The jacaranda trees were exceptionally purple, the mountains rose in the distant haze, and the promenade along West Cabrillo Boulevard was filling up with people. There is so much cause for anger, but the prevalent mood was passion, with a good infusion of humor, and now and then a burst of sheer festivity: impromptu singing, hugs, the horns of passing cars honking in support. One of the signs said: “Things are so bad, they’re marching in Santa Barbara.”
And yes, it was, after all, Santa Barbara, such a pretty-how-town, as e.e. cummings might have said, or, as I might have said, the kind of place you get to be if God decides to go easy on you. But we are not okay. The cruelty and injustice are unacceptable, the flagrant disregard for law and civility are intolerable, and the debilitating chaos is unsustainable.
So sweet Santa Barbara stepped out, and not just the feisty old Boomers, but plenty of young people, Hispanics, veterans, gay pride folks, courageous immigrants who might well have been arbitrary targets, parents wheeling kids in strollers, people with disabilities, a pissed off pregnant lady, a sundry assortment of humanity connected by a shared commitment to democracy and decency. We reclaimed the symbols of our nation: American flags were everywhere. And kindness abounded. There were no strangers.