By Mahshid Hager
A former US president was almost assassinated. But we went out to party anyway. I know how this sounds. Let me explain.
I was in Nashville on July 13th. I was there to teach an intensive 4-day course about trauma treatment to a group of psychotherapists and helping professionals. At the same time, Donald Trump was on the campaign trail in Pennsylvania.
We had just wrapped up day two of the training, where we talked about how to support people who have witnessed horror and violence. Believe me, the irony is not lost on me.
My friend Geet and I were pulling out of the parking lot and heading towards our Airbnb when calls and text messages started flooding our phones about the attempted assassination of Donald Trump. A confusing mess of “Where? What? How?” ensued, with no immediate answers available. My heart pounded in my chest. I had to promise Geet to keep my focus on driving while she scrambled for answers. We were both emotional and incredulous, never having experienced anything like this in real-time before.
Our short ride home was a mix of Geet frantically sharing news headlines, me trying to keep my eyes on the road, and us together sorting through some of the conflicting messages that were coming in. By the time we made it to our destination however, it had become clear that the bullet had not caused any life threatening damage and that the former president was safe and in stable condition.
“Are we still going out tonight…?” Geet asked with some hesitation in her voice when I pulled into our driveway.
“I think so.” I replied. Some concerns about our plans had crept up in me as well.
Geet and I love hitting up Broadway whenever we’re in Nashville. We visit about three times a year for trauma training sessions, which can be pretty intense and exhausting. To find some balance, we make sure to go out at least a couple of nights while we’re in town, and Music City never disappoints. We’ve developed a soft spot for certain bars and a real appreciation for specific bands. On this particular night, we had planned again to head downtown, grab some food, enjoy some live music, and leave the stress of trauma training behind for a few hours. But then the shooting happened.
We entered the house and turned on the news. Images from the campaign rally in Pennsylvania and the frenzy that ensued after shots were fired, dominated almost all the networks. We watched as the former president seemingly flinched mid sentence, touched his right ear and then was immediately surrounded by the Secret Service. After a few minutes he was rushed away, one arm raised above his head in a fist, a symbol of fight or maybe victory, blood smeared on the side of his face.
Every muscle in my body braced for what might come next, not just on this day but in the weeks and months to come. What does this mean? Will it tear us further apart?
“Are you worried at all about going out, given what just happened…?” Geet asked, never taking her eyes off the television.
“Maybe a little. But I think we should go.” I replied.
“Ok, but are we still going to Kid Rock’s Honky Tonk Bar?” Geet was now looking at me with raised eyebrows, implicitly communicating the underlying current of her worries.
What she was really asking was “Should we, two immigrant women of color, be heading out to party on Kid Rock’s turf, immediately following an assassination attempt on Donald Trump?”
“Do you worry something might happen to us?” I asked her then.
“I don’t know… The climate might not be well suited for people like us tonight.” she replied.
She was worried about facing backlash. She feared that people might see us—two women who clearly stand out from the typical crowd at Kid Rock’s Bar—and decide we didn’t belong. She was concerned they would channel their fear, rage, and disbelief over the day’s news towards us.
Another friend from the training texted: “If you go out tonight, please be safe.” Geet was clearly not alone with her concerns.
After a few more minutes of discussion, we decided not to veer from our plans and go out anyway. We discussed keeping close to each other and remaining vigilant about any disturbance and to drive back home if either of us felt uncomfortable in any way.
We arrived at Kid Rock’s Honky Tonk Bar to a scene that would be best described as surreal.
The venue was packed, more crowded than we had ever seen before. The band was crescendoing towards their grand finale and taking requests from the crowd. The lead singer stood atop the massive bar in the middle of the space, being cheered on by his adoring fans. The first few notes of “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers began to play and the singer yelled into his mic: “Who’s on vacation on this Saturday night and is ready FUCKING PARTYYYY?” The crowd went wild! People were jumping, screaming and downing their beers and shot glasses. A group of women in front of the bar was looking up at the singer seductively, dancing and reaching up their arms towards him while he giarated his hips just above their heads. The band played their hearts out to this song, reportedly one of their favorites. The sound was deafening. And the entire time, the row of televisions behind the bar was set to local news channels. The image of Donald Trump covering his ear and ducking, then resurfacing with a blood smeared face, his fist in the air, played over and over and over again. No one stopped to look, no one seemed bothered at all.
Geet and I watched this scene, mouths agape, completely stunned. Everything felt wrong and out of place, including us.
I had just spent a day talking to my class about the impact of witnessing horrific images and here we were, trying to get away from the subject and yet horror was on display right in front of us. The contrast of music, lights, alcohol and sexual energy with the backdrop of violence and chaos was nothing short of horrific. I didn’t know where to focus my eyes, keenly aware of the incongruence of this scene.
We did what we had set out to do, we went out that night, maybe even as an act of resistance. We had worried about the impact of the news on the party scene on Broadway, worried about backlash, anger and reactivity. What we hadn’t considered was the disturbing realization that in fact nothing had changed.
The extremist views in our politics have escalated to the level of an Almost Assassination but the party just goes on as usual. I thought: Either we have all finally accepted this kind of violence as part of our daily lives, or we have become so jaded and disconnected from the process, that we can remain unphased in the face of such events.
“At least it wasn’t a school shooting this time.” someone on Threads wrote…
I felt myself balancing on a double-edged sword that night. On one hand, it was easier to disconnect, especially in the face of extremist political violence. Allowing myself to fully grasp the impact, could quickly lead to despair. On the other hand, I craved deeper connections and a more coherent response from those around me. I wanted to ask the real questions: How are you really feeling tonight? Are you scared? Does the shooting affect you in any way? But this too felt vulnerable, scary and out of place.
I wondered how many of us were navigating this edge that night, but choosing to drink and sing along anyway as a means of survival. Perhaps we were all averting our eyes to avoid confronting our anguish. And maybe I wasn’t not the only one who longed to show up differently.
A friend recently said, “We can do anything with support.” The chaos and violence in our world makes it seem like healing and connection are out of reach. I wouldn’t be a therapist if I believed that to be true.
I don’t have all the answers, but for my kids’ sake, I have to believe something else is possible.
The world seems on fire these days.
How are you?
Are you scared?
Can we show up anyway?
