America at the crossroads: a mirage, God and a German | US elections 2024

[Mesquite, Nevada] As we were returning from Utah, where Stefannia had dropped us off around noon, I wanted to take the time to stop at Beaver Dam Canyon, one of the filming locations for the film. Thelma et Louisebecause I had read somewhere that there was a tribute trail in the desert, a feminist pilgrimage, called the “Thelma and Louise trail” where, for years, women have been going to install bras on a rope laundry on the edge of the abyss where the two women plunge into their car at the end of the film.

I wanted us to take pictures of this unusual altar. This could have helped us in our reporting. After all, this presidential election could bring the United States its first female president. Sri Lankans brought a woman to power as early as 1960. Since then, 70 countries around the world have been led by a woman at some point. However, in 2024, 125 countries still do not have a female leader. Among them: the United States.

On the way to the canyon, the car’s wheels sink and get stuck in the sand. We give up, worried about remaining prisoners in the desert, and turn back. The bras hanging on the edge of the void will only remain a mirage. We take the road back towards the truck stop from Mesquite, where Rooney Amisone awaits us.

Just out of the shower, his hair still damp, the trucker fills a jar with at least three liters of lemonade. Coffee, lemonade and jam and peanut butter sandwiches: this is the menu he now imposes on the road. I lost 100 pounds since last year on this diet said the guy proudly, a Maori from Hawaii with the build of a football player. Are you ready? Let’s go! I don’t want to be late.

Having left Salt Lake City the day before, Rooney must deliver mattresses to Moreno Valley, California. He stopped at Eagles Landing in Mesquite, as he often does, and slept most of the day. This is a strategic stop for me.

Even though the house is not very far – he lives in Las Vegas – he only stops there once a week. The job of truck driver is very psychologically difficult. You’re never with your family. I have two divorces under my beltRooney explains to me with great sadness in his eyes. The man is friendly, warm, affable, but his eyes are filled with the mourning he had to endure to feed his family. I have 13 children with two different women. I see them too rarely. It’s not simple. I would like to be with them at home, but if I give up this job, I will no longer be able to feed them or provide for their needs.he reasons as we take Highway 15 south.

The annual salary of a truck driver in the United States ranges between US$45,000 and US$65,000 for drivers with average experience. For long-distance drivers, salaries can be higher, $60,000 to $85,000 per year, especially for those who work for large transportation companies, as is Rooney’s case.

We met the driver in the early morning. He had just parked his truck at Eagles Landing and agreed to pick us up when he woke up that afternoon. Don’t be late. I absolutely have to leave at 3 p.m.he warned.

Shortly after our return to truck stop from Mesquite following our little misadventure in the desert, Rooney Amisone takes us into his truck. This time we are heading south. The landscape pales. The desert changed from rust tones near Utah to brown sand. The further we progress towards Las Vegas, the more the desert takes on shades of mustard yellow.

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Rooney Amisone tells us that he will not vote for Kamala Harris, but he specifies that the fact that she is a woman does not influence his choice.

I won’t vote for Trump either. I will not vote. I am completely disgusted with politics. What would that change?

We quickly eat up the kilometers. Rooney takes advantage of the fact that his journey allows him to stop at the school of one of his twelve sons, Dimitri, to go watch him play football. I myself played football when I was young, but I broke my neck. I was paralyzed for ten monthshe says. Afterwards, Rooney studied to become a sheriff, but he had to leave Hawaii and fell back into the driving profession, which he has practiced for more than 30 years.

Rooney Amisone explains that he was once a staunch Democrat but that this party deeply disappointed him.

Now I don’t want to know anything anymore. The only thing that really matters to me is the happiness of my children and my relationship with them. He adds: And the only power I truly believe in is Him. He points to the roof of the passenger compartment then to the grandiose landscape that we are crossing. God is my guide and my master. He specifies that something worries him about the outcome of this election. I fear that if Donald Trump wins the election, he will take us towards war. I don’t like that. But from there to voting for Harris, no.

The huge truck takes the next exit onto the highway. Dimitri’s football match starts in about fifteen minutes. Rooney drives slowly through the town and parks the 18-wheeler in front of the school. When we get out of the truck, the heat assails us. It’s over 43 degrees Celsius. It’s hard to believe that children will play sports in such an environment.

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Dimitri sees his father and comes to greet him. Rooney hugs his teenager tenderly. He smiles and greets us before heading towards the stands.

We take the 15 heading south. We decided to end this trip to the United States at another road stop: the Bagdad Cafe in California.

Ivanoh, André and I arrive at the motel in Barstow, California, as the sun sets. It is the closest city to Bagdad Cafe. Baghdad without hunlike the usual English spelling.

Michael Fox welcomes us there. He tells us that many European tourists come here to see the decor of Bagdad Cafethis independent German film which made this lost corner of the United States famous.

From his pronounced accent, I guess that he is also German, which he confirms.

He tells me that he left his native Germany years ago to see the country and that he ended up here, in this town in the middle of the desert. After giving us our room keys, he sits on the wrought iron staircase that leads to the second floor of the motel. He lights a cigarette while watching the sun set behind a freight train that never stops squeaking the rails in front of this establishment located on the edge of the legendary Route 66.

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Michael exhales smoke. He despairs about the presidential election. Yes. He wants to talk about it. All my neighbors and colleagues are going to vote for Donald Trump. It’s distressing. It discourages mehe sighs. He compares the Republican candidate to Joseph Goebbels, the Nazi regime’s minister of propaganda, known for his key role in spreading anti-Semitic ideas. His speeches were marked by persuasive and emotional rhetoric intended to mobilize the masses and control public opinion to justify the regime’s actions.

In this setting worthy of a David Lynch film, light years from Germany, Fox evokes the dramatic question he asked himself throughout his youth. How could my grandparents embrace the ideology of the Nazis? It’s hard to understand, but my grandparents swallowed the nonsense that the Nazis put into their heads. They were convinced that the Jews were responsible for all of Germany’s ills.

The sun has almost set over the desert. In this diffuse atmosphere, between dog and wolf, Michael Fox continues:

At school in Germany, we didn’t want this to happen again, so we studied what fascism was. I have always had difficulty accepting that my grandparents did not rebel against this hatred before it was too late. In the region here, everyone is voting for Trump. He managed to convince them that all their misfortunes are due to illegal immigrants, that migrants have bad genes and that they take advantage of their money, while they take it.

Fox stubs his butt on the ground. It’s dark now.

Tourists have just arrived: the man greets us and returns unhurriedly behind his counter, his back a little bent, overwhelmed by the heat and disappointment. Before disappearing inside the motel office, he adds with a weak smile: However, I am optimistic. Perhaps human beings will eventually understand that hatred leads nowhere. But we won’t be here, neither you nor I, when that happens.