So, I did it. I went to a Donald Trump rally today. Because if you are an aspiring journalist and the presumptive Republican nominee for 2016 comes to a town of 13,000 people 15 miles from your house – you go.

Similarly, if you are a registered republican citizen anywhere within a five hour driving radius of Lynden Washington – you rally. And if you are a young angry liberal whose arch nemesis dares set foot on your turf – you protest.

And so we went. And there we were. Lined up on Kok Rd. Five miles south of the Canadian border. Supporters on one side, protesters on another. Separated by armed police and flooded by media looking for signs of trouble. Because that’s what we do – we divide.

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People keep asking me things like “But how did it go?” and “How are you ever going to cover a topic like that?”

I have to admit, it’s easier for me than most people. I was born conservative, schooled liberal, and chose to become part of the media. I see the glories and the evils in all three sides, and it tears me apart to see them at each other’s throats.

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There was a time when American citizens didn’t need to be separated by two lanes of flowing traffic and 20 men with guns. There was a time when neighbors could discuss politics without having to result to oh-so-clever insults like “You F***ing racist!” and “Get a job asshole”.

There was a time when the media were commentators of our culture and documenters of our history, not cheering side liners of a drunken bar fight, aggressively forcing the two sides to show off for the camera.

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To be honest, I didn’t mind my day spent in a crowd of 5,000 Trump supporters. Just as I don’t mind my afternoons spent in a classroom of liberal college students.

There was something about their raw honesty and frankness which was refreshing. There were no attempts to hipster one-up each other, every person was equal and all information was accepted as valid and interesting.

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I have been assured by my friends and by Twitter that there was all kinds of craziness going on outside. And I’m sure there was. But that’s because they were out there with the crazies, not inside with the reasonably passionate and honestly curious like myself and my neighbors. You can find crazy wherever you look for it – and the media certainly knows how to look for it.

I had been conditioned to expect riots and open brawls erupting everywhere I turned. But there was none of that. Just a patient crowd waiting calmly for the arrival of Donald Trump, their unlikely savior.

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Watching Donald Trump take the stage was something like an out of body experience for me. Even now, 12 hours later, I still cannot comprehend that I sat in those stands and listen to the most divisive voice in America today regale me over the loud speaker. The breathtaking view of Mt Baker and plumes of smoke from wildfires raising into the sky added a majestic and vaguely apocalyptic air.

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Possibly the most appalling aspect of the whole day was how unappalled I was. Even the most absurd comments (“We’re gonna build a wall, it’s going to be a beautiful wall), even the most racist comments (Elizabeth Warren claims to be of “Native American” heritage just because her mother had high cheekbones) were so common place that I debated whether or not they were worth tweeting.

But certainly the most appalling aspect of the afternoon was walking out of the stands and being instantly confronted by bright sunlight, screaming protesters, and stern faced cops. The moment dissolved into chaos in my mind. Both sides yelled obscenities at each other as police from the entire Puget Sound area firmly maintained the street-wide divide between them. In one afternoon, the visit of a first time politician divided a county firmly into an “us” and a “them”, and it will destroy us.

It is not the walls of Trump’s imaginings which we should be afraid of, but the walls which we build around ourselves every day.