Lessons in Humility from Donald Trump


Lessons in Humility from Donald Trump, part 1

Morgantown, WV. I never thought I would say this, but I have learned something about, of all things, humility from Donald Trump this week. I learned that– despite having lived in no fewer than nine of our states and taught at ten of our universities– I didn’t seem to know my own country. I learned that, for the past 50-plus years, I have been living an illusion of what America is and of who my countrymen are: In other words, I have been living a fantasy.

I am, despite being the child of Holocaust refugees, clearly among the privileged of this nation. I grew up in an economically secure, albeit not affluent, home. I went to good schools. I have never lacked for a job or a meal on the table. I have always had access to decent health care. What’s more, I’ve had the (I now realize mixed) blessing of being mostly surrounded by thoughtful, educated, articulate and intelligent people– most of them, admittedly, liberal in their politics and securely generous in their outlook. Most of them– in the secure comfort of their lazy-boys and pre-dinner martinis– were avid readers, informed consumers of the news, and mildly hypocritical in the divergence of their actions from their professed values, as am I. Very few of them– almost none, in fact– suffered from a sense of severe disappointment in the American Dream, a feeling of forever treading economic water, a sensation that the world of affluence and middle-class relaxation had left them, forever, behind. In other words, there were very few potential or actual Trump voters in the basket of fortunates with whom I conducted my middle-class picnics.

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