Our first day in Miami, a security guard stopped us as we exited a shopping centre. He wore boots, vest, and a well-stocked utility belt with various holsters. He checked our receipt and smiled at my teenage daughter with a twinkle in his eye. “Thank you, princess.”
He gestured warmly at Cam as we left: “You have a beautiful family, sir.”
I've been in the US with my two youngest children for two weeks. We've travelled through Florida, spent time in New Orleans and just arrived in California.
I was nervous before we came. Reports of Kiwis and Aussies being detained and separated from their kids were doing the rounds and the shutdown was said to be causing havoc. Friends expressed concern at our plans. They wouldn't go to the US if they didn't have to, they said, brows furrowed - especially not with the girls.
We spent Halloween in New Orleans, a city that friendly Floridians had warned us to be careful in. We took the kids trick or treating, on a block where the houses went all out with decorations, music, costumes - and candy. We chatted to the family at the first house we stopped at and they invited inside for something to eat. We stayed for half an hour and left with full bellies, drinks, and a genuine invitation to return.
We've had a fabulous time in the US. Almost every encounter has been safe, friendly, and generous.
Which is not to suggest we ignore the very real plight of people affected by natural disasters or ICE raids. The federal shutdown threatens food security for tens of millions of Americans. This is awful, brutal, and unimaginable.
Our experience is far from universal. We ease through the world with our white skin, middle-class kids, and cute accents. But fear can distort our frame. Things are almost always worse in my head, and the news, than reality. Most of the world, the people in it, and the stuff happening every day, is fine - but there’s nothing to gain by telling us that, and we wouldn’t click it if they did.
News is a fear machine, designed to shock and compel us with a constantly updating stream of panic and misery. Social media is a disconnection machine, which keeps us scrolling and clicking with our own personalised cocktail of outrage and escapism. Everything (everything) is built to make us spend - and fear pays.
Reality is mostly boring. The people you hear about on the news or fight with on the internet are mostly boring. They love their families, hate traffic, care about their country, and would probably stop for you at a pedestrian crossing.
They might even invite you in for some chicken on Halloween.
Til next week,
AM
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