In the wake of the 2016 presidential election, I’ve done my utmost to shield you from the harsh realities surrounding it, but I fear I have not succeeded. On the morning after the election, your bright, innocent eyes sparkled with anticipation as you tiptoed into my room, eager to hear the results. In that moment, I found myself at a loss for words. How could I soften the bitter truth? The woman you admired, the one you looked up to since the primaries, suffered a defeat at the hands of a loud and unapologetic misogynist. I cannot mask the pain of this disappointment, nor can I prevent you from experiencing the harsh truths that lie ahead.
You sensed my silence, and in your five-year-old wisdom, you asked if I was afraid of Donald Trump. My instinct was to dismiss your concern, but deep down, I recognized that you had picked up on the anxiety I was struggling to conceal. My hope is that one day you will read this letter and grasp the emotions I couldn’t articulate that morning.
My fear goes beyond mere fear; it is a sense of dread. How can I explain the implications of this election to you when your future is at stake? How do I convey that the man who will assume the presidency has shown a troubling tendency to belittle women? How can I encourage you to value your intellect when we are led by someone who places such significance on physical appearance? I worry about a world where our male allies feel threatened and retreat from supporting us in the battle for gender equality. I dread the possibility of setbacks in parental leave, equal pay, and women’s health issues that could take us back decades. The thought of these realities reaching you in a way that I cannot control fills me with anxiety.
As the election results began to unfold, I tried to find solace in past elections where Republican victories seemed inevitable early on. But as midnight approached and the map turned red, my hope dwindled. I clung to the belief that liberal areas would prevail and carry her to victory, but when Pennsylvania fell to the Republicans, I switched off the TV in despair. The shock between my husband and me was palpable, as we were both acutely aware of Trump’s promises to ban, register, and monitor Muslims, and to scapegoat those who are different.
In that moment, it felt like the only home we knew was echoing a resounding message: “Get out!” That night, we lay awake, eyes wide open, anticipating something dreadful. The next day would bring our children asking for results and explanations we were not ready to provide. So yes, my dear, I am afraid. But not of Donald Trump himself—I fear the forces he has awakened. I fear the individuals who will seek to blame us for their own fears and the threats to our civil rights. I fear the hatred and division that could emerge from a Trump presidency. I am afraid that this hate will encroach upon your innocence and erode your faith in this country and its people. I fear that the beautiful tapestry of diversity in our nation will be sacrificed on the altar of his ego. I worry that my hope in the inherent goodness of those around me may prove to be naïve.
Reflecting on my own education, I remember sitting in an 11th-grade history class at Lincoln High School, where we studied a new section called “Facing History and Ourselves.” This curriculum aimed to identify and prevent the root causes of genocide and ensure that history would not repeat itself. As I learned about the steps taken to dehumanize and demonize minorities, I thought it was a problem confined to the past, something far removed from our reality. However, as I witnessed Trump’s unexpected rise in this election cycle, that notion crumbled. I finally recognized the importance of understanding our history. His campaign was steeped in dehumanizing defenseless minorities, and what once seemed impossible quickly became a grim reality.
So, my love, yes, I am afraid. My fear is rooted in the knowledge that humanity can be easily swayed against itself. I fear that this is just the beginning, and that you and I are not part of his vision for America’s greatness.
Yet, amidst this turmoil, I cling to a glimmer of hope. I envision a future filled with individuals who believe in the potential for positive change. I see our generations embracing values like social justice, equality, and love, refusing to allow cynicism to overshadow our idealism. I hope that we will heed the warning signs of complacency, learning from the past to prevent our worst fears from becoming reality.
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In summary, while the future may seem daunting, I believe in our capacity to create a brighter world, one rooted in love and understanding.
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