You know that moment when you wake up from a nightmare, only to find out it was all too real? Every day feels like that in a world where Donald Trump is a viable candidate for president of the United States. My feelings toward his supporters? Let’s just say I’ve asked a few to unfriend me on social media. Honestly, if you’re backing Trump, we probably don’t share the same vibe.
But what about those who think Trump is a disaster but are convinced Hillary is somehow worse? I’m at a loss for how to engage those folks. What do I even tell my kids?
I’m not about to sugarcoat Trump for my 6-year-old daughter. But when she wonders about his supporters, I find myself stumbling over my words. There are countless political reasons to view Donald Trump as a threat, and I believe he’s less qualified to run a lemonade stand than a country. If my main concern were his lack of qualifications or his policies, I could explain the political landscape to her. I’d still be anxious about our future and furious, but at least I’d have something concrete to discuss.
I’m grateful my daughter attends a school with kids from diverse backgrounds. But how do I explain the appeal of a man who has called Mexicans rapists, refused to disavow the KKK, and openly mocked individuals with disabilities? His daily outbursts should sink anyone’s popularity, yet they seem like mere microaggressions against a backdrop of unapologetic racism. It’s like his buffet of hate comes with a hefty price tag, and a side of misogyny to boot.
How do I tell my daughter, a girl growing into a young woman, about a man who routinely judges women on their appearance, fat-shames them, and refers to them as mere “pieces of ass”? A man who seems to reserve his empathy for men who divorce women he finds unattractive, and who unabashedly sexualizes his own daughter? What message does that send to her? How do I instill in her a sense of self-worth, teaching her that her value isn’t determined by society’s judgments? How will she learn that people’s worth isn’t dictated by their gender, sexual orientation, race, disability, religion, or looks—especially when the opposite is broadcast from the highest office in the land?
And what about me? Normally, I’m all for a “live and let live” approach. Sure, I’ve created a liberal bubble for myself—living in a predominantly liberal neighborhood in a state that seems to be veering more conservative on various issues. My social media reflects that too. Gone are the days when I felt obligated to befriend everyone I’ve ever met. If someone from my past believes that Obama is a Muslim and therefore evil, I can easily let that connection fade.
But what does it say about our society that I hesitate to share my thoughts? I’ve opened up about my mental health struggles and navigated the ups and downs of motherhood online. Trolls don’t intimidate me; their words may sting, but they’ve never made me afraid. Yet here I am, feeling apprehensive about publishing this piece—a sentiment that shouldn’t even be controversial in the grand scheme of things.
This fear is a reflection of the culture we’ve descended into. In a country that prides itself on freedom of speech, I feel muted. And what does my silence communicate to my children? I pondered the implications of fear and suppression, and how subtly we shape our kids’ beliefs about themselves and the world. Ultimately, the risk of silence felt greater than the risk of speaking out. I’m sure there will be unkind comments awaiting me, but it’s better for me to face them than for my kids to absorb negativity through my silence.
So, let’s engage with the world and foster discussions about values and beliefs. After all, we want our children to thrive, not just survive in a world that can sometimes seem overwhelmingly hostile.
In conclusion, navigating the current political landscape and its implications for our children is a daunting task. It’s essential to confront these issues head-on and instill in our kids a sense of self-worth and resilience.