I am standing metaphorically—because physically being there would require me to interact with people wearing flannel unironically—in Greensboro, Vermont. This isn't just a town; it is a monument to a very specific kind of bourgeois delusion. Until recently, this place was hailed as a “foodie mecca,” a pilgrimage site where the upper-middle class could absolve their sins by purchasing overpriced, ethically sourced dairy products. It was a symbiotic paradise: wealthy Canadians drove down from Montreal to spend their strong currency, and Vermonters pretended to like them while overcharging for craft beer. It was the perfect neoliberal ecosystem. And then, naturally, American politics happened.

Now, the artisanal dream is rotting on the shelf, much like a wheel of Camembert left out in the sun too long. The news out of Greensboro is grim, and it serves as a microscopic case study for the macroscopic stupidity that defines this era. The local economy, which had lashed its wagon to the star of cross-border benevolence, is collapsing. Why? Because the previous administration decided that diplomacy is for losers and that tariffs are a magic wand that fixes everything. We treated our closest neighbor and largest trading partner not as an ally, but as a piggy bank to be smashed open with a hammer labeled “Nationalism.”

The catalyst for this particular tragedy involves the former President’s erratic trade wars and the hilarious, if terrifying, suggestion that Canada might as well be the “51st state.” It is a classic American move: we don't want friends; we want vassals. The Right, in their infinite wisdom, believes that shouting insults at a map constitutes foreign policy. They view international trade as a zero-sum game where, if the other guy isn't crying, you aren't winning. So, they slapped on tariffs and ramped up the rhetoric, turning the longest undefended border in the world into an emotional and economic friction point.

But let’s not let the Left off the hook here. The fragility of Greensboro’s economy exposes the utter hollowness of the liberal “buy local” fantasy. This town didn't build a resilient economy; it built a boutique theme park dependent on the whims of international travelers with disposable income. They constructed a financial model based on the assumption that the good times would roll forever, that borders would remain fluid, and that people would always prioritize a twenty-dollar wedge of blue cheese over basic economic survival. It is the height of performative capitalism—building a fragile glass castle and then looking shocked when the elephant in the room (or in this case, the elephant in the White House) shatters it.

The result is a delicious irony. The “Make America Great Again” crowd, who claim to champion the rural working class, have effectively strangled a rural economy with their bluster. Meanwhile, the cosmopolitan elite, who pride themselves on being citizens of the world, are finding out that borders actually do exist and that geopolitical tantrums have consequences for their weekend getaways. The Canadians, for their part, have done the most Canadian thing possible: they haven't declared war; they’ve just politely decided to stay home and eat their own cheese. And honestly, can you blame them? Why would anyone cross a border to visit a country that threatens to annex them between insults?

This situation in Greensboro is not an anomaly; it is the blueprint for the future. We have entered an age where economic logic is subservient to political theater. The Right destroys supply chains to own the libs, and the Left weeps over the loss of their artisanal consumption habits while offering no viable alternative. We are watching the disintegration of neighborly ties, not because of some grand ideological schism, but because of sheer, unadulterated incompetence and hubris.

The frayed ties between Vermont and Canada are a testament to the fact that you cannot run a global economy—or even a local one—on spite. Yet, here we are. The shops in Greensboro are quieter. The cash registers are silent. The cheese is aging, but not in the good way. It is aging into obsolescence, much like the American empire itself. We wanted to be a fortress, and we succeeded. We locked everyone else out, and now we are locked in here with nothing but our own stupidity and a surplus of dairy we can’t sell. Bon appétit.