The Spirit of (19)76
by Osita Nwanevu
Despite the best efforts of the man himself, it was entirely possible to spend one’s Fourth of July in Washington this past weekend without seeing Donald Trump. The forces of nature were against him—D.C. happened to be one of the hottest places on earth on the 4th, and a thunderstorm forced some of those hoping to see Trump’s grand finale on the mall to take shelter in the National Museum of African American History, of all places.
While attendance at his Great American State Fair had seemed comically sparse in the days prior, tens of thousands really did brave the heat for the festivities on the 4th itself. And that meant discouragingly and dangerously long lines. Throughout the day, National Guard troops handed out water bottles to visitors and manned emergency tents—perhaps the only life-saving work most had done since their deployment to the city last year. Still, people bailed from the lines for the State Fair and D.C.’s other attractions in droves, with some hiding from the heat in the shaded areas of outdoor spaces like the National Gallery of Art’s Sculpture Garden, where Trump supporters, like many a visitor before them, tried to make sense of Oldenburg and Van Bruggen’s giant typewriter eraser. In a line a few blocks away, a sun-baked man caught a glimpse of water spraying from the garden’s fountain through the trees. “That must be one of the cooling stations,” he muttered.
Spirits were generally high around the Mall on the whole, though—owing to the enthusiasm of Trump’s supporters, yes, but also to the many ordinary tourists who also happened to be around, as they would have been on any July 4th, however unusual and however depressing many Americans found this year’s event.
For all who may have wondered over the decades what a fascist Fourth of July would look like in America, we now have an answer. If one didn’t read the hats and shirts too closely, if one happened to miss the hundreds of masked members of Patriot Front parading around town—a performance that took place early enough in the morning that they managed to avoid direct confrontation—the celebration looked remarkably like what you’d have seen any other year. Smiling families, hot dogs, and conversations audible in a dozen languages. Even those in lines got to see the flyovers the administration had scheduled throughout the day; there were appreciative oohs and ahs, from children and adults alike, for bombers, fighter jets, and Black Hawks every time they passed overhead.
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