Why Don't You Go Back to Russia?

I was on a road trip heading up the coast of Oregon last Fourth of July weekend, a rural setting with views as spectacular as you will see just about anywhere. We were pulled over along the road enjoying one of these vistas when I found an American flag about as big as a hand towel. Like I said, it was Fourth of July weekend and flags were everywhere. I lashed the flag to my antenna and we drove off.

I was suddenly transformed into Super Patriot. I would look at other cars with smaller flags and question their commitment to America. I would see a truck with a “Proud to be an American” bumper sticker and I would feel like spitting on them. A bumper sticker? Is that all you can do? Look at me, pal. I got a real flag right there on my antenna.

For some reason there were lots and lots of yard sales along this stretch of the coast on this particular weekend. It doesn’t take a lot of coaxing to get me to go to a yard sale or a thrift store. I thought I was in heaven. These weren’t normal yard sales; these looked like a sad form of underemployment for these rural Oregonians. These people weren’t clearing out old stuff; they were trying to make ends meet. People were selling absolutely everything which was mostly absolute junk.

After about the third of these sales I noticed that I was wearing my Che Guevarra T-shirt that I had bought as a gag in a shop in Paris earlier that year. The shop sold nothing but Che T-shirts with “Hasta la Victoria, Siempre” emblazoned under a likeness of the Cuban revolutionary. There was so much irony going on that I had a hard time keeping a straight face. Here I was pulling up to these salt-of-the-earth yard sales in the patriot-mobile wearing my godfather of the Cuban revolution T-shirt, and this was on the Fourth of July. It was like those finger tattoos with LOVE and HATE on opposite hands.

I don’t remember if I bought anything at any of the dozen or so yard sales, but it was a lot of fun. Either nobody noticed or nobody cared that I had on my French T-shirt of an Argentine Cuban revolutionary. I’m sure everyone noticed the big flag on my antenna. For amusement we would hurl epithets at cars with no visual, store-bought manifestations of patriotism. At a traffic light I looked over at a nice looking young family with no flags evident and I said under my breath, “Why don’t you go back to Russia?”

“Why don’t you go back to Russia?” That is very dated these days, but this was the sort of thing people used to say to other people who they felt weren’t sufficiently patriotic. This was back when Russia was part of the former Soviet Union, back in the days of communism. This was the sort of thing someone would say to anyone suggesting something like socialized medicine. This is what Barney Gumble said to Lisa Simpson, a vegetarian, when she suggested that gazpacho be served at Homer’s meat-orgy barbeque.

This was the sort of thing I half-expected some Oregonian yard sale patron to say to some out-of-towner wearing a Che Guevarra T-shirt. The fact is that there are plenty of Russians who now live in this country, and few people would suggest that they go back to Russia. “Why don’t you go back to Russia” is another phrase that doesn’t have much meaning in the geography of the 21rst century. A former enemy becomes a friend. Some of their citizens emigrate to America. A new enemy (terror) is created to replace the old one. It makes about as much sense as wearing a Che Guevarra T-shirt on the Fourth of July. Come to think of it, that makes sense.

AFTERWORD

There is an advertisement on TV for an electronic wheelchair/go-cart for old folks. They show an old gal tooling around in her scooter. In another clip an old guy comes roling out of the store on his scooter but his has an American flag on it. My advice to the old gal is this: Either get a flag on your wheelchair or charge up the battery and ride that thing all the way back to Russia.