I remember anxiously watching the news and reading dozens of articles in an effort to gain a better insight of who would be running for president. After detailed analysis and weeks of studying, I had decided that I was liberal, possibly a Democrat. This was the first election cycle in which I understood what originally appeared to be completely mind-boggling statements of politicians. I knew what abortion was. I knew what police brutality was. I knew about the specifics of gun control measures. I, being the politically excited teenager I am, was ready.
The news erupted with various rumors of potentially capable politicians. Finally, as time progressed, two candidates emerged from the Democratic side: one who was predicted to win, and one who nobody saw coming.
Bernie Sanders. I had never heard the name before. He was a senator. An independent. A socialist. A liberal. These words were tossed around in the news as the media attempted to scrutinize his image, toss him to the side as an impossible chance. But yet, through it all, I was inspired. He represented everything I believed and thought was great about America. He cared about immigrants, believed (since the beginning of his career), that LGBTQ+ people deserved their human rights, and had a stable ideology. He could change America.
As the hype around his candidacy grew and tensions rose over what now appeared to be a potentially tight race, I watched the results of the Iowa caucus closely, constantly refreshing the page. When the night ended in a tie, I was worried. I knew that it was just one state, but I believed Bernie would win in a landslide.
I still hoped on. I hoped through Super Tuesday. I hoped through California. And in the very end, I hoped through the Democratic National Convention. I hoped he would make a miraculous comeback.
But he couldn't. Lurking in the shadows was Hillary Clinton. She won. She became the Democratic nominee as Bernie gracefully stepped down from seeking the presidency. I remember a hole in my heart forming. It wasn't the end of the world or anything, but it felt pretty close.
After the convention, again the question surfaced of who to choose and support. Trump or Hillary. I, like the rest of a freshly disappointed America, didn't really want either.
But then, it hit me. I couldn't ever want Trump.
He viewed women as inferior, as objects that could be misused or tossed aside. He wanted to divide America from its neighbors. He viewed all Muslims as terrorists. He was everything that America shouldn't be.
So it became obvious. Hillary had to win. She was not my dream candidate. She didn't particularly excite me like Bernie did or make me feel the upcoming of an equal rights revolution.
She is a typical politician. I know that her views fluctuate, and I am well aware of the email scandal. I don't particularly like any of those things, but I admire that she isn't bigoted or discriminatory. I admire that she's run a campaign in which people who don't support her accuse those who do of only doing so because she's a woman. I don't support her because she's a woman; I support her because she respects them. I support her because I have faith that she'll try to bring America together, not drive us apart through discrimination.
The way Donald Trump speaks, the words that escape his mouth, the beliefs he claims to hold so dear, genuinely fill me with the terrifying fear that he will break everything that's good about America.
Make America great again? When was it great? In the 30's, when economic disaster shook the nation? In the 50's, when segregation existed? In the years before 2015, when same-sex individuals couldn't marry the people they loved? Tell me when America was so great that we must revert back to the past.
Let's not "Make America Great Again." Let's just "Make America Better."
