Finding Fellowship At Coachella
by Mark Rock
A Bookend for a Very Personal Journey
With temperatures reaching 101 degrees by 2 pm in the California desert town of Coachella, tens of thousands had descended into the scorching valley to hear and (if they were lucky) catch a glimpse of Donald Trump as he spoke at one the final rallies of his campaign.
As unlikely as it was for so many people to have turned out under such circumstances for an event they could stream live from the comfort of an air-conditioned living room, it was all the more so that I was among them: Disillusioned by George W. Bush and absolutely revolted by Dick Cheney, I had promised to “never vote Republican again” – a vow I took in 2004, and to which I remained true for the next 12 years (the confounding choice of Mitt Romney to lead the 2012 Republican effort didn’t help).
Yet, there I was, in the middle of a blazing field on one of the most infernal days I’d ever experienced, for the sole purpose of standing in the presence of the Republican Party’s preeminent statesman and 2024 presidential candidate. Among a veritable ocean of people who had come from all over California and beyond, I was already learning some valuable lessons about myself and those around me. Like many of them, I had travelled hundreds of miles to be there. In so doing, we had braved not only the elements (and Los Angeles traffic), but also the omnipresent threat of something more sinister: the mentally dispossessed.
With boundaries already tenuous at best, their dormant impulses were being awakened, nourished, and spurned on by Democrat-sanctioned propaganda, leading some on the fringe to arm themselves for one final flash of glory in service of a demented call to immortal heroism. More than one of us must have reflected on how, a mere eleven weeks earlier, the likelihood of collateral casualties was not a deterrent for one such twisted soul. The willingness of the Left to court such outcomes was further rationale for why I no longer embraced what I once proudly proclaimed as an unabashed liberalism.
The others around us – in various stages of consciousness and heat-induced distress – were in no position to hoist what were quickly becoming plastic sacks of mush. “I’m on it,” I replied, grabbing two bags of ice that the dutiful volunteer had lugged from an area outside the grandstand where event organizers were passing out liberal amounts of free ice and water. As I poured the ice into hats, t-shirts, and other impromptu vessels of convective cooling, I was taken by how many people refused what would have afforded fervid relief: “I’m okay, thanks!” “Give it to a kid” “God bless you, but others need it more than me.”
For me, as well as several I spoke with that day, the experience at Coachella was a capstone on a journey that had begun years earlier.
My migration to the Republican party began when I was still walking into polling places as a registered Democrat. During those years, I’d undergone significant personal transformations: falling in love, getting married, and starting a family.
Straight, White, Male, Unwanted
Almost immediately, it became clear that the affiliations I’d built, and the loyalties I’d tried to foster in forging an allegiance to the Democrat party and those within it, were a fool’s errand of the highest order: I was, somehow, just wrong to them – and they didn’t hesitate to make that known at every available opportunity.
To this day, I’m not sure why.
I am a white male, but then so are many others driving their slogan-festooned Priuses and Subarus. I do own several guns for home protection, but I don’t hunt. Nor do I drive a truck, wear ballcaps, drink beer, or follow sports.
I am also married – albeit not to an inherently angry or reflexively righteous woman, but rather to a beautiful lady who has a lot of security in my emphasis of that: an ardent admirer of Trump herself, my wife has no problem with women being women in the traditional sense. Moreover, I was a devout centrist, with sympathies ranging from single-payer health care to questioning the prudence of capital punishment in a country with a judicial system that, with a disturbing regularity and frequency, fails as spectacularly as our healthcare system.
Yet, on a personal level, in situations grand and trivial, those of the “Blue No Matter Who” ilk spewed forth their loathing with astonishing predictability. I’m not sure whether it was gradual or some epiphany, but there came a point when I realized the irrefutable truth: these people hate me.
The only plausible explanation was that, for all their sloganeering about “social justice” and other lofty-sounding ideals, for all of their discriminatory and exclusionary agendas dressed up in euphemistic catchphrases, “progressives” were basically hateful people; many were simply sick. Their tribal instincts didn’t apprehend the same in my more classical liberal approach, which was driven by a genuine benevolence that, despite my lack of abject religiosity, didn’t have much room for a valentine proclaiming the sublimity of abortion.
A Turn To The Right
Notwithstanding the Cheney-constructed neocon war machine (which, at this writing, has defected to the Democrat ticket anyway), it’s embarrassing to disclose how long it took me to entertain the possibility that the deeply personal aspects of my experiences with progressives clearly begged for an alternative.
As I lugged the increasingly drippy bags up the bleacher steps, I had to deal with not only the weight of the ice, which was thankfully dissipating with each grateful reception (and, admittedly, no small measure of evaporation and spillage onto the ground), but also distraction from an earlier mistake:
I had left my magnet on my car.
Purchased at an earlier rally in Santa Barbara, it was direct in its message: “Bidenflation: The cost of voting stupid.”
The magnets were (understandably) very popular; apparently, I’d purchased the last one. Unlike a bumper sticker, a magnet could be easily removed on arrival at a destination, thereby preventing some inveterate leftist from tearing it off (or worse). Now, I was worried: was the ingeniousness of the design going to become a liability, tempting one of us to help himself to a highly coveted collectible?
Hours would pass before I could know.
Trump Speech: Entertaining, Irreverent, and Inspirational
Trump walked up to the dais. Pandemonium ensued as the man many regard as a mortal savior found himself treated to the kind of reception I hadn’t seen since the reunited original members of Kiss took the stage at the L.A. Forum in 1996. With the sun setting and the temperature quickly dropping to a soothing and gentle 85, the field, and the vast expanse of the MAGA hat adorned, was now bathed in purplish pink light as cool breezes washed over those gathered to hear the message of hope.
The only president of modern times to not start a new war or expand an existing one (and, bafflingly, the one most maligned by Democrats) began to deliver his remarks. They followed a familiar theme: we can look forward to peace and prosperity, just like last time. Of course, these were punctuated by no small measure of entertaining, often-irreverent anecdotes, and willful hyperbole (two things which the left, astoundingly at this point, doesn’t understand add, rather than detract, to Trump’s populist appeal – especially when contrasted with a decidedly inauthentic opponent).
Wanting to get a jump on the ensuing mass exodus, as Trump wrapped up, I made my way out of the ranch and into the mild desert evening, reflecting on just how well-behaved, compassionate, and truly well-adjusted almost every single person I came across had been that day and early evening.
I can’t imagine any other scenario in which that impression would be taken from a similar number of people packed into a field, in blazing hot sun, for seven hours. (I haven’t been able to obtain an exact attendance figure, which is testimony to the fact that the crowd size must have been far in excess of the 15,000 the mainstream media reported – especially considering that they had also stated that an estimated 40,000 people were left “stranded” without busses back to the parking lots - a stupendous lie, one I wish I’d been able to refute by simply taking pictures during my ride back to the lot in a luxury coach).
Home At Last
Dropped off in the parking lot from which I’d departed nine hours earlier, I walked past dozens of vendors still hawking Trump merchandise. One shirt read, “I’m Voting for the Felon,” and another, “Impeached. Arrested. Convicted. Shot. Still Standing.”
These were testimony to another aspect of Trump’s appeal that is completely lost on his detractors: In American history, there is no equivalent example of ceaseless attempts to discredit an opponent failing to take that person down. For those that have struggled against tribulations in their own lives, that is inspirational on a transcendent level. For those inclined to embrace the central tenet of the modern left – the abdication of personal responsibility – it is threatening beyond measure, a rationale for stopping its personification at all costs.
Back at the lot, ensconced in darkness, I pass rows and rows of still-parked cars awaiting their owners’ return. I recalled how I hadn’t seen a “Bidenflation…” magnet on any other car, or on any of the vendors’ tables. I grew anxious and, for some inexplicable reason, picked up my pace. When I arrived at my car, I jogged to the rear. Safe and secure as I’d left it, was my easily peelable magnet, untouched as thousands of honor-bound brothers and sisters, united in their hope for a rekindled American greatness, walked past.
After a long, arduous personal journey, on that searing day in the desert, I’d finally arrived home.
Join Us for the 2024 Election Eve.
Santa Barbara Current (www.SBCurrent.com) is organizing an Election Eve Get-Together at Cody's Cafe (4898 Hollister Avenue, Goleta, CA) on Tuesday night, November 5th, from 7pm to 10pm. We would very much like you to join us.
For your admittance pittance, you’ll be privileged to enjoy a Cash Bar, Heavy Appetizers (provided by Cody's Cafe), Mutual Nose-Rubbing, Friendship (real and imaginary), multiple television coverage,and a chance to be among friends and mutual acquaintances as you root for your favorites and against your nemeses.
Will Donald J. Trump become our President-in-Waiting? Will Republicans Sweep the House, Senate, and White House? Will Santa Barbarians defeat the unwanted and unnecessary school bonds? Will common sense school board members and city council members be elected? If the answer to most of these questions is YES, this will be THE place to celebrate. If things go south, you’ll have company drowning your sorrow in a stiff drink.
Please invite your friends. The results of this Presidential Election– from the top of the ballot all the way down –is sure to be pivotal for Santa Barbara, America, and the world. Tickets are $20/in advance (or $30 at the door if still available). Only 150 tickets will be sold, so to ensure your place please order well in advance.
Click here to reserve your tickets.
Santa Barbara Current’s Endorsement List (Nov 5, 2024 Election)
I love this! Thank you, Mark. You nailed it.
I was a Democrat from the time I could vote, although my first time I picked Nixon because despite my teenage dislike of him, he was the only candidate who seemed serious about getting us out of Vietnam.
I voted twice for Obama. I don't apologize - McCain was not an option for me. But during Obama's terms I protested against his policies more than I had any other president. I was living in NYC and the protests against his love of surveillance and drones took place at Union Square - yet I never saw a single NYC liberal friend of mine participate. It began to shock me how much they believed in Obama's saintliness, despite clear evidence that he was taking the Clintons love of bombing and tracking opponents more seriously than even they did.
In 2015 I was out for the regular Chinatown dim sum a writer friend of mine and I had, and she talked about Obama with this glow. She was disappointed in Clinton over his treatment of Monica, but said, “Obama would never have thrown her under the bus like that.” I blurted out, “That's just because he's gay and not interested in that kind of blow job.” She stared at me. How could I? He and Michelle and those daughters - what a wonderful American family. I said, “I'm beginning to think he doesn't like America much at all.” She was visibly shocked.
That was the beginning of the rift between me and my longtime, hardcore liberal NYC friends. I loved living there. I loved being a minority in my neighborhood in Greenwich Village - a straight married woman - while most of my friends were gay, polyamorous or trans.
When I moved to my hometown of Santa Barbara to help my elderly mom, it was during the beginning of the 2016 election. I missed my friends in NYC, but while they were starting to spew their hatred of Trump, I was beginning to see that he was all that could save us from Hillary. When they'd write me rants about Trump I'd write them back that I couldn't vote for Hillary after her boasting about killing Gaddafi. That's when I realized I had moved completely away from the Democrats. My friends all supported Hillary for killing him. They told me I was insane to think she did it because she didn't want him creating an independent economic system for his people. They told me I had to vote for Hillary because the self esteem of American girls depended on it. They told me Trump was a worse womanizer than Clinton. My brilliant cutting-edge friends in NYC had not only lost their minds but dropped 50 IQ points. And then they stopped being my friends because I refused to hate Trump. Many told me I'd become a White Supremacist.
But Santa Barbara liberals were even worse to deal with because when they would spew their hate rants about Trump's pussy grabbing or Russian Collusion, I'd hear the words of the latest NYC media propaganda they'd believed - and often I knew the writer whose words they were regurgitating. At least when my NYC friends got angry at me I was getting the original bile.
I no longer feel heartbroken about losing friends because their hatred of Trump was more important than our friendship. It is what it is. I have friends now I respect and enjoy because, like Trump, they have values instead of insanity.
And unlike my old liberal friends, they haven't lost their sense of humor. Trump isn't just making America great again. He's making us laugh again. And boy, do we need to.
Great article. Welcome back to sanity. Let’s hope he truly can cut the bloated government back by 80% and “keep their dirty little fingers out of everybody’s pies“