It has been less than a week since the election results rolled in, and our country is already more divided than ever. Donald Trump is our president-elect, and while half the country is jubilant, the other is devastated.
I’ll be candid: I’m in the latter half. Though not entirely surprised, I am hugely discouraged to see that close to half our country was willing to vote for a man who has so outwardly attacked Muslims, women, POC, immigrants, and LGBTQ+ people. I am scared for myself and my friends – since Trump was elected, hate crimes against women and minorities have already increased (and people I know personally have already been the victims). I am ready to organize and do what I can to undermine the systems of oppression he plans to bolster.
But while I and others get revved up to work, there’s a response I’m seeing from folks on both sides of the aisle which I would like to address: the response which attempts to persuade me of what they see as the complexity of the situation.
There are some who would seek to remind me that most Trump supporters are just people trying to provide for their families and create better lives for themselves. That many Trump supporters were hoping for a non-establishment candidate and merely looked past his prejudices because of what they thought he could offer. They might remind me that Trump supporters aren’t just one mass of homogenous people, but are individuals —perhaps the lady who complimented my outfit at the grocery store, the neighbor who shares the newspaper with my grandmother, the Drivers Ed instructor who always spoke lovingly of his daughters.
They’d be correct.
But here’s the thing.
There have always been nice people complicit in systems of oppression. There have always been well-intentioned, generally kind people with utterly problematic views. After all, supporting segregation was an “opinion”. Being completely ambivalent about civil rights wasn’t uncommon, I’m sure even among otherwise pleasant people. Would you have told those who fought in the Civil Rights Movement to stop shouting because some of their oppressors were sweet old ladies? Would you have invalidated the Selma protests because some who were against voting rights were loving mothers and fathers, or Christians, or cooked a mean pecan pie every Thanksgiving? Would you tell 60s activists to brush it off and learn to respect segregationists’ “opinions”, or say that their marches were divisive?
To be able to look past the racism or homophobia, etc. a person harbors (or excuses) to acknowledge that they’re really a “good person at heart”—even if it’s true—is largely a privilege. It means that their views won’t affect you, or at least not nearly as severely as it might others. If someone is cutting your leg off, it’s not much consolation to know that sometimes they might feel bad about it. If you can summon the heart to empathize, chances are it's not your leg.
Which means that as a white person it is my job to interact with these people. It’s my duty to have conversations with Trump supporters, to learn where they’re coming from, and to see if I can’t then successfully advocate for those who often go unheard. White, straight, cis people can summon the patience to engage in these dialogues, as we will largely remain safe and relatively respected during these discussions.
To ask those who are especially marginalized by Trump’s rhetoric and proposed policy to extend a loving hand to his supporters, or to “give Trump a chance”, is asking them to shake hands with someone who—like it or not—was willing to compromise their very rights.
So while I fully acknowledge the humanity of Trump supporters, doing so will never be as important as affirming and protecting the humanity of the people who their vote would further oppress. There is a point at which it is important to acknowledge the inherent dignity and goodness in every person, but there is also a point at which a rousing rendition of Kumbaya becomes a tactic with which to silence people.
Yes; love is the answer. And sometimes, love comes in the form of anger—which is different than hate. Sometimes, love comes in the form of marching, or by having difficult, honest conversations. I personally will illustrate my love for my country and fellow humans the best I know how: by standing up for those whose futures are in danger.
And once we succeed? Call me—I might be ready for that round of Kumbaya.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A lot of what was said here I first heard from those less privileged than me, although I can't claim to speak for anyone. All of this applies to how I walk through the world as a young woman, though I can't know what it's like to experience the world while being trans, of color, disabled, etc. Just wanted to acknowledge these things.
