A few weeks ago, for the first time in two years, I returned to the United States to take care of family matters. Although I’m a baby boomer who grew up in West Hartford, Connecticut, I stayed in Hamden, a suburb of New Haven, during this visit. Most of my time, however, was spent in Wolcott, a suburb of Waterbury.
I left Connecticut in 1967 to attend NYU Film School and spent the next thirty-four years living in and around New York City. After that, I moved to Tucson, Arizona, where I lived for twenty years before finally relocating to Guanajuato, Mexico, in May 2022.
Mexico is a wonderful place to live. I love the culture, our beautiful home in the Central Highlands, and being part of a warm, supportive community of both Mexicans and Americans who, like me, have chosen to make this their new home. While I may live in Mexico today, I’m still very much an American, keeping up with everything happening back home where I have family and friends.
The rise of Donald Trump has been profoundly disturbing. Though he isn't the root of all of America's problems, his divisive influence continues to cast a dark shadow. What's even more troubling is that nearly a hundred million Americans still support him, and the prospect of his return to the presidency remains real. This, in itself, says a great deal about the current state of the nation.
Experience has taught me that change is the only constant in life, and our ability to adapt is crucial. Life isn’t fair, there’s no guarantee of justice, and bad things happen to good people, all the fucking time. At seventy-five, I’m acutely aware that my days are numbered. I’m very grateful for the life I have, and consider myself incredibly fortunate to have lived such a challenging and exciting life. Thankfully, that journey continues—for now. And hopefully for a while. I’m already planning my 80th birthday party, at a Tokyo sushi restaurant.
I’ve also learned that expectations are a double-edged sword, so when I decided to make this trip to the place of my birth, I set aside all fears or concerns. I knew I would mostly be spending time with family and friends, but also engaging with my fellow Americans.
In many ways, I’ve always been an outsider, observing from the fringes. I didn’t deliberately choose this path—it just unfolded that way. As a teenager, I idolized Charlie Parker and Lenny Bruce, setting the course for my life, and in many ways, I haven’t changed. Bebopper, writer, beatnik, hippy, filmmaker, tech wizard, radical—I’ve embraced all these identities and more. Leaving the U.S. for a better life isn’t for everyone, but for me, it was the natural progression of who I’ve always been.
Since this was a last-minute trip, the timing couldn't have been worse. I prefer to avoid traveling when Mercury is in Retrograde, which happens two or three times a year. During this period, communication, technology, travel, and decision-making often get disrupted. People believe it's a time prone to misunderstandings, delays, and technical glitches. It's generally advised to be extra cautious with contracts, travel plans, and communications during these phases.
There’s no direct flight from the Central Highlands of Mexico to New York City, so I had to connect through Dallas before heading to New York. The first part of the trip was smooth, but when I arrived at DFW Airport, I found out my connecting flight had been canceled. It wasn’t a disaster, but definitely an inconvenience.
New York’s weather had caused all flights to be diverted or canceled. I headed to an American Airlines kiosk, hoping to find an alternative, only to find a line of equally frustrated passengers already waiting. I braced for a long delay. Flying these days often brings out the simmering anger in many Americans, who are quick to lash out at anything that makes them feel powerless.
Navigating the soul-sucking maze of corporations and bureaucracy is like being strapped to a slow-moving conveyor belt of existential dread—a relentless reminder of just how small, insignificant, and utterly powerless you really are in the face of the cold, grinding machine.
In that cavernous terminal, eye contact was a lost art. Everyone was trapped in their own private hell, gripping their phones like lifelines, as if one more scroll could save them from the chaos. Flights were canceled left and right, and the tension hung in the air like thick smog. The usual signs of humanity—conversation, a simple smile—had vanished, replaced by a silent, desperate isolation.
When I finally clawed my way to the front of the line, the woman behind the counter didn’t even let me open my mouth. “No more flights to New York tonight,” she barked, “and with all these cancellations, good luck getting out before Wednesday. Hotels are packed too, so you’re stuck.” Stranded in Texas? Hell, no—one of my personal circles of Dante’s Inferno. Then she dangled a faint lifeline: “I could get you to LA, maybe catch a morning flight to New York from there. There’s a 4 AM out of LAX.” Before I could say a word, she slammed the door: “Oops, scratch that. LA’s full too.” Texas purgatory, it was.
I stood there, dazed, like I'd been sucker-punched by the universe. Where the hell was I going to sleep? When would I finally make it to LaGuardia? Meanwhile, the American Airlines agent kept pounding away at her keyboard, hunting for options in the digital void. “What are my rights as a passenger?” I asked, half expecting some corporate salvation. She looked up with a deadpan smile. “Well, since it’s an Act of God, you don’t have any rights.” Ah, God—always reliable.
After what felt like an eternity, she found a single seat on a noon flight to New York the next day. “I’ll take it!” I blurted, like a drowning man spotting a life raft. But, of course, the universe had other plans. “Oh, sorry, it just got booked.” Perfect. “What about another airline?” I asked, desperation creeping in. “They’re all booked,” she said, almost apologetically, like the messenger of doom.
Resigned to my fate, I grabbed my bags and prepared to search for a hotel like a defeated soldier retreating from battle. But just as I turned to walk away, she perked up, “Wait, I can put you on standby for the noon flight.” I lunged at the chance. “I’ll take it,” I said, clinging to hope like a madman. And by some twisted miracle, I managed to snag a spot. She even threw me a bone—a discount coupon for a hotel website. I found a room in the middle of nowhere, Irving, Texas, and booked an Uber to my temporary exile.
The next morning, I showed up at the airport two hours early, only to find out that my alternate flight had been canceled. Classic. Back to the kiosk grind, but this time I struck gold—a ticket for a flight two hours later. Naturally, it was delayed. I finally touched down in New York at 8 PM, rented a car, and made the long drive to Hamden, Connecticut. Welcome back, America.
As I navigated off the highway and through the quiet streets of this New Haven suburb, I was hit by a sea of American flags and Trump signs. Wait—Connecticut’s supposed to be a blue state, right? Apparently not. I was crashing with an old friend, Mark Kaplan, and once we settled in, the conversation inevitably drifted to how much the U.S. had spiraled. Turns out, I’d landed in the heart of Trump country, which seemed to include most small towns around here. Mark mentioned how every public space, especially online, was now drenched in bigotry. On Facebook, any hope of real conversation with friends or neighbors had flatlined—civil discourse was a dead language. But really, can you even have a rational conversation with someone brainwashed by a cult?
During my week in Connecticut, I got a bitter taste of the madness that’s gripping the Nutmeg State—and the entire nation. The United States is a house divided, split down the middle. For centuries, American democracy functioned on the shaky balance of a two-party system, and somehow, it mostly worked. But now, one of those parties, led by a narcissistic sociopath with a God complex, has mutated into a grotesque collection of fascist bigots, hell-bent on remaking the country into a dystopian nightmare.
Disagreement? Debate? Sure, that’s the lifeblood of democracy. But trying to have a rational conversation with someone deep in the MAGA cult? Forget it. These people have been brainwashed to the point of no return—they swallow every lie their dear leader spews like gospel. And what makes it worse? A lot of them are armed to the teeth and itching for a fight. It’s not a conversation; it’s a powder keg.
Take my friend Mark’s Facebook feed, for example. He dared to respond to a post by someone he knows—someone local, a supposed “neighbor.” The response to his comment? A thinly veiled death threat. Welcome to the new normal, where discourse isn’t just dead—it’s buried, with a bullet in its skull.
Are there really millions of Americans gearing up for a Civil War, with January 6 as their dress rehearsal? God, I hope not, but who’s to say? Trump, during his New York trial, kept blaring that hundreds of his loyal minions would storm the courthouse in protest. And what happened? Over the entire trial, a grand total of six diehards showed up. Six. So much for the revolution.
In my wanderings through Connecticut, I mostly bumped into civilians at diners—always with my two brothers at my side. And every time we walked in, the temperature dropped. Suspicion was thick in the air. "Who the fuck are these guys? And what side are they on?" It was the kind of silent judgment you can feel crawling up your spine.
Fifty years ago, when my hair brushed my shoulders, I felt that same icy stare. Fresh out of college, back in a town that didn't trust the long-haired freaks. Hell, I was even threatened with a beating once at Friendly’s restaurant. A group of us home on spring break got cornered by some clean-cut All-American psychos, full of piss and vinegar, hurling insults and promising to be waiting for us outside. But when we left, they were long gone. Talk is cheap, and so were they.
My recent visit wasn’t quite as extreme as that, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d stumbled into *Invasion of the Body Snatchers*, Don Siegel’s masterpiece of paranoia and identity loss. Set in the sleepy little town of Santa Mira, California, Dr. Miles Bennell starts noticing his patients acting strange, whispering that their loved ones look the same but are somehow... off. Cold. Hollow. Stripped of all the quirks that made them human.
As the nightmare unravels, Bennell and his crew uncover the terrifying reality: alien plant spores have crashed down to Earth, spawning duplicates of people—"pod people"—who look exactly like their human counterparts, but with all the soul drained out. These emotionless impostors sprout from giant seed pods, slipping into human bodies while they sleep, erasing everything that makes them unique.
The film's paranoia, conformity, and fear of invasion mirrored the Cold War jitters and the Red Scare that had America by the throat. At its core, *Invasion of the Body Snatchers* leaves you wondering if humanity stands a chance against such a relentless, creeping threat. Sound familiar? If Trump snags another term, people will be asking the same damn question: can America survive the onslaught of his insidious brand of madness?
Then there’s the sticker shock. A diner breakfast—two eggs, bacon, toast, OJ, and coffee—now sets you back $20. Twenty bucks! For one person. Grocery shopping felt like every price tag was dipped in gold, nearly double what it used to be. Sure, coming from Mexico’s economy, I expected the U.S. to be pricier, but this was absurd. Everything—except gas—had skyrocketed in just two years.
No wonder half the country is losing their minds about the economy. They're getting squeezed from all sides, and it's starting to show.
After this trip, I can’t shake the feeling that America’s in deep trouble. It’s a nation full of wandering souls, wondering how the hell the American Dream got derailed and fearing what’s next. And Trump, the maestro of manipulation, feeds off that fear like a vampire. In a country built by immigrants, he’s somehow turned them into public enemy number one.
The American Dream used to be about upward mobility, working hard, and reaping the rewards—a house, a decent living, and freedom. But now? For so many, it’s a pipe dream. Income inequality is off the charts, wages have flatlined, and the cost of living is climbing like a rocket. The rungs of the ladder—education, healthcare, affordable housing—are either broken or too high to reach. The whole system is rigged, and the Dream? Out of reach for most.
It's Called the American Dream Because You Have To Be Asleep to Believe It" – George Carlin.
The reality we have to face is that Trump still has a stranglehold on one of the political parties and could very well win again. Whatever happens in November, the future is uncertain at best. As Mel Brooks said, I'm hoping for the best but expecting the worst. That way, no matter what happens, I won't be disappointed.
Oh, if that happens you certainly will be disappointed!
If I have to categorize myself I would call myself Libertarian. I have deep distrust of all institutions, and I think my distrust (and outright disgust) is well founded. I'm certain that a segment of the MAGA movement is extreme like you've described, just as the extremes in the Democrat party who prefer censorship, media manipulation, lawfare and drag queen kindergarten hour.
I believe you're hitting on something though when you talk about the disaffection of Americans on both/all sides of the political landscape (desperate airport passengers, if you will). This breeds a desperation not unlike the feeling you had in the airport. We see people clinging to these individuals, literally and figuratively turning them into action heroes, and demonizing to the point of invalidation, those they perceive as "others." It's easier to cancel someone rather than talk to them or engage with them about how they truly feel. Turn them into a cartoon and denounce them as evil, that should fix the problem?
Here's a fact that many of my MAGA hating friends can't seem to hear or discuss rationally, that most Trumpers came to him because they perceived him as being an outsider to the system. They believed him to not be a creature of the rotten, corrupt, war mongering, permanent unelected machine that rules our country. With no hope to change things from the inside, and congress stocked with perpetual vultures who act in their own self interest as opposed to the interest of the people they purport to represent, MAGA envisions Trump's "drain the swamp" pipedreams in their own wet dreams.
Trump knows how to speak (NY style) populist lingo, and he was the only one who expressed any desire to fix the problems foisted upon the American workers by things like NAFTA, and most favored nations status for countries that import goods, yet punitively tax and ban reciprocal trade. Those workers, many union, feel like they got a raw deal that no politician gives a flying fuck about them. Hillary certainly did not, nor did she have a record to prove otherwise. I'm sorry but the Democrat party has long since sold out those workers, and THAT has as much to do about creating this MAGA movement as any racists motives, imagined or otherwise. Most MAGA people that I know don't give a flying fuck about the color of someone's skin. They just want to live a decent, simple affordable life, and give everyone equal opportunity to work and do so. That's their idea of a "great America."
Unfortunately, Trump did not drain the swamp when he had the chance, and now runs by, yes, stoking the fear and loathing of the populace who cling to hope for that - elusive plane ticket. They are afraid to let go of who they think Trump is, rather than realize who he really is, because there's nowhere else to turn. Certainly not a Democrat party that fucks over mavericks like Bernie Sanders, cancels the votes of Biden supporters, and rule like authoritarians over their party with "super delegates." Democrat politicians also talk the talk, but do not walk the walk. This is why the labor movement and an increasing number of African Americans are leaving this plantation that forgets to feed them. Instead, they gaslight them and tell them you must be imagining that everything is INSANELY expensive, good work is hard to come by, and all is going to hell in this country.
The Republican machine and politicians are guilty of the same. They never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity, to actually get something good done for their constituents. They talk the talk and talk, and talk and talk.... MAGA became an offshoot of that hapless party, in the desperate effort to shake some part of the establishment to it's core. They're tired of war, they're tired of working 2-3 jobs to scrape by, and living one medical health situation from disaster, .....they're just tired.
These days I find myself in alignment with journalists and pundits like Matt Taibbi, Glenn Greenwald, Jimmy Dore, An0maly, Briana Joy Grey and others who still speak truth to power, instead of doing the dirty work of the establishment. The left's MAGA movement perhaps?
What I would hope to see is a realization by MAGA, and disaffected progressive Democrats, that we have much more in common than we think. Instead of hating and cancelling one another, it would be a beautiful thing to see that energy turned against the ones who are really destroying this country, and the western world.... the entrenched and unelected machine, oligarchs and military industrial complex. Until then we're simply doing the dirty work of fracturing the backbone of what had always made America great - it's people. A divided and warring populace is the wet dream of these monsters, and makes their destructive progress easy.