Opinion: Now what: Wandering in the wilderness

You know the old song lyrics “Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am?”

I’ve been hearing that on a loop in my inner ear over the past two weeks since Donald Trump pulled off what some have called a surprise landslide but which, after the votes were counted, seems to be more of an anti-Kamala “boy are they blue” wave.

In other words, I doubt that America has embraced Trump because he’s received a lower popular vote percentage than almost every prior winner.

Still, America couldn’t stomach the idea of a Harris presidency. And so, here we are.

I’m not ecstatic, to tell you the truth. I didn’t expect to be.

The fact that I’m neither devastated by Trump’s win nor elated by Kamala’s failure places me squarely in the middle of those clowns and jokers.

And I have a feeling I’ll be stuck here for another four years, with one side calling me a fascist and the other side calling me a RINO at best, a traitor to the cause at worst.

And that’s fine. Honestly, I don’t do team playing that well.

It’s probably because I’m Italian, biologically by half and spiritually 100%, and we are never able to get on the same page in anything.

You think I’m joking. Google “meatball recipe” and realize that the same little globe of beef/pork/whatever is like a snowflake: each Italian nonna makes it differently.

But I digress, which is also proof of my Italian DNA.

When you are in the middle, even if you lean deeply towards one side as I do, you are never entirely accepted.

However, it does give you the ability to accurately assess the many flaws of those hanging on to the extreme edges of that ship of state.

Let’s start with the progressives. I have had about enough of the whining, wailing, teeth gnashing and apocalyptic rantings of those who not only despise Trump but also hate the people who voted for him.

They even hate the people who didn’t vote at all because they blame them for electing an emperor.

I’m sad to think of all the fractured Thanksgiving celebrations, because who doesn’t want to eat marshmallow-topped sweet potatoes and noodle casserole next to a fascist?

I’m also done with the Trumpers who, after four years of wandering in the wilderness, are back and better than ever. When I say “better,” I mean vengeful.

Many of my conservative friends will be angry at that characterization, but it’s hard for me to avoid thinking that the joy of the Trump victory is in many ways a toxic brew of resentment, relief and a desire to “own the libs.”

Yes, there are many reasons to be appalled at what the Democrats did to Trump during his four years in exile, although some of what is called “lawfare” was a legitimate exercise of Congress’ investigative authority.

The state prosecutions, on the other hand, were what the French would call “crapule,” which you can figure out even if you don’t have a degree in the language.

But the chest-thumping and the absolute refusal to look at mediocre nominees like Matt Gaetz with an objective eye, wanting to get a “win” for the team, is disturbing.

Is there a place where Americans can simply agree to disagree, without vilifying the other side?

And I know the answer: no.

A big, loud, unequivocal “no.”

That’s because, as Amy Chua noted in her book “Political Tribes:” “Humans are tribal. We need to belong to groups. We crave bonds and attachments, which is why we love clubs, teams, fraternities, and family. Almost no one is a hermit. Even monks and friars belong to orders. But the tribal instinct is not just an instinct to belong. It is also an instinct to exclude.”

She’s right: we need to hate someone else.

That element, hatred of the other, is much more of a cohesive element than acceptance. The Hate Has No Home Here crowd was really saying “I Hate You Because You’re Not Like Me. Deal With It.”

And that’s precisely why those of us who couldn’t stand Kamala but are not in love with Trump, and never will be, are condemned to wandering in our own wilderness.

Christine Flowers is a columnist for the Delaware County Daily Times. Contact her at:

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