A dark summer night, a curtain of heavy rain, thunder confuses the senses and then a bright flash of light from the window reveals the garden: branches are down, heavy chairs have blown into the rose bed, an electrical wire is sparking in the grass.
The summer before the presidential primaries is usually pretty dull in the United States. Most years in both parties a few candidates, who have been expected to run for years anyway, finally announce that they do in fact want to become President of the country. This summer has been different. Donald Trump, an American billionaire, entered the race with a thunderstorm of predicate adjectives: I am smart, I am rich, successful, and powerful. I am strong.
Everyone else running for the office is stupid, incompetent, powerless, weak, and the worst. Trump avoids specific details and ideologies that require complex descriptions. He is a huge, classy, straight-shooter. His speeches consist of simple boasts stated simply, exactly in the manner and vocabulary of a ten-year-old bragging on the playground.
We are a nation of immigrants, but there is a growing minority who are scared and want to close the doors for good. Trump’s followers like the sound of a bully who says he’s big and strong and he’ll beat up the foreigner who tries to get in our neighborhood. Pick up your baseball bats, guns, and lynching ropes. Elect Trump and America will beat the crap out of Mexico, China, and the so-called Islamic State.
Nearly a third of Republican voters say they will vote for Trump, thankfully that’s less than a sixth of all American voters. He will never be elected, but this summer’s thunderstorm of adjectives has produced lightening flashes that reveal a dangerous mess in our backyard.
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