After Darkness, Dawn

Images: Departing Hong Kong Harbour at night; sunrise in the South China Sea; and Clyde, who’s with me on any journey that matters.

Our current cruise is with the Holland America line, which tends to attract an older crowd. Some of our fellow cruisers are elderly Americans — and many of these espouse conservative politics. Over the past decade, many have taken to loudly and proudly proclaiming their support for Donald Trump.

Many of us Southerners had mamas who were wise enough to teach us that neither religion nor politics belong at the dinner table. But not everyone has a polite Southern mama, and without that gentle guidance, some people not only come to dinner with their politics on their sleeves — they feel entitled to rub those sleeves in others’ faces.

One of the long-standing dinner customs in cruise ship dining rooms involves seating total strangers together at large tables. As an introvert, this has never been my favorite arrangement — but early on, we had some good experiences meeting people this way, and we found ourselves embracing and even looking forward to the charm of randomized dinner companions.

But about ten years ago, as America became more polarized and manners became coarser, the communal dining table underwent a kind of climate change — in part because more and more of the people we met were the sort who denied climate change and vaccine science but believed the lie that Joe Biden had somehow, by some means, stolen the election from Trump.

First, there was the dinner where a loud American woman, with one breath, praised Donald Trump for “saving America from the evils of socialism” and, with the next, asserted that Joe Biden was a monster intent on cutting her Social Security and Medicare benefits.

She saw no irony in this.

Next, on another Holland America cruise, we were seated next to a large, loud British citizen of Indian descent — the son of immigrants to England — who was also a huge fan of Donald Trump. “You better support Trump,” he said. “He’s getting rid of all the immigrants. If you aren’t careful, immigrants will ruin your country the way they’ve ruined ours!”

He saw no irony in this.

And so, over time, we moved away from communal tables and began requesting tables for two.

We usually skip most of the ship’s honorary events, but on this cruise, we decided to take advantage of a luncheon for Holland America’s highest-ranked “Mariners.” (That’s the fancy name they have for those of us who have spent waaaaymore money on Holland America cruises than we ought to have.) Unfortunately, all the tables for two were taken — and so, for the first time in years, we found ourselves seated at a communal table.

All of our tablemates were at least a decade older than we are. They introduced themselves, and the usual questions came up about where everyone lived and what our professions had been. The couple on my left turned out to be from Canada: a veterinarian and her husband, a scientist who had specialized in climate change.

That perked up my ears. “Tell me more about your climate science research!”

He did — and then ended his story with, “Of course, I know down in the States, Donald Trump says we can’t talk about climate change.”

I held my breath. Not because this offended me — it didn’t — but because I wasn’t so sure about the politics of the couple on my right.

The gentleman wore a large gold cross around his neck and a religiously-themed bracelet on his wrist. His wife seemed eager to talk about her faith, and had already told us she and her husband were “very conservative” — that they believed in the Bible and “what the Bible actually said,” and that they never made decisions without praying for God’s guidance.

The husband drew a deep breath. “Donald Trump…”

Here we go, I thought. Maybe I can fake a seizure and get us out of here.

“…is a fool,” he said. “I don’t see how anyone can claim to be a Christian and support that man and what he’s doing to people. He’s not making America great again. He’s bankrupting us, he’s going to destroy the economy our retirement funds depend on, and now he’s off starting wars to distract everybody from the fact that his party’s bound to lose the midterm elections — if we even have them. He’s probably going to use the war to claim we have to shut them down.”

I’m telling you the truth: right then and there, my jaw fell open so wide, I thought my last bite of sea bass was going to plop down on my plate.

He’s not the only person on our cruise that feels this way. The war headlines have people talking — in the hallways, in the lounges, in the aisles before the evening’s entertainment. I’ve never, ever heard so many elderly Americans talking this way about Donald Trump. I’ve never heard so many people say things like, “I voted for the guy, but I didn’t sign up for this” and “He’s absolutely lost his mind. And what he’s doing is costing us friends and allies all over the world.”

Maybe — just maybe — the tide is turning. I hope it is. I need to believe it can.

I want to believe that good-hearted people will say “Enough is enough.” I want to think that my neighbors and some members of my family will be bold enough to say, “This has gone too far.” I want to cling to the idea that most of us love God and love our neighbors. I want to see my fellow Americans choose democracy over autocracy.

I want to believe that after the darkness comes the dawn.

That got a little easier today.