So I suppose I could be mistaken for one of those Trump supporters, resentful of the coastal elites and threatened by my decreasing relevance and surrounded by what appears to be a growing number of differently-colored people.
But I’m not a supporter of Trump. Far, far from it. Over the past few months I’ve been forced to consider why that is so. Best I can figure out, it’s because I’m quite a bit smarter than your average rube.
That’s not bragging. It’s just the only explanation that makes sense. By any calculus, you have to be pretty stupid to think that a man like Trump does not represent a giant step back for America — never mind any talk of greatness.
His ludicrous promises to working stiffs can’t be kept, and his cabinet picks so far show that his darkest impulses can’t be avoided. There’s every indication that his most ardent supporters haven’t the slightest idea what specific policies they were voting for (see Clay County, Kentucky). So I have to conclude that those celebrating this new era of Trump are, in fact, not all that bright.
I know: Not helpful. In the polarized aftermath of an election where the majority did not rule, we’re all supposed to look inward, and reach outward and seek consensus and try to understand the other point of view. But you can’t discuss immigration or trade or health care or climate change with people who don’t know anything and don’t care to know. Like the man said, you can’t fix stupid.
Sorry. Some of my dearest friends are stupid. And look, I’m no genius myself. I consider myself smart only because we’re grading on the curve in a land where book learnin’ has been recently rejected. In Sweden, I’d probably be a C student at best.
But for now, I’m claiming the intellectual high ground in this little corner of Florida. For whatever that’s worth. I fear it’ll be cold comfort in the years to come.