Of all the Trump-hating media outlets that hate Trump–and there are dozens of them–the Guardian is the most brazen and unprincipled. Thus, I was not surprised to find Alexander Hurst’s Trump-bashing opinion piece on the Guardian’s website.
Actually, Hurst wasn’t bashing Trump so much as the regions in America where Donald Trump is popular. Hurst was trashing Flyover Country, which he labels as MAGA-land.
Hurst’s essay was inspired by a road trip he took with a friend from Washington, DC to New Orleans. He didn’t like what he saw: the box stores, convenience stores, and gas stations —miles and miles of sprawl.
Indeed, Hurst despises America’s urban and suburban sprawl, which he diagnosed as an expression of Trumpism. “Trumpism, too, has an aesthetic,” Hurst writes. “Allow me to pretentiously, subjectively declare it not beautiful. The aesthetic of Trumpism is sprawl.”
I found much of Hurst’s essay incoherent, despite his inclusion of esoteric references to various sages, including Keats, Saint Augustine, Plato, John Dewey, and Plotinus. However, the essence of his thesis is contained in this condescending passage:
Perhaps there is something authentic to suburban sprawl when experienced as spectator and anthropologist. But as everyday life, sprawl is deadening, ugly, fake. Devoid of art, beauty and truth alike.
To all this blather, I have this to say: Get off the fuckin’ Interstate. Yes, the gas stations and convenience stores clustered along the Interstate are unappealing, but where else can I get gasoline and beef jerky?
In any event, anyone who gets off the Interstate highways will find a lovely America, overflowing with charm, authentic regional culture, good food, and fascinating historic architecture.
Suppose Hurst had explored the Heartland’s byways and small towns. In that case, he might have visited William Faulkner’s home in Oxford, Mississippi, the birthplace of Elvis Presley in Tupelo, or the site of the Vicksburg siege, where Grant split the Confederacy atwain.
If he had wandered into Texas, he might have viewed the eighteenth-century missions—great examples of Spanish Baroque architecture. Before leaving this old Texas City, he could have eaten barbecue on San Antonio’s River Walk or Mexican food at Mi Tierra in the El Mercado District.
Apparently, Hurst doesn’t get out much. He needs to get in his Tesla and explore Flyover Country, which is the real America.
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