Of all of the Trump-hating media shops that hate Trump–and there are dozens of them–the Guardian is essentially the most brazen and unprincipled. Thus, I used to be not shocked to seek out Alexander Hurst’s Trump-bashing opinion piece on the Guardian’s web site.
Truly, Hurst wasn’t bashing Trump a lot because the areas in America the place Donald Trump is common. Hurst was trashing Flyover Nation, which he labels as MAGA-land.
Hurst’s essay was impressed by a street journey he took with a good friend from Washington, DC to New Orleans. He did not like what he noticed: the field shops, comfort shops, and fuel stations —miles and miles of sprawl.
Certainly, Hurst despises America’s city and suburban sprawl, which he recognized as an expression of Trumpism. “Trumpism, too, has an aesthetic,” Hurst writes. “Permit me to pretentiously, subjectively declare it not lovely. The aesthetic of Trumpism is sprawl.”
I discovered a lot of Hurst’s essay incoherent, regardless of his inclusion of esoteric references to numerous sages, together with Keats, Saint Augustine, Plato, John Dewey, and Plotinus. Nevertheless, the essence of his thesis is contained on this condescending passage:
Maybe there’s something genuine to suburban sprawl when skilled as spectator and anthropologist. However as on a regular basis life, sprawl is deadening, ugly, faux. Devoid of artwork, magnificence and fact alike.
To all this blather, I’ve this to say: Get off the fuckin’ Interstate. Sure, the fuel stations and comfort shops clustered alongside the Interstate are unappealing, however the place else can I get gasoline and beef jerky?
In any occasion, anybody who will get off the Interstate highways will discover a beautiful America, overflowing with attraction, genuine regional tradition, good meals, and interesting historic structure.
Suppose Hurst had explored the Heartland’s byways and small cities. In that case, he might need visited William Faulkner’s residence in Oxford, Mississippi, the birthplace of Elvis Presley in Tupelo, or the location of the Vicksburg siege, the place Grant break up the Confederacy atwain.
If he had wandered into Texas, he might need seen the eighteenth-century missions—nice examples of Spanish Baroque structure. Earlier than leaving this previous Texas Metropolis, he might have eaten barbecue on San Antonio’s River Stroll or Mexican meals at Mi Tierra within the El Mercado District.
Apparently, Hurst would not get out a lot. He must get in his Tesla and discover Flyover Nation, which is the true America.
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