On Saturday, May 7, 2016, Donald J. Trump held a rally in Lynden, Washington. He talked for about an hour but spurred daylong demonstrations.

Not wanting to miss the opportunity to see one of America’s favorite politicians speak, some close friends of mine and I made the trek up to Lynden. We were overwhelmed by the amount of people who had turned out for the event. Hordes lined up on the side walk. This was no ordinary single-file line, either. People stood shoulder to shoulder along the width of the sidewalk, keeping close to friends and family. The line stretched more than two blocks from the entrance to the fairgrounds. This was disheartening to us. We thought for sure that the 5,000-person capacity would be reached well before our spot in line, but we mustered the grit to try.

I stood with my friends towards the back of the line with the intent of making it into the fairgrounds. I had a plan. The day before, I checked out a fancy camera from the school, but it would not be allowed inside the fairgrounds so I intended to run it back to the truck when we got close to the front of the line, run back and meet my friends at the front of the line, tickets and sunscreen in hand. This way I could take pictures and talk to as many people as I liked while we waited.

I soon became enthralled with those around me. There seemed to be a never-ending stream of new people to talk to, a perpetually gurgling spring of politically decked-out cars driving down the road, a torrential downpour of new signs, floods of frivolous Trump paraphernalia, and as we crested the hill, a pond of protesters lay before myself and my fancy camera. It is fair to say that at this moment, when my friends and I crested the hill and laid eyes on the protesters, I subconsciously let go of seeing Trump speak. He would write the story of his platform in there and I would write the story of his influence out here.

I split off from my friends and began taking as many pictures as possible. I stopped and talked to people with interesting signs, or to people who I thought looked like they had something good to say. First I talked to two women: one was holding up a sign that read “Trump is a sexist,” the other a cardboard masterpiece with “Dump on Trump." I asked the women if they were voting for Trump. They smiled and shook their heads. Unlike most I talked to, these women did not have a horse in this political cycle. They were fed up with the system and disappointed in how divisive the candidacy had become.

“We are just sticks in the river,” one of them told me. “We want to be felt. But we realize we can never be a dam, so we just come to be.”

These women were what the protest should have been about. I was excited after talking to them. They reassured me that I was going to be surrounded by rational thinkers who understood the breadth and depth of what they were protesting. I was excited to occupy a sidewalk and peacefully stand against a malicious campaign. Alas, this was not the case. There are always those who believe they can be a dam.

As I walked towards the protesters, there was an immediate change in atmosphere. The air seemed to become still with the tension of authority. Standing between the protesters and the Trump supporters was a wall of police. And behind the protesters, more police. And beyond the scene, even more. News helicopters filled the sky, their beating blades ringing down on the rally. The event was encompassed by authority. I decided to play it cool and lay low. A fly on the wall has less of a chance of getting caught in the honey.

I moved further up the block into the center of the protesters. The sun seemed to be cooking them. The heat from the asphalt radiated into them, fueling their energy, reddening their skin and spirits. Unlike the orderly row of gathers on the sidewalk opposite them, the protesters formed a massive blob of rejection. They boasted signs adorned with clever prods, my favorites being, “We shall over-comb,” and, “Hey Trump, eat my taco bowl,” a reference to a recent Cinco De Mayo tweet by Trump. These witty signs made me laugh, but their creators had the same feelings for Trump and his supporters as the people who held signs saying “Trump is a bigot” and “Trump and his supporters are a disgrace and embarrassment to our country.” While Trump may be a bigot, and while you may think that the people who are supporting him are embarrassing, are you not spreading the same hate you claim to be protesting by slinging emotionally charged insults?

I could stand the hate-filled signs. Individuals can express themselves however they want, and I try my best to not judge political beliefs. It was not until the protesters started chanting to the other side that I could no longer align myself with the crowd. The chant that sickened me the most was, “Trump's a racist; so are you.” Many Trump supporters are racist, but not all of them are. Just like many Bernie Sanders supporters do not agree that college should be free for all, many Trump supporters do not equate all Muslims with ISIS. It is our right as Americans to exercise peaceful free speech. It is our obligation as rational adults to use it effectively.

At the end of the day, I left feeling more empathetic towards the Trump supporters than in favor of the protesters. I was red in the cheeks from sun and embarrassment; embarrassment for being party to a group that served undeserved discrimination. Trump supporters came from up and down the west coast of Washington to hear their candidate speak. Some were met with a blockade, others with harsh words and undeserving judgement. Here at Western Washington University, the only thing we will not tolerate is someone else’s intolerance. While Trump is an intolerant person, many of his supporters are not. Most of them are not the bigoted group of uneducated males that the media often belittles. Rather, they are rational, informed voters who have a vested interest in seeing their candidate win. They proved this on Saturday. By assembling peacefully in the face of hate, Trump supporters proved that his campaign has real traction, that there are smart, reasonable, informed Republicans that support a candidate that is forecasted to win the Republican nomination.

Not only is it hypocritical for the protesters to hate the haters, it is also hypocritical for them to claim that they are fundamentally different than the supporters they protest. In the end, Trump supporters want the same thing that Bernie Sanders supporters want. Yes, they do tow completely opposite party lines, and yes, they support two completely different presidential platforms, but they both pledge allegiance to candidates who are promising fundamental changes to our political system. Both candidates are willing to stand up and say “You think there is something wrong? I do, too. Let’s change it together.”

For what it is worth to you, I will not be voting for Donald J. Trump. If he gets elected, I will go to the border and protest his wall. I will stand in front of mosques in support of Islamic solidarity. I will do everything in my power to reject any discriminating policy he manages to pass. But until the day legislation starts coming down the pipe, I will not spread the hate he baits us to reciprocate.