Marching in the Aftermath of a Trumped America

Returning to campus with less than one week left of the Obama Administration’s term, I am greeted by anti-fascist signs posted along my walk to class declaring the student commons a “Nazi-free zone.” This walk recalls one I took just two months ago, emerging from my dorm in mourning, the morning after my country elected its forty-fifth United States president.

I joined a crowd of students, some of whom stood sobbing, others collapsing into neighbors’ arms as we began a campus-wide march. The calm November wind added to the chilling atmosphere as participants clad in black held hands and moved forward in a force of nearly 200. And all across the country, the powerful silence of solidarity, which filled so many college campuses that day, rang out among millions.

As the wounds of Clinton’s defeat and the nationwide vindication of ignorance—in the many forms of sexism, racism, xenophobia, transphobia, classism, homophobia, ableism, and “alt right” nazism, among others—continued to fester, my Russian Literature teacher offered solace by encouraging us to stay strong despite the election results, as did the soviets who persevered under Stalin. Never did I ever expect to look to totalitarian Russia for comfort from my own political plight.

Meanwhile, the healthy humor of optimistic friends, Black Twitter, and even ridiculous SNL sketches provided me an outlet for processing the aftermath of a “trumped” America. They reminded me that, no, this is not the biggest catastrophe in American history, and that our country has long survived in the face of far worse. We may be battered, broken, bruised, and quite battle-worn, but, as my beaming President reminded me during his farewell address, the path to progress requires that we keep believing in our ability to bring about change.

Although those words still resonate with me, a recent state of political overload has still been toxic to my prospects as a polisci major. Tuning in to the news remains an emotionally draining, if not often heartbreaking ordeal. Politicized social media is not far behind. In an age where people must argue that their lives matter just as much as those who have built an entire country on centuries of their oppression, I sometimes find silence more enticing than a shouting match with those determined to play deaf.

While this election season has been exhausting, I’ve come to envision living in a place where people like me, people who are made vulnerable targets by the deep complexion of their ancestors’ rich legacy—whose extraordinary life-bearing ability is wielded as weapon of their oppression—whose kaleidoscopic spectrum of love has been criminalized for centuries—can someday simply exist, without that existence becoming a political threat. Within the past eight years, this vision has grown more and more vivid, though it is still far from fruition. Meanwhile, I am privileged to take refuge in a liberal oasis, where my identities are more or less welcomed, accepted, and celebrated within the vibrant socio-cultural mosaic of our college community.

Over the past few months, I have witnessed so much lost hope amid the state of current affairs. Although pained by our nation’s politics, I am motivated to escape the pandemic of this “trumped” outlook. I am determined to limit my intake of toxic daily updates and instead nourish my mind with that which contributes to my growth. Embarking on a journey with my faith community to deepen our spirits and "grow" our souls has enriched my capacity for compassion. Witnessing NAACP president Cornell William Brooks speak about the crucial link between demonstrators and advocates opened my eyes to the complex dynamics of change in this country. Now honoring Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s legacy as I spend a day serving those most in need of support has definitely refueled my drive for justice.

These are the wavelengths I want to tune in to, the voices of those who can contribute something meaningful to my daily life, and I to theirs. Since looking beyond the buzz of talking heads and tweets, I’ve decided that now, more than ever, is the time to embrace excellence as my highest form of resistance. As I prepare myself to march once again, I prepare to stand in steadfast solidarity with those who share my passion for creating the world we long to live in, knowing that each step we take leads us that much closer.