{41} America
Or: Travel Thoughts
It’s rare that I do a whole lot of traveling. If I do, it’s usually within three Northeastern states that, while possessing fairly glaring cultural differences (a Connecticut transplant will stick out like a palm tree in rural Vermont) have far more in common than not. So many of the differences are merely related to population density — or lack thereof.
But today, we set out for the twelve hour drive from Connecticut to North Carolina, and I found myself, yet again, struck by the cultural differences from state to state, from region to region. It’s not a new revelation; we all know it. But it still takes me by surprise when I encounter it, somehow. Every time.
I’ve have had the thought, now, for over a decade, that this experiment of a United States was a great one, but it has failed. This country is too large, comprised of far too many people from too many backgrounds, with too many ideologies for us to be united in anything. (As I’m writing this, a commercial is playing — an odd experience in itself as we got rid of TV years ago — and is advertising a show where someone is saying “I want to bathe in white privilege” and is insisting that white men are the major civilizing power in the country, that women are better suited to housework, the white men are genetically designed for dominance, and my skin is crawling.)
Some fancy shmancy political science folks have offered similar opinions, even going so far as to create maps like the one above, divided along cultural lines rather than the artificial borders of states or regions. And this is all well and good, but as long as we hope/pretend/insist on functioning as United States, these new borders are simply an intellectual exercise, and we don’t seem keen on splitting the good ol’ US of A up — even if it would make things better/easier/less infuriating. (And yes, I recognize that the financial issues alone would be hellish to try to figure out. Still though. Sometimes you have to know when to walk the fuck away, amiright?)
If I had my copy of Living Systems with me, I would quote it, but instead I’ll paraphrase: any existing system needs a clear boundary, a means of creating and enforcing a unified identity. A cell has a membrane; a country a border, a culture, a language; a company a set of protocols and a culture of its own. All of these things serve to differentiate the Us from the Them. But the “American Identity”, if such a thing exists, is nebulous, at best. It will invariably differ from person to person, and even if the same words are used (“freedom”, for example, is a word that turns up for every person I’ve ever bothered to ask), but rarely are the words even defined the same way. (Seriously — go ask ten people for their definition of what an American is. And then get them to define the key words in their answer. Compare notes. It’s fun.) So how can we possibly claim to be a united anything? By what standards, other than being born into citizenship (which, like, only works for some of us anyway) can we judge who is “us” and who is not?
It’s a problem.
During this particular drive, though, I tried to stay away from the political implications of these differences — a difficult task as I was beset on all sides by Baptist churches and Trump/Pence banners waving by the side of the highway. Instead, I was struck by how beautiful the mountains of North Carolina are. The leaves are still brand new and haven’t quite lost that vivid yellow-green, and the day was grey and misty, giving everything a somewhat ethereal feel. Our tiny rented apartment for the week is nestled in an adolescent forest of trees whose trunks are nearly covered with a rich green moss, and the balcony looks out at a mountain range upon which low clouds seem to billow continually over, making it impossible to see how high the mountains actually stretch. There are hawks everywhere and we found a small family of young rabbits exploring the underbrush on the side of the excessively winding road.
I find myself thinking that if it wasn’t for the hot and the god and the Trump…I could live here.
“It’s almost hard to believe that this is in the same country as Lakeside,” [Shadow] said.
Wednesday glared at him. Then he said, “It’s not. San Francisco isn’t in the same country as Lakeside anymore tha New Orleans is in the same country as New York or Miami is in the same country as Minneapolis.”
“Is that so?” said Shadow, mildly.
“Indeed it is. They may share certain cultural signifiers — money, a federal government, entertainment — it’s the same land, obviously — but the only things that give it the illusion of being one country are the greenback, The Tonight Show, and McDonald’s”.
~American Gods
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