Trucks: The New Weapon for Bullying
I lived in New York City for a few decades. I was even the victim of violent crime, more than once. The incidents happened in the late ’80s and early ’90s, when I was young and naïve, and when the city was going through the worst crime wave in memory. A lot of folks complain about the city today, but the statistics show that the violent crime rate was much higher back then.
One thing I can say is that, even though I cheated death a couple of times, I was never bullied in the Big Apple. Back then — and generally in the city — crime was committed because the perpetrator wanted your money, or . . . he was just evil or had mental health issues. I wasn’t attacked for my race (to my knowledge) or sexual orientation (to my knowledge) or my political opinions.
Today, things have changed. The pandemic caused an upswing in violence against Asian Americans. We’ve seen a surge in recent years of trigger-happy cops and others shooting Blacks. Gays and lesbians have never been completely safe (see how you feel holding your lover’s hand at a Yankees game), and now living as a transgender individual is downright dangerous.
When I moved to a rural part of Massachusetts a couple of years ago, I wasn’t fleeing the big, bad, dangerous city, even though crime was spiking during the pandemic years. I’d been there and done that regarding the crime thing. I was moving for the opportunity to own property for the first time in my life, to work remotely, and to have a sense of peace in my later years.
As it happened, I was moving back to the town I fled after high school. A town where I was bullied. I was bullied for who I was, which is a joke because at that point I had no idea who I was. I was just a kind, quiet, church-going kid who tried to blend into the crowd with my jeans and flannel shirts. My efforts proved fruitless.
Flash forward a few decades later. The same town is now, politically, about the same as it always was: nearly a 50/50 split between Democrats and Republicans. But now, the divide between the two parties is so great, the hostility is barely below the surface in this otherwise bucolic town. The biggest public spats are around school board elections.
Massachusetts is famously blue and one of the most progressive states in the country, but in the rural parts, you may as well be in nearby New Hampshire. While I was encouraged by seeing a couple of Black Lives Matter signs and the occasional Pride flag when I moved back, I also see Trump 2020 signs (yes, even now in 2023) and the ever-present American flag flying from porches. I love my country as much as anyone else, but it’s sad to me that these MAGA folks, under the guise of patriotism, fly such a beautiful symbol and it now strikes fear in the rest of us.
Today, the bullying is political. I mean, as a child, I was bullied for various ridiculous reasons, but never for liking Jimmy Carter. Today, it’s different.
One thing I’ve noticed since moving out here is that the bullying is often done with trucks. Yes, trucks have become the symbol of MAGA manhood, second only to the loaded gun, preferably one that can spit out a few dozen bullets a minute. I always wondered why these guys are so enraged. They can afford a $40,000 truck and an arsenal of weapons. It’s all I can do to keep up with renovations on my small home and to keep my car running.
The first time I was truck bullied I thought it was unintentional, just some guy who drifted too far into the middle of the road. I was driving up a winding country road and when I came to a straightaway section, a truck was approaching from the opposite direction, going quite fast. Worse than that, he was hogging the middle of the road. As we approached each other, at the last second, it became clear that he was not going to move. I swerved to the side of the road, so far that I was in the dirt, kicking up dust as he passed without a care in the world. It wasn’t just a truck — it was one of THOSE trucks. You know what I mean: little flags flying from the corners of the roof and the bed of the truck, with stickers that I couldn’t read from my vantage point.
My car, a small Chevrolet Cruze (American! But blue!), has no Biden stickers or rainbow flags to identify my preferences in anything. So why did he target me?
Really, he didn’t target me for any reason other than his truck was big and my car was small (though not as small as his penis, I’m betting), and he needed an outlet for his rage. I’m sure I’m not the only one he ran off the road that day.
And then it happened again, just a few weeks later. Different truck, different road, same scenario. This time, I was approaching a bend in the road. I was familiar with it, so I pulled far to the right, tires in the gravel, to give a wide berth to anything that might be coming around from the other side. Sure enough, a behemoth of a truck came careening around the corner, and — get this — HE leans on the horn as if I was in HIS way when he was clearly barreling down the middle of the road. I was half in the dirt but I swear he only missed me by a foot.
Here in Massachusetts, we have strict gun laws, so these jerks can’t open carry like they can in Florida and Texas. But they can use their trucks to intimidate and possibly destroy. Ah, when will grown men learn how to play nice with their toys?
I’m curious if anyone else has experienced truck bullying on the roads. It seems to me a new phenomenon, a new twist on expressing rage.
I’ve heard the argument, in defense of the right to bear arms, that it’s the people, not the guns. I’ve even heard, “Cars kill people too. Are you going to outlaw cars?”
Well, when you are using your truck as a weapon to intimidate and possibly harm law-abiding drivers, maybe it’s time your license was taken away.
Be careful out there, folks. For some, their trucks have become their Army tanks, and they are willing to use them as such.
