If there is one thing that is striking about everyday life in Trump’s times, is that at the surface of it, nothing has changed. Why of course, you would cry in protest―what do you expect to see, craters in the pavements opening up, lava firing away, the now unsalvageable populace now screaming away in panic?
No, of course not. The same kind of rhetoric has come up, after all, time and time again, in Greece at the peak of its own crisis―the usual “why are your cafeterias still full” moronic line of argument. I did not expect to see this kind of spectacle. But what is striking in the brief time between Trump’s swearing in and the present moment―only sixty-odd days, mind, but at this moment in history this is something of an eternity―is how most people seem to have switched from being shell-shocked, to denial. I think that is what it is, denial: not complacency (which would require a full admission of what is going on) nor, exactly, resignation―well hopefully not, plus it must surely be way too early for that. Denial: a creeping sense that what is happening isn’t real and that, if one were to try and ignore it it might, it might just go away. In my talks with friends, comrades, strangers, the same recurring thing comes up: surely Trump will be impeached, it is only a matter of time, look at all those Russia links, plus―this one is new―they don’t seem to be letting his administration pass anything through, anyway. So, goes the inadvertent conclusion, all one has to do is wait for the fruit to ripen and fall off the tree: a question of when, not if.
This is what the people say when they speak. But the bodies, as they move through the city, tell much of a different story. They are masses-in-limbo, no longer expecting, not waiting for the next phase, but knowingly trapped in an in-between that will certainly not end any time soon. For no matter what happens in the highest echelons of power, the credits to legitimate, liberal democracy have rolled already―whether the audience decides to leave the cinema or not doesn’t make much of a difference to this fact. Whatever happens “next” is of no significance importance. The bodies know, and they in turn radiate through their shiftlessness, that life as we had known it so far is gone.
They know that what is to follow is a long limbo, an in-between that becomes our here-and-now, certain in its uncertainty, unexpectedly reassuring in its bleakness. Why rush? The place is here, and the time is now―and we’ll be here and now for some while.