“I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

On November 8th 2016, Donald Trump, the man whose entire campaign was based on fear of the "other," was elected to be the 45th president of the United States.

I am not going to lie, when I watched the results, my heart shattered, and I could not help but sob. Even hours after the results, I couldn't help but lay in bed, my heart heavy, my thoughts racing, and worst of all, fear setting in, settling in around me like the darkness of the night: what would happen once he took office? Would it be possible that he would enact programs that would place many Muslims, my dad and uncle included, on a national "watch" database? Would he try to place a neoconservative on the Supreme Court, thus making national landmark decisions such as Roe v. Wade vulnerable to being overturned?

All the "what if's" had started to overwhelm me, along with all the horrid memories of the year long campaign built on the verbal violence against minorities which prevented any form of logic to soothe me.

Then, the anger soon followed. It overcame me, it drowned me, suffocated me. I couldn't see anything through my white hot rage, and frankly, I didn't want to see anything; a fire was burning in me and it wanted nothing more than to just destroy, burn everything down until nothing remained by ashes.

This is grieving. It is neither being a sore loser nor being a cry baby. This is genuine grief. The election cycle for the past year is much different than any other election cycle in recent memory because it was the first time when a candidate ran a campaign completely based on fear and hatred for all things foreign, with absolutely no regard for the consequences and it is absolutely devastating.

But not only just for me, a multi-ethnic, bisexual woman, but also for all the Muslims like my dad and uncle who have to hear their religion tarnished throughout the news day in and day out by this man, for the Syrian refugees who may never find solace and safety, for the immigrant families who may be ripped apart by harsh deportation policies, for the LGBTQ+ community who feel threatened not just by Trump himself but by his vice president Mike Pence and for the women who cannot have their stories heard because it is his word over theirs. Overall, this has been a utterly devastating election for various minority groups and it cannot be ignored; our wounds cannot be ignored, our fears cannot be ignored.

We cannot be ignored. We are here, we are hurting and we are enraged.

So, naturally, the criticisms of the protests that have been occurring all across the country in the three days since the elections have stemmed from this invalidation of people's fears and griefs, which is why I am writing this piece: to reach out to those who can't seem to understand the pain and hopefully show that the pain and fear that has rippled throughout the country by Trump's election is real and valid, and, that above all, our fear and hurt is not because our side lost, not because Clinton lost, but because of who and what won: Trump, racism, homophobia, sexism, xenophobia, and fascism.

Yes, fascism won the election, fascism will be roaming the halls in the White House. Whether his voters actually believe it or not, Trump's policies, his very rhetoric, is the essence of fascism and this also contributes to the very anger and pain that grips minorities at the moment.

I mean, can you truly blame them though for fearing for their lives, for their safety, for their political freedom when someone runs for president based on the premise of "[Making] America Great Again," and "Only I can fix it, me me me" for the past year? Can you honestly evaluate that platform and say with absolute certainty that people have ZERO reason to fear?

If you can't really reassure others, or yourself for that matter, that this kind of campaign is not built on the principles of fascism, then you cannot tell people not to be afraid, not to be angry and heartbroken when the manifestation of those very principles gets elected and by invalidating those fears, you minimize the pain, the grief, and thereby, you make those groups feel even more hopeless and small than they already were throughout the course of the election season.

In short, you further cement those principles placed in our society, that people cannot be angry and hurt by the election outcome, by dismissing those feelings as simply those of "sore losers."

The entire reason why they, myself included, reacted the way we did was not because Clinton lost, far from because truth be told, she wasn't my ideal candidate either, but because Trump and all that he has stood for won.

Clinton, as flawed as she was, at least reached out to minority groups, though it was more along the lines of pandering, but still, she reached out. Trump, on the other hand, had no problem being divisive, by claiming that Mexicans are rapists, that all Muslims should be barred from the country and that Muslim Americans should be put on a national database and that women are nothing more than sexual objects.

Overall, people need this time to grief. Three days is not enough time to come to terms with the election, and if they need to protest, then let them protest. Coming together to protest can be a form of catharsis for many people hurting over this election, but that doesn't make them "sore losers," it simply shows how passionate they, we, are for the future of this country.

Therefore, the most important thing that you can do for them, for us, is to to listen, not invalidate us because while our pain seems foreign to you, it doesn't make it any less real for us.