15 July 2021

A Clydesdale, broken chairs, and democracy

What I Learned in the Emergency Room on 4th of July

Though the 4th of July seemed hotter this year than usual, I can’t blame my weekend misadventure to the doctor’s office on the heat.

The night before the 4th, a few friends and I met at the brewery, followed by a spontaneous BBQ at my house. As we were enjoying the cooling of the evening, one friend spotted a few vintage web-strap lawn chairs in the back of my carport. I explained that I had finally admitted to myself that, no, I was not going to learn how to replace those vintage straps as I imagine my grandfather would have back in his day, and had placed them there in the carport because I was going to take them to the dump.

Though I warned her that I highly doubted the chairs would endure, my friend insisted we try them out and take a seat. We connected, we talked, we laughed — and then my chair gave way.

As an old 1950s aluminum chair, the metal frame twisted in on itself the same way a vintage car might wrap around a tree — no crumple zones or airbags. But the contorted metal wasn’t the worst of my problems as the plastic armrests fractured into sharpened weapons. My butt fell safely to the ground, but my arms were caught by spears of plastic. With scrapes, scratches, and a lot of pain in my armpit, I glanced down. Not too much blood, I thought to myself. Maybe just a butterfly bandage. Able to laugh it off, we abandoned the chairs and enjoyed the rest of summer evening on the back porch.

The next morning, my armpit still throbbed. I went into the ER and it was assessed that I didn’t need a butterfly bandage after all. Instead, I needed stitches. Wanting to enjoy that cool, relaxing Saturday evening, I suppose I underestimated how badly I had hurt myself. Nonetheless, by 10:30am Sunday morning I was all stitched up and grateful to still be able to enjoy the parade.

At the parade, my section of friends cheered as everyone passed by — the Vets, the firemen, the kid who lost his hearing implant and the search and rescue team that found it. The heat was brutal, and everyone who passed by looked like they were going to pass out. As we were the end of the route, we cheered as loudly and enthusiastically as we could to keep everyone in the parade and their spirits high.

So, as the Democrats passed by and the House member carrying their banner looked like he should have worn a hat and was ready for a drink of water, we cheered as well. But our cheer was interrupted by the thunderous galloping of a hot, black Clydesdale horse pulling an antique stagecoach, rushing forward toward the Democrats. The crowd gasped. Democrats in the parade and children on the sidewalk jumped back as the driver of the wagon cackled. The driver halted, and then snidely said “Merry Christmas,” as if the politics of taking pleasure in making your opponents suffer is now the American way.

Some in the crowd laughed. Someone shouted at the driver about kids being around. It became clear to me that this had probably happened all the way down the parade route to probably mixed reactions; the Democrats strolling along to some sections of boos and occasional cheers, and the wagon driver rushing forward, halting, and laughing as Democrats jump and scatter.

I realized that even on Independence Day — a day meant to be celebrated not as political opponents but as Americans — our political divides were still very present on Main Street. That like the vintage lawn chair I kept and thought I would fix, there still exists the danger our politics could still harm us even when we aren’t expecting it. That we are a long way from being respectful of our neighbors and still hopeful, perhaps naively, that democracy is a simple butterfly bandaid and it will be enough to hold us together.

But democracy does not heal itself. We will need more than a butterfly band aid if we are to hope that healing can happen in a community turned against each other. We have to end this divisive politics and set aside our anger toward each other.

Because if not even on Independence Day, then when?

Editor’s note. Kyle Waterman is writing as a citizen and legislative candidate. He is a member of Kalispell’s city council, representing Ward 3 (map).