I was here in the US on 9/11. And the ominous day after. I was here, too, on November 8, 2016, the day
of Donald Trump’s victory. And the day after.
I remember the post 9/11 chill. American flags everywhere, even in Seattle, a liberal bastion where I happened to live. An enormous flag had engulfed the house across from ours. Cars laden with double, quadruple flags rippling, like muscles. The country went into a foetal curl, crouching under an unseen banner of that very American crisis sentiment: my country right or wrong. And a crouch usually presages a pounce. Stepping into