photo courtesy Wikimedia Commons
November 8th, the least popular presidential candidate in modern history was elected my president. I had watched a campaign that was undeniably derogatory towards Muslims and Mexicans, and a candidate who has done and said horrible things to women. If that were not enough, Mr. Trump had shown a clear lack of policy understanding and an unwillingness to learn more. I sat, eyes fixed as Mr. Trump gave his acceptance speech, watching with a mix of disbelief and despondency. I went to bed that night in more pain than I’ve ever been.
The next morning, I arrived at a school that was in the same pain as myself. We tried to have an all-school conversation about what had happened, yet the feeling of despair would not dissipate, and I went home feeling the same way I had the night before. It was not until the next day that the feeling started to change.
Students had planned a school walk-out in protest. Yet it was not a protest of the election of Trump or the peaceful transfer of power that was necessary in our democracy, but a protest for hope and against bigotry. We marched across the streets shouting for “love and optimism.” There were other protests that day. When we arrived at City Hall and met up with other groups of protestors, it became clear that our messages were not the same. Our message of optimism collided with chants of “not our president.”
I disagree with Mr. Trump on many if not most issues. But when I look at this situation I remember George H.W. Bush’s letter to Bill Clinton as he left the office. “You will be our president… your success now is our country’s success.” If and when Mr. Trump goes back to bigotry, division and derogatory policies, I will stand up and fight like hell against them. Yet for the most part, I am rooting for his success. He is our president.
