Seeing is Believing

Americans and The Greatest Show on Earth.

Balloons falling from the rafters rather than the blinding rain of millions of shimmering tears of confetti. A signal that the impending hero will soon be the victor. In one of the last spectacles where tradition meets unironic comedy and curated caricature, political conventions are the gilded Big Top under which freak flags and protocol hold hands in flashes of sequins and novelty hats. Seeing is believing.

So the story of America rolls on under fiery chants of “Fight! Fight! Fight!” and laser-red eye stares of crooked hands and menacing smiles, not inconspicuously whispering insurrection and violence and The End.

But what an End! No, there is no uniqueness or singularity to these times. We love it, don’t we? Who could produce such wildly maddening and incredulous entertainment to captivate the imagination and nightmares of people from sea to shining sea? Certainly not Hollywood. The entertainment industry whimpered as it threw in the towel on franchise players more popular when McDonald’s still used Styrofoam packaging.

This is the Greatest Show on Earth. Revival tents and blaring music and hand-raised prayers to the golden eagle with missiles strapped to its talons ridden by the ghost of Gen. MacArthur with matching bulletproof aviator sunglasses. It’s Rainbow Mafia lawn signs and pronoun pins and N-95 masks. The bodega is sold out of MAGA flags and Anthony Fauci prayer candles.

Ask me why I don’t think Artificial Intelligence will overtake us — because no prompt or algorithm could imagine a plot so effortlessly awesome, destructive, and weirdly energizing as what we have consistently lived through in recent years.

The War of the Worlds, Orson Welles' 1938 Halloween radio broadcast, was more than a Halloween prank. It was the “POP” of the lid off a can of sweet syrup peaches, and America couldn’t get enough. Forget unity. There is no time for whatever musty, encyclopedic definition that was.

We get caught in the thrill of an identity shaped by passions imposed upon us and throw the passion back with twice the force and half the aim. Is there anything more American? We are a passionate, restless bunch. When we reach a monumental event, face a harrowing circumstance, or writhe out of the moral morass, we outrun time and hurl ourselves into the next fighting hole. “Don’t you know what that is? It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want—oh, you don’t quite know what it is you DO want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!” writes Mark Twain in Tom Sawyer, Detective.

Individuals may need respite from the rapids, but the crowd rips along with the roar of the river’s surging current, heads thrown back with screams of exhilaration as our skiff dodges rocks and waves and each other’s flailing oars. We are united in our thrill and adolescent apprehension, like school kids watching a frightening movie scene through their hands.

COVID, Afghanistan, riots, elections, non-election, conspiracies, a leader adrift, a leader nearly killed…any one of these moments enough to spend a lifetime dissecting and preserving and holding above one’s mantle as a conversation piece like some exotic trophy animal. But as soon as the initial shock that we encountered this beast has worn dull, the next round of peaches is in hand. So, we are enraptured by all the excitement and gossip but take comfort in the habitual.

“This is the end of Democracy!” we nod along, outraged, and slurp the last drops of glistening syrup.

Unity! is the atmosphere of restless belief, superstition, new-wave faith, and marionette mimetics. This is what we’ve coalesced around: the humming glare of television sets and glass screens promising endless cans of peaches, each sweeter than the last. We sit captivated, viscous syrup making its way down our chins before we realize our shirts are soaked. Another can is already in the jaws of the opener. It effortlessly goes around another lid. We are well past satiating physical hunger — drinking now for the sweetness, richness, then habit.

Everyone is searching for something or ignoring the gnawing at the edges of acceptance there is something to search for. And they will find it in the spectacle of the drama we impose on ourselves, in the imaginary trauma of soft lives, the superficial idols of fever swamps and Rattlesnake Kings, and the fast-talkers and hustlers who sell us on their charms.

But the greatest trick is also the one that exposes and destroys it and isn’t a trick at all.

We get sick of the canned peaches or realize they make us sick. And we turn to the real ones, going through the work of finding its ripeness, appreciating the faint snap as the soft textured skin gives way to bright, pure fruit. It was there all along, waiting for us to discover its simple joy as it ripened in the sun. In Roald Dahl’s last book, The Minpins, he writes, “And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.”

When the grandeur and catchphrases lose their punch, 25,000-word think pieces and New York Times editorials are folded and placed in trash bins, virtue flags and lawn signs are frayed and sun-beaten, and there isn’t space left for another emoji after the social media avatars, we’ll realize we’ve held the can opener the whole time. The peach syrup running down our chin is wiped away. We catch our breath. We always do. There is no end here despite what carnival barkers try to convince us in our passion and love of country and family and marionette faith. Being told America is great is very different from believing it, and Americans have no shortage of belief.

If you've made it this far, thank you for sticking with me on this one. I appreciate the support of strangers and people who have become friends—in this disjointed distant time, no small feat! This post is a little off the beaten path, but it stays true to the journey I find myself on, and I hope you continue as fellow travelers. There is no better cause than seeking Truth wherever it takes us. And as much as I consider myself a loner, I welcome your company.

I might venture into a few bites of fiction, but as always, I would like to hear your opinion on this. And last but not least, thank you for spending your time here.

Sincerely, Jenna