“Never Trump / Never Say Never Again”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(3-17)

The election of 2016 presented a unique set of challenges within the Ice household. And indeed, with families all across the United States.

“Never Trump!” I predicted. It simply was not going to happen.

Typically, the paternal side of our brood has been given to voting for the GOP at the ballot box. Our maternal side tilted with exactly the opposite inclination, dependably giving their endorsement to the Democratic Party. I have often observed that my father’s side believed in the tradition of Dwight D. Eisenhower, while my mother’s side journeyed onward in the spirit of Franklin Roosevelt. This sense of order has given me comfort throughout my own short lifetime.

My own version of the faith became a document written in Libertarian ink. I have always believed in the words of Thomas Jefferson:

“I never submitted the whole system of my opinions to the creed of any party of men whatever, in religion, in philosophy, in politics or in anything else, where I was capable of thinking for myself. Such an addiction, is the last degradation of a free and moral agent. If I could not go to heaven but with a party, I would not go there at all.”

The contest of Hillary Clinton vs. Donald Trump exploded this comfortable paradigm, however. There was a lively and open debate over the sanity that could survive pondering such a political battle. Because of course, the primary season offered inter-conference competitions worthy of NFL football. Namely, Clinton against Sanders and Trump against the leadership of his own party.

Sanders represented a true belief in socialism which his adopted party only recognized with lip service. Thus, his eventual victory was never to be made whole. Wealthy donors preferred a champion more enshrined with the party establishment. Trump had no life history to indicate that he was ever a Republican or a conservative. Or a politician of any stripe. So his appeal to those paying attention for more than fifteen minutes was suspect.

Yet the debate bloomed with intensity.

Older members of the family either fell in line with Hillary, or quietly determined that they would not vote for the top of the ticket. But some of my beloved tribe displayed a surprising and unexpected preference in the election. They were openly supporting Donald Trump. I had reckoned from the beginning that HRC would be crowned as the system perpetuated itself. Any other outcome seemed ridiculous and impossible. I advised them that Trump would be “removed” during the primary process. Or “removed” if he looked to be by any standard electable in the general contest. Or “removed” even if chosen through the process, before he could take the oath of office.

But the “Trump Train” continued to move forward, despite gaffes, insults and on-the-road abandon. Pollsters preached him into the grave. Pundits decried his oafish incompetence. Media outlets complained about the level of his coverage. And yet they kept talk talk talking about - DJT.

I was personally most perplexed about family members who tried to make a religious argument of voting for Trump. Three wives, a notable disrespect for women, brutish rhetoric against opponents and no clear sense of morality except for worship of the almighty dollar. Where was the biblical inspiration, I wondered? Lost like the Dead Sea Scrolls? Perhaps written in some sort of cryptic text like the Da Vinci Code?

The “Brexit” vote made me question my own beliefs, even in the face of certainty. I watched it unfold on Sky News, via my Roku box. If such a revocation of mainstream order could happen in the U.K., what about here? What about in a rowdy, cowboy nation like America?

My personal history as a registered member of the Libertarian Party made any action taken on Election Day seem easy. But liberal friends assured me that a vote for Gary Johnson was indeed, a vote for Donald Trump. Conservative friends shrieked with opposite dread. A vote for Johnson was instead a vote for Madame Hills! I considered their advice carefully, still safe in the knowledge that I had voted for third-party candidates since John Anderson, in 1980. But my cocoon of safety in Geauga County made me wonder why there were so few yard signs for candidates before the election. I confessed to Mary Malloy Bramstedt, my trusted local friend, that it felt like there were many “invisible voters” waiting to speak their peace. What would this mean in the contest at hand? A coronation for Clinton? A terrific Tuesday for Trump?

I believed that the election of 2016 was a clear signal to abandon the corrupt and ill-advised “two-party duopoly” in effect in America for so long. This despite the fact that Governor Johnson’s “Aleppo” misstep made him look foolish in front of a national audience. Yet most of my fellow citizens apparently did not agree. “Bean counters” assured us that Mrs. Clinton would best her opponent with the skill of a genuine political representative. But suddenly, open signs of candidate support were everywhere. I noticed while driving to Chardon in October that Trump-Pence banners seemed to be everywhere.

I was more than a bit irritated when a former neighbor observed on social media that she wished there was another option besides HRC and DJT. When I spoke about Gary Johnson and Jill Stein, her reaction was sincere if uninformed. “Really? Who are they?” In a last-ditch effort, close members of my family urged that I vote for The Donald. I cited his arrogance, self-interest, l

ack of experience and pompous nature. In addition, my argument against a vote in his favor included the certainty that he would be “removed” by agents of the greater bureaucracy.

“The system perpetuates itself,” I said.

Election night came like the explosion of land mines across our country. Tears were shed. Epithets were uttered. Fear and loathing abounded. I openly wondered if the ghost of Hunter S. Thompson was on fire in the night sky.

Weeks afterward, when Mexican drug lord “El Chapo” was extradited to our country, I assured my family that he would play a role in preventing Donald Trump from becoming president. I guessed upon some kind of intrigue of the sort one would expect from an Oliver Stone movie. It was the final instance in which I failed as a predictor of future events. My crystal ball was cracked.

Donald Trump was sworn in as our 45^th president, amid dual-screen reports of mayhem with flying bricks and burning cars from the mainstream news media. My head was bowed with surrender. Wrong, wrong, wrong I was. Never Trump?

In the title of a James Bond film: “Never Say Never Again.”

Words on the Loose is a column published regularly in the Geauga Independent. Send your comments to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com