Who in modern America has the most power — the biggest store of latent heft — but the least ability to use it? The answer, of course, is city-dwellers and suburbanites. Like racing cars at the start of a Formula One showdown, they are in pole position. They have everything: the education, the wealth, the sense of self-entitlement. Big dick energy in spades. They are shiny machines with purring engines. And yet when the race begins, the F1 boys cannot pull away. They are politically impotent. The NASCAR drivers, in their beaten-up trucks, sporting confederate flags, are still in the rear-view mirror.
And there seems — to the casual observer — to be no end in sight to this situation. Donald Trump might not be able to place Kansas City on a map, but the America he has adopted — NASCAR America — looks capable of keeping up with the racing cars. Perhaps even catching them up. The President uses the language of the downtrodden. He shares their contempt for sociological inquiry, their love of guns. Their suspicion of folks who don’t come from these parts. He has used his presidency to play with the minds of the liberal elites. He looks likely to be re-elected and to have the right to double down on all of the above. A Trumpian wave is sweeping all before it.
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