Most of America is still America. Promise. The secret to understanding this is to unplug from the mainframe.
The other day, while we were discussing this subject, my wife reminded me of something that happened in the spring of 1992. At the time, we were both working in a rough part of Milwaukee, what was then called the ghetto. We’d lived in that ghetto for a couple of terrible years, but after some scrimping, we’d saved enough to move to a nicer part of the city.
On this particular afternoon, the Rodney King riots were going strong in Los Angeles, and, per the local news, “people were starting to gather” in our part of town. The city closed up early, and a tensely quiet ride home followed.
National Guardsmen watch a business go up in flames in South Los Angeles, 30 April 1992. The 1992 Los Angeles riots, with looting and arson events, erupted 29 April 1992 when a mostly white jury acquitted the four police officers accused in the videotaped beating of black motorist Rodney King, after he fled from police (HAL GARB/AFP via Getty Images).
We arrived without incident and prepared to dash into the house, lock up the doors, and hunker down. Except…
All around us, things were normal, like no one knew what was happening. People were out walking, shopping, mowing grass, porch-sitting. Kids were playing, riding their bikes. Birds were chirping. That’s what my wife remembered; how we stood there looking around in disbelief at the normalcy…the decency…the serenity. Then all that tension melted away.
It seemed impossible that a mere six miles away, there was an entirely different world.
Amanda Andrade-Rhoades for the Washington Post via Getty Images
This country is huge. I know. I’ve driven all over it. Saturday, we drove from Western North Carolina to the middle of Kentucky, where we are now camped. For more than 300 miles we drove through a beautiful country populated with nice and normal people.
If you live in a Democrat-run city or refuse to unplug from a manipulative mainframe filled with cable news and social media, your perspective can be toyed with until you come close to something like despair.
The mainframe is there to tell you the America you knew is gone, you are vastly outnumbered, everyone is gay, and there’s nowhere to run.
That’s not true, especially the “nowhere to run” part.
We spent six hours on the road without seeing a single gay flag or member of Antifa—mile after mile of no pride parades, carjackings, or shoplifting. Like the air and water, the sidewalks are clean. No poop. No needles. No bums or tents. We’re packed pretty close in this campground, and it’s full up. They say density causes crime, but no one even litters in this density.
This country offers more than three million square miles, and I’d bet that more than 95 percent of those miles offer peace of mind, normalcy, and decency. Cost of living is cheaper, too. All you have to do is move.
Well, there is one more thing. After you move, you then have to unplug from a mainframe manipulating you into believing there’s no escape, that you have no control over your life. You have to turn off the TV, put down the phone, read a book, throw a ball, take a walk…
You see, the left wants you despairing and unhappy. That’s why the mainframe is angled towards demoralizing you. But what the mainframe tells you just isn’t so. At least not out here.
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