AT MOUNT RUSHMORE
On Sunday evening I took my son to see Mount Rushmore. He is 13, born and raised in Britain, but with an American father and, as he put it, not enough of a British accent to impress the locals in South Dakota. Unexpected pride welled up in me when we climbed the stairs from the car park and he gasped at his first glimpse of the giant, granite-carved faces of presidents Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt staring down at him. ‘Wow’ isn’t a word you often hear when touring with teens.
Then we got distracted by a flat-bed trailer parked in the access road between us and the visitor centre, the walkway decorated with the 50 state flags, and the outdoor theatre facing the monument. Martial music was blaring from speakers attached to the trailer’s sides, and built up from its bed, like a float in a holiday parade, were large letters spelling out TRUMP. Beneath each letter was a list of slogans with which the president seduced millions of Americans: ‘Secure Our Borders’; ‘Drain the Swamp’; ‘Build the Wall’. Draped across the bottom was a banner reading: ‘Make America Great Again.’
We stood in stunned silence, then looked around for people suffering a similar reaction. We found a few, as well as one or two obviously afraid to react. As we watched, a pair of park rangers pulled up in their SUV. As the driver got out, I said to him: ‘I sure hope this breaks a few park rules’ —…
