Enemies: A Love Story from These Dis-United States
On neighborliness in a purple state
The following is an essay from The Nation’s series titled These Dis-United States, in which 50 writers and artists report from their respective states of our dis-union, marking the publication’s 160th anniversary edition, out now.
People say North Carolina is one of the swingiest of swing states. Having lived here for 21 years, I see the truth in it. Republican legislature, Democratic governor — that’s both the persistent reality and a serviceable metaphor. You often find yourself chockablock with your enemies.
For us lefties, that means the most atavistic Dixie stereotypes, newly pumped on Trump juice, featuring both the wealthy-racist-snob and hostile-worm-farmer varietals. For those on the right, millions of whom are no doubt poring over this text with open minds, there are the liberals of the Research Triangle, plus small but entrenched bohemian communities everywhere you look (especially in the mountains).
Socially speaking, there’s no avoiding each other. When we North Carolinians are at our best, we occasionally get along and establish weird pockets of middle ground. But we haven’t been at our best in a loooong time. And now everything’s darkening so fast.
A couple of weeks ago, I was having a conversation with a younger friend, J.P., who lives in the county adjacent to mine, in a town that has always been a literal and figurative backwater but is now reportedly one of the fastest-growing places in America.
Every time I drive out there, new housing developments and the attendant outdoor malls have reconfigured the landscape to the extent that I get physically lost.
We were talking about his neighbors, a middle-aged couple, hard-core Trumpers, flags in the yard. (In town, only a handful of outliers — bona fide aspiring brownshirts — advertise it like that, and they tend to be given a wide berth even by other Republicans. But these folks were country, out and proud.)
And the thing was, J.P. said, shaking his head, they were really nice. “Like, shirts off their backs,” he said. They’d been his neighbors for a couple of years, and you know how it is: Things happen, whether you want to get to know somebody or not. Your dog gets loose and they help to catch it. You get sick and they stop by with food.
Before you’ve had a chance to strap on your armor, your humanity has intermingled with theirs, and now you can’t unknow it.
Neither of us felt sure about what these nice neighbors are, as political animals. Are they still fellow sons and daughters of the republic? Or something else, something new?
In the past, Americans have often sought to find out how far they could push their preferred value system while remaining democratic Americans. But these people follow a man who has made it clear that he will simply go as far as he can. Historians remind us that this kind of right-wing radicalism has always been with us, but now it sets the tone.
And so the prevailing mood down here, among people I know, seems to be one of anxious questioning: How far will they go? Will they ever come back? And if they won’t come back, what’s left and what the hell do we do?
John Jeremiah Sullivan lives in Wilmington, North Carolina. His essay “Corona” appears in this year’s edition of The Best American Essays. This column originally appeared in The Nation magazine’s 160th anniversary issue—“These Dis-United States” — out now and available at the publication’s website.
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