I am arranging trays of food on a table when the man appears. “You with the Democrat women?” he says. “I’m going to be flat honest. You know who’s going to fix all this? Not you. The man upstairs, that’s who.”
It is 5:30 p.m. on a Monday. I am expecting 40, maybe 50 women for tonight’s meeting of the Democratic Woman’s Club of Anderson County, but for now this stranger, this man and me, are alone in the cafeteria of a Senior Citizen’s Center, a space cheerfully decorated for fall with crepe-paper pumpkins.
“You ask me,” the man says, “we got to get rid of all the Mexicans and all the blacks—you know that other thing we call ‘em, the blacks—we got to get every last one of ‘em out of this country, that’s what we got to do.”
I note that warnings about the caravan, the one the…
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