No matter who wins, the damage is done
An African American friend sent me this message a few days ago. It’s a statement of anxiety anchored in the reality of the African American experience. To those who would chide about the “Chicken Little” nature of the list, I will remind you that the items on this list aren’t ancient history. They are relatively recent traumas in the collective African American consciousness. The people who endured the tail end of our Jim Crow defined, second class citizenship are still alive. More recent collective traumas include the deaths of innocent black people at the hands of police, replayed repeatedly via social media. It’s no surprise that some of us are approaching this election day with a true sense of dread.
Today this vitriolic, political horse race will finally come to an end. The commercials will cease (PLEASE?) as will incessant blog posts begging you for your vote. We will soon have announcements regarding the victor and the vanquished. But don’t let the political theater fool you. Our country has already lost. The racist revival emboldened by the Trump campaign reveals a cultural rift in America that looks more like a chasm than a fault line.
I’m standing on one side of this chasm, forced to choose sides in an election where voting my conscience isn’t an an option for me. In light of emboldened racists crawling out from the shadows of America’s recent past, I do not have the luxury of abstaining either. I grew up hearing stories of life in Trump’s “Great America.” I refuse to take even the slightest step backwards toward that time. Consequently, in order to keep Donald Trump out of office, I will cast my vote today for the candidate who seems most likely to win (#Ihavetobewithher). The current racist revival endemic to Trump’s campaign is not a theoretical possibility. It is a reality and I have children to protect.
What breaks my heart is that on the other side of this electoral chasm and drifting further and further out of view, are some of my friends. I feel as if they’ve lost sight of me in the looming shadow of their privilege and political ideology. Today some will vote their third-party conscience. It’s an act of freedom that I envy. I can’t take the chance that my participating in making a protest statement might leave me and my family exposed to a Presidency endorsed by the KKK. Other friends have simply refused to vote. They desire to remain untainted by the political realities of less-than-stellar candidates as well as the pragmatic forced choice of the “lesser of two evils.” Instead of voting they elect to stay above the fray, protecting some sense of electoral “purity.” I however must get down in the dirt. I’m voting for a compromised, scandal-ridden candidate as an act of self-protection. Even more confounding to me are my friends who are actual Trump voters. We have discussed in detail the assaults on people of color at Trump’s rallies. We have cringed together at Trump’s racist rhetoric. A few even understand the dangers inherent in attitudes like this becoming the foundation for policy-making. Somehow though, these friends are able to push all of these negatives aside. In doing so they also push me and my family aside in order to cast a vote that reflects what matters most to them.
And this is where we all lose, no matter who wins this election. The damage to our national psyche is done. Not all of us, mind you, but far too many of us have celebrated a renewal of a dark side of American history. The damage is done to my personal relationships as well. I stand on my side of this chasm wondering if some of my white friends really see me. I am a black woman facing the revival of an evil that has overtly and covertly decimated the black community. Instead of finding a way to stand with me and fight this demon to the death, some of my friends have stepped to the side and left me alone. (Thankfully, I’m only talking about some of my friends.)The chasm separating us is overflowing with choices rooted in privilege. My friends have the right to vote however they choose. Today I wonder if these friends know that my right to full inclusion in the American story is facing a genuine threat.
Honestly, I don’t think that things will get as bad as my friend’s bucket list might suggest. We aren’t going to return to lynchings and Jim Crow policies. But how bad is too bad? After the last eighteen months of not-so-subtle racist rallying cries, I’ve lost sight of where the line of safety, (both physical and emotional) is for me as a person of color. There have always been communities where I understood that traveling alone was ill-advised because of my skin color. The tragedy of this election season is that a list that should continue to shrink is starting to grow. Three days ago, some African American preschoolers I know were called “monkeys” by adults driving by as the kids played on their own front porch. A minor incident compared to a lynching, of course. But how bad does it have to get for people of privilege to get down in the dirt with me to repudiate what some have fought to revive?
I will not equate my friends’ votes (or lack of them) today with the strength of their love for me. The individuals on my mind are not just great friends but great people. But if “love trumps hate” is one candidate’s slogan for this election then the lesson I’ve learned is that, even in friendship, “privilege trumps all.” As long as privilege prevents us from seeing and hearing each other fully then love cannot trump anything. Because love is ultimately grounded an a selflessness that allows us to truly see each other. Regardless of who is president elect tomorrow, I’m sticking with my friends. I’m going to fight the temptation to leave them to the soul-sapping scourge of their own privilege. We’ve walked long roads together. I want to see beyond the chasm that separates us. The damage is done and the road to healing will be difficult. But I’m holding on to the hope that these particular friends, nearly blinded by their privilege, are at least trying to see me too. It’s the only way our country can move forward toward something brighter and better than the “good ole’ days.”
