A Vote for Trump: A Decision That Leaves a Mark, and It Hits Home

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Today was the day I reached my limit. Perhaps many of us have had moments where we felt overwhelmed by the sheer hostility of this presidential election season. Two headlines did it for me: one about the KKK’s primary newspaper endorsing Donald Trump, and another detailing the vandalism and arson of a black church in Mississippi with the words “Vote Trump” spray-painted on its walls.

There are countless reasons why Donald Trump should not be president. Experts far more articulate than I have laid these reasons out. I’ve been able to mostly dismiss the few acquaintances of mine who plan to vote for him. This may come across as elitist, but studies suggest that less educated voters are leaning toward Trump. They simply don’t know any better. I have friends whose political views are much more conservative than mine. We’ve engaged in rational debates about government’s role in finance, healthcare, corporate regulations, and global issues. Most of them are either voting for a third-party candidate or opting out entirely. A few are supporting Hillary as a protest against a party that seems to have strayed from rationality.

It’s impossible to ignore the blatant racism and misogyny that have defined Trump’s campaign. He has unleashed a wave of nationalism that has been lurking in the shadows of American society. He’s given voice to the fear of the “other”—other races, cultures, and religions. His campaign has legitimized behavior that no decent citizen would have entertained before this election—openly shouting racial slurs or physically attacking individuals based on race, all while cameras roll.

You can argue about tax policies, regulations, and Supreme Court nominees until the cows come home, but the reality remains: voting for Trump is an implicit acceptance, if not a full endorsement, of the most disturbing forms of racism and sexism we’ve seen in recent memory.

A memory from over a year ago has been haunting me today as I navigate through my feelings. At a family gathering, I was discussing plans for a trip to Washington, D.C., hoping my kids would get to see the White House. While holding my infant daughter, who is half-black, a distant relative responded, “Let’s just hope we can get the White House white again!”

The moment those words escaped his lips, his expression changed, as did mine. He quickly realized that I might not be the right audience for that particular joke. I’d like to believe he learned a lesson from that moment. Perhaps he took some time to think about the impact of his words on my black husband, my two biracial sons, and my infant daughter. Maybe he felt a twinge of regret.

We stood there in silence for about thirty seconds, both unsure of what to say next, before I made an excuse to leave. I haven’t seen him since.

I can’t quite explain why this memory resurfaced today, more than a year later. Maybe it’s because I’m reflecting on the distant relatives and acquaintances in my life who plan to vote for Trump. Just like the words spoken that can never be taken back—a vote for Trump is an irreversible action. And it’s something I simply can’t overlook.

It’s personal.

Who knows? We might cross paths again. I’ll smile and say “hello,” then quietly slip away to the other side of the room.