The Great Wall of Donald John Trump has yet to see the arrival of the first cement truck, and already it is shrinking. The original edifice to American Intolerance was reportedly going to stretch 2,000 miles along the southwestern border with Mexico and be thirty feet in height, an obstacle of such grand enormity that only Mexicans with access to a Lowe's ladder department could ever hope to surmount it.
But before a single vote was cast, America's Big Orange Blowhard rethought his campaign scheme and decided the wall would only be one thousand miles long. To increase the grandeur of the shorter barrier, however, he vowed that it would range in height from thirty-five to forty feet. It would be a great place for thousands and thousands of photo ops - and what is America all about if not photo ops?
Then some Republican wags fluffed the wall again and said that it would be made of cement planks and soar to over fifty feet in height. God help the poor wetbacks who thought they could get over something that enormous. Lowe's might want to shift their sales from ladders to shovels!
But the size of Great Wall of Donald John Trump is still open to debate. This week I heard a very political Border Patrol agent being interviewed on National Public Radio. The man was gushing over Trump, seeing him as someone who would finally get serious about protecting the southwest from raging hordes of housekeepers and landscapers crossing the Sonora Desert to take jobs that were beneath their white neighbors to the north. When the interviewer questioned the Republican operative, and questioned him hard, the fellow finally admitted that a lot of what Trump said on the campaign trail did not reflect what he would be likely to do as President. The Border Patrol agent was forced to admit that the "wall" would be considerably shorter than 2,000 miles, probably more in the range of 400 miles, and some of it would not be a wall at all, but instead would be a fence.
So the once Great Wall of Trump will be more on the order of a glorified cattle guard. How disappointing that it's going to fall short of Red America's great expectations. But in all honesty, it would be unreasonable to expect more from a man with such petite hands.
Even with the new reality of an abbreviated wall, I still would expect to see a monstrous observation tower somewhere along its length, a place where our Great Leader could stand in all his glory looking south and waving an angry fist at his former hotel housekeepers whose continuing lives of poverty he helped to insure. If those women wanted to be successful in his America, they should have been born pretty. The man with the big, orange comb-over understands the value of pretty.