I was walking through Washington Square Park today. The sun is bright. The light is shining through the trees. The leaves shimmer, glowing yellow around the edges and condensing to a dark green mass in the center. They undulate and people lounge in their shade, drinking coffee and having private conversations.
In the center of the path is a woman with a stand and a sign that reads “23 days until the election”. She is selling memorabilia that celebrates American democracy. Badges with George Washington’s face on, a keychain of Ronald Regan, and small mock constitutions.
I walk past her to my friend who is sitting on the grass. It is my college roommate. We met on the first day. Standing on a lawn playing a game to break the ice between all the kids that arrived for international orientation. He showed up late and as soon as I saw him I knew we would be friends. He told me about a trip to India he had been on over the summer. The sort of trip where rich kids from Europe go to “help” the “needy”. Maybe, the rich kids feel helpful. Definitely, they know it will be good for their college applications.
Fred was honest about this and made fun of himself for going on the trip. Then told a story of playing football with children that suffered from polio. Some were missing arms and legs, but still could run and kick the ball. Fred played with them for hours, sweating in the Indian humidity. Nobody kept track of the score. Eventually they all collapsed under a Jamun tree next to the dry pitch, drinking tea and gasping contentedly.
Now Fred is sitting on the grass of Washington Square Park with his girlfriend, and her friends from college. They are sitting on a pink blanket, Fred has a coffee for me and his girlfriend has got me a bagel. They shuffle to one side to make space for me between his girlfriend and one of her friends I have never met before.
As an outsider of the group I sit for a while and let them speak.
“I am going to my 10 year high school reunion next week, hopefully I don’t get too drunk,” says one of the friends.
“I always get too drunk, they are fucking nerve racking ,” replies the other.
“Yep , at the last one I got hammered. Talked to my ex-boyfriend, went home and lay on the couch eating trail mix and telling mum how much I missed him”
The whole group laugh. They clearly know each other well, happy to be vulnerable and I am thankful their ease is not disturbed by my presence.
“I hear he might be about the break up with his girlfriend?”
“Yeah, apparently so.”
“Do you think your mum would mind if you bought him home after the reunion?”
“She would honestly be thrilled”. The whole group broke into another round of laughter.
I took my chance to join the conversation. I ask them where they went to high school. Philadelphia they reply. I jokingly wish her luck in the pursuit of the man of her dreams and say I will be following up with Fred to hear the outcome.
My eyes drift to the the woman selling a Barack Obama postcard at the stand. A few more people are now surrounding her, inspecting the coins and badges. The shadow of a tree has swung round and half cover her table, the dark outline of the leaves rippling over the red table cloth. The woman is smiling as she takes the cash from her customer’s hand.
“Flags are just so ugly,” someone in our group chirps.
“Why red, red white and blue? Such jarring colors. Why not more pastels?”
“Agreed there are so few good flags. The German one, three blocks of color, so ugly”
“Yeah but they have had to change it a few times,” chimes in Fred. “Used to be red, white and black, then the Nazis changed it and then it got changed again.”
“Oh yeah, that whole thing. You know if someone is trying to change your flag you are in trouble,” jokes someone.
“Wouldn’t be surprised if there is something about it in Project 2025”. Everyone chuckles.
This is the only time we touch on politics. I know Fred is more sympathetic to Trump than the rest of the group, made up of young women, are likely to be. The conversation swiftly moves on. I am grateful.
For a while I have been struggling with how to discuss politics. Part of me wants to ignore it completely, which I do with new company. But another part feels a duty to talk about. If I ignore it, am I complicit? What if the Nazi’s only got to power because people didn’t want to have awkward dinner party chats? Or protestants only got burnt in 16th Century England because it was bad etiquette to suggest otherwise? And how do I even know “what the right side of history” is?
The truth is I am scared of Trump winning. America is becoming a more nationalistic country. Hostile to outsiders. Pessimism is the driving political force. Instead of imagining a different future, the winning politics is holding onto what has been. They are losing the brash confidence they can fix the world’s problems, instead they are retreating back onto their continent, believing that turning a blind eye will make the problems go away. Yes, America got itself into trouble, but it’s confidence was attractive. Now it is becoming a shy, complaining brat.
Sitting on the pink blanket in Washington Square Park, with my best friend from college, his girlfriend and her friends, I know there is nothing I can do to stop these forces. No matter how often I bring politics up, or how much I read the news or argue with my mum about immigration.
The comedian Louis CK has a stand up bit that has been uploaded to YouTube. Standing there in a grey suit, slightly overweight and ginger stubble on his face, he tells the audience, the whole world is made up of people that didn’t kill themselves.
“That’s who’s here, everyone who went, ok, fuck, I’ll keep doing it”.
He then tells an anecdote about looking over into someone’s car on the motorway. A person sits in it alone, a trash bag for a window flapping in the wind. But they still haven’t killed themselves. “What are they waiting for, another trash bag window?” Louis enquires.
The truth is, Louis knows what they are waiting for. They are waiting for something interesting to happen. Everyday we are faced with the prospect of keeping going or not. You might have just fallen in love, or been broken up with. Got a new job, or been fired. Had a child, or lost a parent. All these things may lie ahead of you. Or they don’t.
Either way, you won’t know unless you keep going.
Curiosity is what keeps us alive. The urge to know what happens next. To learn about your Fred’s girlfriend’s friend’s reunion and whether she marries the man of her dreams. Or how long the experiment of US democracy can last. Both are undecided and both are life changing for at least one person.
The conversation continues. We chat about thanksgiving plans, then someone asks me what I do for work. I give them a brief synopsis but make it clear I don’t want to get too involved in work chat. The sun is falling down in the sky, I thank everyone for the coffee and bagel and stand up to head back to my apartment.
Karl's life 