I’ve begun to think
Mr. Davies was right

Never have I been more ashamed to be an American than I am right now

By Randi Hacker

May 21, 2026

When I went to Tollington Grammar School in Muswell Hill, London, I had a history teacher whose name was Mr. Davies. Mr. Davies had a low opinion of Americans. He thought we were stupid. I bristled. I was 14.

Lately, however, I’ve begun to think Mr. Davies was right.

Never have I been more ashamed to be an American than I am right now, and I don’t think I’ve reached the summit of shame hill. It was shameful that Donald J. Trump was installed in the White House a second time. It’s more shameful that he’s still there.

A felon who has allegedly [I believe it] raped thirteen-year-old girls. A man who has used the presidency to enrich the Trumps by billions of dollars. A man who gives orders through social media. A man who thinks a FIFA prize is an honour but who disrespects those who deserve honour. A man who is so unsure of his own existence that he must put his name and face on everything. A man who has bankrupted pretty much every business he’s run and who is now bankrupting our country. A man who lies and lies and lies and lies.

It was shameful that Donald J. Trump was installed in the White House a second time. It’s more shameful that he’s still there.

How is it possible that one man, one vile and cruel and ignorant and toweringly insecure man, has been able to destroy our country single-handedly? And not just our country; his impulsivity, his lawlessness, his discourtesy, and his dementia have disrupted the world order.

Also shameful are those who are complicit; those who continue to believe him, which is unfathomable; and those who pretend to believe him, which is despicable.

It’s heartbreaking to witness the brazen deconstruction of America by a handful of white men with serious masculinity issues who want to take us all back to the golden fifties, a decade that was golden mostly for them.

And I don’t even know how to think about the women and the Jews and the gays and the people of colour who continue to support him.

Every morning, when I wake up, I scan the air — like a snake does with its tongue, only figuratively — to see if I can sense that Trump is dead. I believe I’ll notice an atmospheric shift, a lightness, when he’s gone.

I doubt I’ll be alone in that.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of WestmountMag.ca or its publishers.

Feature image: Chris F

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Randi Hacker lives in the American Midwest.