Former President Donald Trump was onstage at the rally a few minutes into the day when bullets from an AR-15 semiautomatic rifle ripped through the air. One bullet sliced through his ear, forcing him to duck for cover, his face covered in blood, Trump said. Others killed one spectator and wounded two others, shocking but not surprising the nation, because this is America.
Secret Service agents moved quickly around Trump, who crouched, forming a human shield. (In a country full of guns, don’t we all crave that kind of protection?) Police shot and killed the shooter. The Secret Service used the word “neutralized,” suggesting the danger was gone, but the danger was merely suspended. This is America, after all.
When Trump finally rose to his feet, his ears and cheeks were visibly bloodied. His expression flickered between confusion and shock, then quickly turned to anger. From a microphone on the slanted podium, Trump could be heard straightening up and picking up his shoes. In the tangle of black suits, there was another figure. A red stain. A bloody handkerchief? No, Trump retrieved the MAGA cap he was wearing.
As agents tried to hurry those in their care towards the motorcade, Trump demanded, “Wait, wait, wait.” Agents who had risked their lives to stand between him and the shooter paused to allow Trump to address the crowd. With cinematic bravado, he pumped his fist in the air and, with a tight-lipped voice, said just one word: “Fight!” The crowd roared.
This is America, so it’s impossible to fully understand the meaning and impact of the word. Metaphors intended to inspire tenacity and courage are taken as calls to violence. Fair warnings about the dire state of democracy are interpreted as license for terrorism. Facts rain down like grenades. Disagreements hit like volleys of gunfire.
It’s all a conspiracy. All our communication is colored by anger and distrust, as if we’re speaking a different language, a dialect in Republican states, a dialect in Democratic states. But the aftermath of the Trump attack is familiar to us all: the belongings and trash strewn in the wake of the crowds fleeing the shooting, the crime scene tape, the shattered sense of safety, the anxiety, the hope of a thorough investigation.
It’s tempting to say that Americans exist along a bell curve, with extremists at either end and good people in the middle who want everyone to get along. But that’s false. We are a nation of bitter resentments, ill-informed voters, self-righteous Christians, condescending secularists, disgruntled young people, stubborn old people, greedy rich people, and resentful poor people who want to see themselves continue to suffer, if that means anything. Them Black people, immigrants, refugees, Muslims, gay people — any group of people could benefit from a little help from the government.
America is angry. It is settled with a rage that contorts faces, tenses muscles, and renders people unrecognizable to themselves. It is an rage that conjures up sepia-toned images of women in shirtdresses and cat-eye glasses and men in short-sleeved dress shirts and skinny ties, from a time when political violence took a heavy toll in the fight over racism and civil rights. It was really just a fight over what kind of country people wanted to be. For racists, the rage stemmed from having to share space with people who weren’t like them. They believed that things that were rightfully theirs were being taken away from them, not realizing that just possessing something doesn’t mean it’s rightfully theirs. Their rage was at the stripping away of privilege.
There’s a famous photograph of a 15-year-old girl walking alone to her school entrance exam for Little Rock’s Central High School in 1957. A crowd of racist protesters stand behind her, shouting, but one in particular stands out. She has short black hair and her mouth is wide open, almost a perfect circle, ready to spit all its rage. Her eyes are narrowed, her brow furrowed, her rage volcanic.
Three generations later, America remains segregated in many churches and neighborhoods. We still debate what kind of country this should be. People still worry about losing what they never had. People still cling to privilege, deny the ugly parts of our history, and deeply doubt difference. Justice may not move in a straight line, but does it have to make a sharp turn?
Minutes after Trump left the stage, even before his motorcade had departed, the crowd began chanting “USA, USA” in response to his pumped fists. Rather than being horrified or shocked, many in the capacity audience were angry and tried to deflect responsibility for the bloodshed, hurling tirades not at each other or at themselves, but at the assembled video cameras.
One man in particular stood out. He was wearing a red T-shirt and a moss-colored baseball cap. He had a gray beard and dark sunglasses covering his eyes. He shouted “Fuck you!” and thrust his middle finger into the air with all his might. Rage flooded his body, his arms hyperextended, his biceps flexed. But he was not alone. America was gripped by rage. It was in convulsions with it.
“Unity is the most difficult goal to achieve, [more] “What’s more important right now is unity,” President Biden said.
What should this country be like? America doesn’t have to be like this.
