scene was unpredictable and wild and generous: the opposite of the money-drenched fascist bill passed one day before.
* * *
The first time my children saw fireworks was in 2016. My youngest was five, and I decided he was old enough to go to Riverfest after dark. I also knew who would win the election, and I was scared this would be the last Fourth of July. Or that Riverfest would become something rigid and xenophobic and cruel, impossible to celebrate even as a contradiction. That fear never waned.
There are missing years: the 2019 flood that canceled the event and led us to a carnival at the Ozzie Smith Sports Complex where Pat Benatar was inexplicably performing; the missing early covid years; the blank summer of 2023, when personal tragedy left me in a stupor, unable to leave home. 2025 feels like that too, but I pushed through. If 2025 has a lesson, it’s to make memories while you can.
On the Fourth of July, if we get lucky, we buy fried Oreos and picnic by the Missouri River. Fried Oreos are my favorite dessert, but I only eat them when they are fleeting, like at a festival. Once I found a restaurant that served them, but it felt wrong. Fried Oreos are the morels of junk food: they must be found in the wild to be enjoyed.
We watched a family of geese play, goslings toddling on the muddy shore. I did not know it, but as we enjoyed our day, floods were killing dozens in Texas, including children. On social media, liberals left vicious comments claiming Texas deserved it: comments like the ones I get when Missouri is hit with natural disasters. Comments similar to the vile appraisal of migrant children, whom Trump supporters want imprisoned; or of Palestinian children, whom fanatical Zionists believe deserve death.
There is something soul-shattering about seeing people enjoy the suffering of a child. You hope that such hateful people are not real, that they are bots or operatives, but they often are not. They are people who believe the worst cruelty is so normal that they can express it without social penalty.
There are also people who will mourn one group of children, but not others: as if every lost child were not a tragedy, as if all parents did not grieve. Part of me cannot believe that the inherent humanity and innocence of children needs to be spelled out, but the depth of callousness necessitates it.
“Unspeakable tragedy,” people used to say, meaning sadness so deep it cannot be expressed. But we must speak of tragedies as tragedies, and of cruelty as cruelty. When we don’t, it becomes “normal” — or even celebrated. Early 20th century postcards depicting Black babies being fed to alligators are circulating on the Trump-era internet.
These are death cult days. What was I celebrating on the Fourth of July? Life, outside of this inhumane version of America. Life, in a version of America as vibrant and real as the sadist nightmare that seeks to suppress it. Life, while we have it.
There was not one immigrant at Riverfest for whom I did not fear deportation or incarceration — and non-immigrants, too. A government does not pass a bill designating a record amount of money for secret police without sweeping intent.
We didn’t use all the tickets in my 38 Special. We gave the rest to a family with small children, who shrieked at their good fortune. My husband and I remembered when our children were small, and people did that for us. We want the chain to continue.
We didn’t return for the fireworks either. Months ago, my daughter, now technically an adult, had purchased a Minion firework at a gas station. She and her brother wanted to watch their childhood favorite explode. I could hear them from my bedroom that night, laughing. I could hear gunshots too.
I took comfort in the sound. Not in my perverse ability to tell the difference between guns and fireworks, but in knowing why the guns were being fired.
For now.
* * *
Thank you for reading! I would never paywall in times of peril. But if you’d like to keep this newsletter going, please consider becoming a paid subscriber. That ensures every article remains open to everyone. This newsletter is the main source of income for my family of four, so I appreciate your support!
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