An Election Response in 5 Reposts
Because others have already said it better.
I’ve resisted posting anything substantive about the election results until now because, while I certainly have had thoughts, I didn’t have words, if you know what I mean. There was simply no need for me to add to the noise by chiming in before I had something real to say.
And even now, I don’t flatter myself that anyone’s been holding their breath as they waited for my opinion. Rather, I simply think it’s important for people of good will to go on record as having worked against this outcome and intending to resist it, and I want to raise my voice in that chorus of protest.
I began multiple drafts of a post-election essay as I tried to capture some thoughts this past week, only to be frustrated each time by my inability to get what was in my head and heart on to the page with any clarity at all. As I’ve paused before responding, I’ve come across several folks who have said so much of what has been swirling inside me. They’ve said it better in many ways, so, with a little bit of commentary in between, I’ll share their words here instead of mine. (Everything’s clickable, so please follow the links as necessary.)
This is my first and deepest grief: that people I trusted and admired and have learned from my entire life looked at someone so deeply flawed and voted for him to lead the free world. The same exact people who were in absolutely sincere hysterics over Bill Clinton’s deceptions in the 1990s are now willing to elevate someone exponentially worse to the same office. The same people who, in 2016, said, and I quote, “That man is an ass, of course I can’t vote for him!” somehow, in 2024, despite knowing even more of his disqualifying and despicable traits, decided that he was now somehow an acceptable candidate.
In 2016, I could understand the excuse of voting for Trump as the outsider, the change candidate, and not genuinely understanding the Pandora’s box of his character. But in 2024? You knew. We all knew. And with your eyes wide open, you said okay.
I simply do not understand. I do not understand trading a legacy for a pot of stew. I do not understand having the devil offer the world in exchange for a soul and thinking that sounds like a pretty good deal. I do not understand the crowd recognizing an insurrectionist and still screaming GIVE US BARRABAS.
There is so much I do not understand.
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I don’t feel the shock I did in 2016. This time I’m just disappointed. I wanted to think that our national character had matured, grown, improved over the past 8 years, and I am so, so very disappointed to be wrong.
Spicy language in this next one, but he gets to the point: people are going to die because we elected a con man.
So where do we go from here? What changes in how I navigate the world? What stays the same?
Where Ryan Holiday uses the word Stoic, swap it out for Christian:
As a Christian, I have my orders: I am to love my neighbor; to seek justice, mercy, and humility; to cultivate love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. I am to forgive, to love my enemy, and be willing to suffer wrong. I am to serve the poor, the hungry, the sick, the orphan, the widow, the prisoner, the stranger.
I am to be the aroma of Christ to a broken world.
A transistion in this country’s leadership changes none of these things. Erin Jean writes beautifully to this same point in her post about moral courage. (Note that reading Erin Jean’s post was the only time I’ve cried since the election.)
After having five days to process the election news, I am feeling a bit less drained than on Wednesday. Roughly 150 hours of voter registration work and election volunteering (every bit of it non-partisan, I might add, and all also unpaid save for one day as a Travis County Election Day Poll Clerk) over a couple of months has left me spent. I would gladly do every minute of it over again, even with the same result, but that said, the physical effort has left me feeling emotionally depleted and without the energy to summon stronger outrage, though the situation absolutely warrants it.
I feel afraid for my BIPOC friends and my friends with medically-fragile children and my queer friends and my Dreamer friends and my poor friends and so many vulnerable people I could name but I can’t because it’s my job to protect them, not out them.
More than any real sensation of anger, fear, or sadness for myself, I feel a sort of anticipatory exhaustion, as though someone signed me up for some kind of non-optional marathon and even though I dislike running and have no particular aptitude for it or gift for speed or agility, I have no choice but to start running laps in preparation. I don’t want to run a marathon, I did not choose this, and yet it is my assignment. I will learn to be proficient at running, oh yes, but just the thought of having to fills me with trepidation and fatigue.
As always, I have more questions than answers, but one thing is clear:
We have elected Barabbas, and half the people I know are, at the very least, okay with it, or even enthused about it.
And that makes me tired.