I have done my utmost to shield you from the harsh realities surrounding us, particularly during the tumultuous 2016 presidential election. Yet, I fear I have not succeeded. The morning after the election, your bright, innocent brown eyes sparkled with anticipation as you tiptoed into my room to hear the results, leaving me momentarily at a loss for words. I cannot soften the blow of the reality: the woman you admired and looked up to during the primaries was defeated by a man who embodies a proud misogyny. The weight of this disappointment and the unsettling visions of future struggles weigh heavily on my heart, especially when I see your tears.
My silence is palpable, and I wish I could find the strength to articulate the shock you deserve to understand. Instead, all I can provide is my embrace. After a few moments of silence, you asked me if I was scared of Donald Trump. My instinct was to brush it aside, but your perceptive mind has picked up on the anxiety I’m desperate to conceal. One day, I hope you’ll read this and grasp the feelings I couldn’t express that fateful morning.
My fear isn’t just fear; it’s dread. It’s a challenge to explain the intricacies of this election to a child whose future hangs in the balance of our government’s decisions. How do I tell you, my dear daughter, that the man who will become your president has shown a troubling inclination to belittle and objectify women? How can I inspire you to value your intellect when we are led by someone who prioritizes physical appearances? I worry about a world where our allies may feel intimidated and retreat from the fight for gender equality. I fear that the progress we’ve made in universal parental leave, equal pay, and women’s health rights will be rolled back decades. The thought of you learning these harsh truths in ways I cannot control terrifies me, as does the possibility that those revelations might undermine your belief in your own worth.
As the election results began to unfold, I sought solace in the memories of past elections where outcomes shifted dramatically. However, as the night wore on and the map turned a deep red, anxiety consumed me. I clung to the hope that liberal strongholds would defy expectations and secure victory, but when Pennsylvania fell to the Republicans, I turned off the TV, exchanging a look of shock with your father. Shock barely encapsulates the panic that reverberated between us, as we were acutely aware of the promises made to target Muslims.
That night, the very country we call home echoed a chilling message: “Get out!” We felt it deeply. We lay awake, eyes wide open, as if awaiting disaster. The next day, our young children would demand answers we were not ready to give. So, am I afraid, my love? Yes, I am afraid, but not of Donald Trump himself. I fear the forces he has unleashed and empowered. I worry about those who will seek to scapegoat us and encroach upon our civil liberties. I dread the consequences of a Trump presidency, and I fear the hatred and division that will undoubtedly follow. My greatest concern is that the beauty of this nation—the rich tapestry of its diversity—will be sacrificed for his self-serving agenda. I worry that my faith in the goodness of people is nothing more than naïve optimism.
Not long ago, I sat in an 11th-grade history class where we studied a new topic: Facing History and Ourselves. It focused on recognizing the roots of genocide and ensuring the Holocaust would never happen again. I remember reading about how minorities were dehumanized and demonized, paving the way for atrocities. I used to think such horrors were confined to the past, a uniquely German problem. Yet, as I witnessed Donald Trump’s unexpected rise to power, I came to understand the importance of learning from history. His campaign has been steeped in the dehumanization of vulnerable groups, and what once felt impossible has tragically become our reality.
So, my dear daughter, yes, I am afraid. I experience a fear that stems from dread and the realization that humanity can swiftly turn against itself. I fear this is only the beginning, and that, unfortunately, we are not part of his vision for a “great” America.
Despite this, I cling to a glimmer of hope. I envision a future filled with individuals who cherish equality, justice, and love. I see our generations fostering ideals of community and collective action. I trust that we will not become jaded like those before us, and that my fellow millennials will heed the warning signs of complacency. We must not allow our worst nightmares for our nation and our children to manifest into reality.
In closing, I want you to know that while I may fear what lies ahead, I also believe in the power of love and unity. Together, we can strive for a brighter future.