I love where I live. I have more than an acre of land, a beautiful home, a great neighborhood and neighbors of all ages, races and cultures. I love the area. It's less than an hour south of DC (if you're lucky on 95S-ha!) and it is wildly diverse. My church has people of all socioeconomic standings, ages, colors and cultures. I feel safe here and I feel the level of overt racism isn't as thick as it is in other places of our nation.
But, I have felt the shift.
I felt it keenly when I stood in line with my neighbors as we waited to vote. I could feel the divide in ways I haven't felt since living in the rural deep south. I saw people of color looking to us with their unspoken questions- Will you stand with us? Will you vote against us? You're our neighbors, but do you really see us? I was pained. The quiet tension was broken when a young African American girl looked up at her mother and said "I'm so excited to be here!" The mom smiled down at her and I caught her eye. "I love that attitude. You're a good Mama for bringing her." The mother smiled back and we returned to our quiet thoughts. My face flamed. I wasn't excited to be there. I didn't take any of my children because I was ashamed of our choices. I had thought I was voting third party all the way up to the morning of the election. I changed my mind that morning when I decided I wanted Trump to lose more than anything else. I've never felt that way before. I'd never felt forced to vote against something instead of for something. But I couldn't darken the bubble beside his name and return to look into the eyes of so many people I love who are people of color. Immigrants. People who tirelessly battle mental illnesses. I made the choice to vote for Hillary as a stand against Trump.
My circle of friends and loved ones is multi-cultural and varied. It always has been, and I'm grateful for this as I know many white people don't share my experience. I had to vote for them.
I know my choice is surprising to many of those whom I love who have skin the color of mine. I have heard the reasoning, the desperation to explain why they chose him over her, and the ongoing talk of asking what God would have us do. None of those who I love who voted for him did it with celebration.
Let me be clear. I'm not a Hillary fan. I don't begin to pretend that we align on much of anything regarding political standing- but I was hyper aware that this wasn't an election where POC were championing Hillary as the perfect choice, rather the opportunity to reject Trump and his incessant hate from creeping into the oval office.
When I woke early on wednesday and checked my phone for the results, I was shocked. I sat up in bed and sobbed. I sobbed because I knew that many people I loved were feeling hated. As the last week has unfolded, my sadness has been confirmed.
Many of my friends who are POC have reached out to me. Grieved that blatant racism was ushered into office. Afraid for their families. Feeling rejected and disconnected from their communities of faith. I went to church on sunday, and couldn't help but notice that many of the regular faces were missing. POC had stayed home. As the texts and messages came in, I didn't have words of comfort to share. I listened, and as one of my dear friends shared her pain, I told her that the gift of hearing her heart was holy ground. I was honored that she allowed me to hold space in my heart for some of hers.
What's grieving to me is that as white people, we're still missing it. This wasn't an election about policy, or conservatives vs liberals. To POC, it was an election about awareness. Equality. Unity. About seeing them and their worth. About seeing ourselves inside of them. Humanity. About the opportunity for white america to open our arms and say we won't stand by and allow our next leader be someone who silences you, pushes you out, or sees you as worthless. We are equals and we want our leader to represent that all of us together is what truly makes America great. It was the moment when many POC collectively held their breath while waiting for us to see the expectation and anxiety in their eyes as they wondered if they are safe with us. And we failed. What is crushing is that in this monumental, horrendous election year we have come again to a deep divide. I don't think we white people saw how the gravity of his victory would affect so many of us. How his victory would sour after the political ads stopped and the realization that he really did win and oh my gosh, what have we done?!
Like so many others, I don't have answers. I am tired and weary of the ugliness this year has exposed. However, I've also been told by many of my friends of color that they feel the reality has been unveiled and while it has been painful, they also have resigned themselves to the realization that they know where they stand.
I guess my 'advice' to all of us would be this- We need to listen. Pay attention to things outside of our small circle of influence. We have much to learn, and we don't learn by talking and defending and justifying. We learn by studying. Listening. Making time to spend with people who have different life experiences than us. Hearing hard things we want to avoid but staying because ...love.
I'm not sure what the next four years will look like. But leaving it to one man and his staff to decide for us isn't an option I'm comfortable with. We have the opportunity to wake up and join our lives with others. We have the obligation to strive towards the greatness of America by working to ensure all Americans truly are treated equally as we have been created equally. If this awful election year can spur waves of powerful, lasting, healthy change in racial reconciliation- even as an act of rebellion-then not all was lost.
