The Election: A Three-Part Essay on Dread
By Margaret Hawkins
October 26, 2024
Hans Haacke, “The Business Behind Art Knows the Art of the Koch Brothers,” 2014, 3 color
inkjet photos, 37 x 99 1/2 x 1 3/8” overall. Courtesy of Paula Cooper Gallery, New York.
Part I: A Letter to the Children (trigger warning: may contain unfamiliar vocabulary)
Dear Children,
Once upon a time, in the days before The Great Devastation, back when there was a thing called snow and many varieties of animals roamed the earth, things were different. Every four years we performed a ritual called The Presidential Election. You may have heard of it. People across the nation got together to decide who would be Our Great Leader. We hardly ever brought weapons. This may be hard to believe, that anyone could be so naïve to go places unarmed, but in those days we took for granted the peaceful transfer of power and thought our individual votes counted. We retreated to private booths and stuffed little pieces of paper in boxes, which priests of the faith then counted, one by one. We did this because we believed in something called Democracy, an archaic word and concept, now mostly used ironically.
We felt scared and happy as voting day approached. Who would win? It was like a game or a sport, but more serious. We studied ancient texts, known as newspapers, to help us decide who to vote for and we stood in line — some of us for a very, very long time — to cast our single vote. Sometimes, if we lived in Chicago, local politicians who hung around the voting sites would cheat and run past the official boundary, pretending to know us and wanting to hug us, but really to whisper in our ears and tell us who to vote for. Afterward, some nice elderly person would give us a sticker that said, “I voted!” and we would wear it all day and feel proud to have participated and to live in a place where we could. We loved those stickers. That night we’d watch TV and eat snacks and stay up late to see who won. When it was our candidate, we cheered and when it wasn’t, we were sad. Some people even cried, especially when that lady whose name we’re not allowed to say anymore lost.
Fred Tomaselli, “Thursday, May 12, 2011,” 2016, acrylic over archival digital print, 43 x 54”.
Courtesy the artist and White Cube, London and Hong Kong. Photo: Max Yawney.
The other team’s victory celebrations were painful to watch, of course, but not too bad because in those days it was considered impolite for winners to gloat. (Gloating is when winners are mean to losers, which used to be considered bad.) Mostly there were just parties, fun or gloomy. Then the new Great Leader would make a speech promising to unite the nation and everyone would go to bed. Pretty soon the losers’ disappointment would start to fade, although I can see now, looking back, that every time it took longer. A few months later, campaigning started all over again.
This is not a fable. I swear that every strange thing I tell you is true. But don’t let these tales scare you. We’ll never go back. Now The Wise Ones in robes, guided by the Great Algorithm, choose Our Leader and they are always right.
Yours Nostalgically,
The Ghost of Campaigns Past
# # #
Part II: Three Headlines, Sunday, October 20, 2024
1. Video of 19-Year-Old Palestinian Man Burning Alive Circulates Around the World (CBC, the Canadian Broadcasting Channel)
Muhammad Ahmad Al-Dalu's brother and mother were both killed in an Israeli airstrike on a tent camp site on Al-Aqsa Hospital grounds in Deir al-Balah, central Gaza, early Monday morning, October 21. Courtesy of Mohamed El Saife/CBC.
2. Psychiatrists Administer Roadside Injections of Antipsychotics to Homeless in L.A. (CBS Mornings)
Still from CBS Mornings, “L.A. psychiatrist seeks out mental illness in city’s homeless population,” October 19, 2023.
3. At Pennsylvania Campaign Rally, Trump Praises Arnold Palmer’s Penis Size (ABC Philadelphia)
Still from ABC Philadelphia, “What did Trump say about Arnold Palmer: Former president makes lewd remarks during Pa. rally,” October 21, 2024.
# # #
Part III: This year feels different
I’m afraid, no matter the outcome. I’m afraid that if Harris wins, Trump will incite his followers to do what they did last time, or worse. I am afraid of their misinformed despair and bitterness and rage. I fear the Democratic Party will stoke this rage by shaming them.
And if Trump wins, I am afraid of what he will do when he gets in office. I fear for democracy. I fear he will make good on his promise to jail his enemies. I’m afraid he will make abortion illegal.
Recently I have become afraid of something else, something I hadn’t considered before. I fear what my party will do if we lose. My party, which believes it holds the moral high ground, increasingly seems to feel entitled to abuse those with whom they disagree. If we lose, I fear not only for democracy. I fear for decency, or what remains of it. I fear that the same flame of bitter disappointment, distrust, intolerance, and violence that we saw on January 6, 2021, will be ignited in my party.
William Wegman, “Left Right Black White,” 2015, pigment print, 2 prints, 44 x 34” each.
Courtesy of Lisa Sette Gallery, Phoenix.
Every morning, we walk our dog and greet neighbors who are walking theirs. Everybody chats about dogs and the weather, then we go our separate ways. It’s pleasant. We share a sense of community that has nothing to do with politics or positions.
Last week when we encountered one of these neighbors, my husband made a wisecrack about her Trump/Vance hat. We’d never seen anyone wearing a Trump hat, or any political identifier, on our walks. This person is a woman of color, an El Salvadoran immigrant who came here 50 years ago on a work visa and became a citizen when she married one. That day, as always, we were talking about dogs, and she’d complained about being overcharged at the groomer’s. It was a funny story — small dog, big charge — and my husband pointed at her hat and said maybe that’s why. There was a tense moment, then everybody laughed.
A few days later she spotted us and hurried to catch up. She was shaking. She had something to tell us. She’d been attacked, she said. “For this!” She pointed to the hat.
She’d taken her daughter and grandchildren to a pumpkin farm where they had been confronted by a group of teenage girls who criticized her hat. They wanted to know why someone with an accent and dark skin would support Trump. Argument ensued; our Republican friend is not shy. One of the girls began to record her response, and when she demanded that the girl stop and the girl refused, she grabbed the phone.
That’s when the girls started kicking and punching.
