First and Last Political Post

I try to stay away from politics on social media. I have plenty to say about politics - How could you not during this election cycle? - but I don't want to add to the deluge of posts on Facebook and Twitter. Plus, I feel I should watch my mouth (especially since some of my students are aware of this blog).

That being said, it would feel a little cheap to just continue with my thoughts on Walking Dead, or something dumb like that, without at least commenting on Tuesday's events a little bit. So here's what I've been thinking:

I strongly dislike Donald Trump. I don't think I'm breaking any new ground when I say I think he's a bully, a sexist and a racist. Maybe most offensive to me personally, because it calls into question my value as an educator: I think he's a raging anti-intellectual. I'm going to have a hard time even acknowledging that he is indeed the president, much less embracing him.

I've never felt so simultaneously shocked and depressed after an election. In the first four elections of my adult life, I voted against George W. Bush (twice), John McCain and Mitt Romney. I disagreed with their ideas, but I always felt that they were fundamentally good people. I remember seeing McCain correct the woman at a town hall meeting who said she didn't trust Obama because he was an "Arab," and thinking that he was a real mensch for speaking up. I don't have the same respect for Trump and I don't know if I ever will, although I am going to try really hard to be open-minded.

I feel you, Man...

But today I'm actually trying to think less about Trump himself than about his core constituents: middle and lower-middle-class white people in small towns and rural communities. I lived in the rural mid-western town of Gambier, Ohio for the better part of four years, and even though it was kind of a liberal bubble, I got to know plenty of people in the surrounding towns. There was the mechanic in Centerburg who replaced my car's clutch and brakes and charged me a really fair price for the service. And there was the waitress who always served me at the High Diner in Mount Vernon. And there was my eleven-year-old little brother (in the Knox County Big Brothers-Little Brothers program) who once, after a trip to the movies, gave me some deer bologna. He had killed the deer in his backyard, and his biological older brother had helped him clean it and cure the meat.

There was also the man in the old pickup truck, with a Bush/Cheney bumper sticker, who appeared out of nowhere when my car broke down on Route 80 in Western Pennsylvania, and helped me temporarily fix my engine so I could drive to the nearest gas station.

These were all good people: they weren't some faceless hicks trying to screw up the country. And at the risk of making a sweeping generalization, I bet they all voted for Trump (even the eleven-year-old boy who is now of voting age, I guess). If Clinton had won, I would have resented anyone who used the word "lib-tard" (has there ever been a dumber insult?) or whined about the liberal elite and their out-of-touch Washington insider agenda. So while I dislike Trump, and disapprove of his being elected, I am not going to take part in any protests. And I'm not going to rail against the "dumb asses" or "rednecks" or "basket of deplorables" who voted for him. Make no mistake: I'm still really hurting from this, and I'm not sure I am in the mood to be understanding and empathetic yet. But I have a strong desire not to go through life hating half the country. I want to respect the people who voted for Trump (except, obviously, for avowed racists like this jerk who can go f themselves). At some point, I know I will want to understand why they made the choice they did, even if I won't ever agree with it.