"When they go low, we go high."
Sorry, Michelle. I can't do that. The rest of y'all can attempt to understand Trump voters and bridge the divide that has separated this great nation, but I have no interest. By no means am I advocating for you to stop trumping hate with your love, but when they go low, we need someone on our team to go lower.
And there's no other reason to attend the San Diego Republican Party's post-election meet-up other than to expose the squealing piss party that it is.
I ask CityBeat staff writer Torrey Bailey to join me because I'm about to intrude on what will very likely be the future Fourth Reich and need all the backup I can get. Plus, together we look like a nice, compliant Aryan couple, i.e., we'll fit right in.
The meet-up is held in a convention center adjacent to the Town and Country Resort in Mission Valley, which is a complete shithole, but still north of Interstate 8, thereby lessening the chance of Republicans having to see or touch or be in the vicinity of poor people.
Imagine that scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when Indy has to don a Nazi uniform to infiltrate a book-burning protest, and you get the idea of how it feels to be a libtard-cuck-Hillary-supporting journalist in a room full of celebratory Trump supporters. Red "Make America Great" hats bob through the crowd. Adults look ridiculous in them, but I imagine it also seemed silly when people started wearing red armbands.
Torrey and I beeline it to the bar, order the highest ABV beers available and chug. Another young couple approaches us, probably because we're among the few non-geriatrics in attendance.
"We saw another couple standing awkwardly, so we figured we'd join you."
They're nice enough. They just completed the bar exam in July and are waiting to hear the results. They live downtown, "right around where it gets sketch."
The guy straight-up asks if I voted for Trump. I lie and say I voted third party. He pulls me aside and asks if I've ever read C.S. Lewis.
"He has an argument for God," he says. "'What do I have to lose?' That's what I thought of when I voted for Trump."
"Huh," I say, trying to treat this statement with the profundity that I'm sure he wants to imbue, but comparing the freedom of religion to a decision that will probably strip American Muslims of their fundamental rights is a shitty argument. For his sake, I hope he didn't use that on the bar exam.
Tony Kvaric, the gregarious, self-deprecating chairman of the Republican Party of San Diego County takes the stage. "FELLOW DEPLORABLES!" he yells into the microphone. "Please take your seats."
Kvaric leads us through a prayer, blessing the newly elected officials. There are #bigleague whoops when he asks heavenly father Lord Jesus Christ to bless Donald Trump.
The excitement in the room is electric. There's no hint of contrition, or—at the very least—cautious optimism regarding a candidate who nearly dismantled their party. They're just fucking giddy to not be on the losing team anymore.
Then, Kvaric's chumminess breaks, replaced with exasperation. "Now, what are we?" he asks. "Oh right. We're sexist. We're racist. We hate women." He shakes his head. "That's not who we are, and I never want to have to be forced in that corner again." Then, to prove his point, he brings up the six or seven minorities in attendance and parades them in front of the audience like trophies. Each tells a story of why they wanted to Make America Great Again. "I need to take a picture with you after all this," Kvaric says. "It's going to blow liberals' minds."
You're right, Tony. Fulfilling the base requirement of living in America and knowing someone—nay—having your picture taken with someone who looks different than you = mind blown.
But this will be the key to triumphing over Trump. I don't believe that every Trump voter is a racist, misogynist and an idiot, but they voted for one. Their denial of the frightening repercussions that are already happening—open harassment of minorities, a proposed registry of Muslims, etc.—is an incredible act of compartmentalization. Passing the buck is how evil becomes banal. We need to keep reminding them of their insidious-isms, similar to swatting a lapdog on the nose when they're bad.
Halfway through the diversity portion, Tony's fresh-faced, redheaded son takes the stage. This was the first election he was old enough to vote in. "If you think being a Trump supporter in your daily lives is difficult, try being one on a college campus," he says. The crowd gets a kick out of that because colleges are so strange! Just filled with gays, safe spaces and vegans, right?
Young Kvaric points out the lack of young people in the room. "We need to reach out. Young minds are waiting to receive this information...The truth is they don't care about family values anymore. They're not having children. They don't even want children!" He ends the speech with a Reagan quote: "If not now, when?"
So a beautiful, purebred ginger-boy trying to sway college students into conservative thought by telling them to procreate is not working for the cause? Weird.
Young Kvaric gets a standing ovation. Torrey and I get up to leave. On our way out, I hear Tony take back the mic. "My kids refer to him as Uncle Reagan."
I shudder all the way back to the car.