When I was a child, I consumed countless stories about good prevailing. I had stacks of comics about heroes pushing through impossible odds. Despite the history of America’s racism, I knew the country would progressively get better.
Racism was on its way out. It had been pushed to the edges of society. Sure, people still whispered racist remarks. Systemic racism was still a problem, but OJ was even found innocent! (Yes, we all know he was guilty.)
For a child’s mind though, it meant endless hope for a better world for everyone. It meant the American dream wasn’t just propaganda.
By the time I was a teenager, in the early 2000’s I knew those were a child's hopes. I saw how people turned on their neighbors post-9/11. I became more conscious of the rampant racism, sexism, and homophobia I absorbed from network television.
Jeremy Helligar
By the time I reached college, I still lacked the nuances necessary to garner a full understanding of America, but I was much more aware of reality. Going to a predominantly white college taught me how the world viewed me.
They feared me. Many of my peers went out of their way to avoid me at night on our well-lit campus. I saw the fear in their eyes when I wore a hoodie. For some reason, this comfortable cool-weather wear was terrifying to them.
They fetishized me. Many of those same girls became far too curious about my penis after consuming a bit of alcohol. I was always expected to be the cool kid because of my status as the Black guy. My Black roommate became the dancing minstrel show for his peers. He jumped through tables, put cigarettes out on his nose, and entertained them until they “stole” his girlfriend and he was kicked off campus. As a final salute to my Blackness, the president decided to “dap” me up as I walked across the graduation stage instead of shaking my hand like everyone else.
They infantilized me. In the South, “bless your heart” can be a cutting insult. Everyone who learned I went to my school assumed I played sports, and when they heard I was there on academic scholarships their hands always found their hearts. Sometimes they would even say the words with the twisted smile-frown they make when trying to pretend they aren’t insulting you. (No, it wasn’t Affirmative Action.)
They hated me. Not everyone, but I was conscious of the hate now.
Despite all of this, I had so many white associates and friends. I always assumed the best in everyone. I saw the glimmer of hope when Obama was elected president. The future little LG hoped for was still possible.
I learned the truth in 2016: my white friends didn’t care about me.
And Then There Was Trump
I’m not thrilled to talk about Donald, but with another election soon culminating I can’t stop thinking about how I felt after his last election victory.
I can’t speak for everyone, but Trump was obviously racist even before that presidential run. During the run, however, he incited racism like I had never seen from a presidential candidate in my life.
By 2016, I was already a teacher. Even then, we were told to keep politics out of the classroom. I spoke about Trump the same way I spoke about Kanye West. He wasn’t a serious candidate.
When he announced his intentions to run, I predicted America would choose him because Americans are dumb. We love celebrities over everything else. However, most of my peers convinced me this just wasn’t the case.
My minority friends said Trump was stupid and too sexist and racist to win. My white friends assured me that he was a clown.
I never fully let my guard down, but I began to believe at some point.
My minority friends surely wouldn’t vote for him. My white friends, including many of my older peers, assured me they would never vote for him. They described him as hateful and an embarrassment.
William Spivey
I always prepare for the worst, so I can’t say I was shocked when I woke up to a Trump victory. I was maybe a little vexed but not shocked. I went to school already on the cusp of a paradigm shift. I gained clarity before I even made my way into the building.
Once exiting my car, the whole world shifted into slow motion. I still fall back into these memories so easily, but I can’t speed up the movement of the events. Even the air is still, almost tangible.
The first person I see is the librarian. She is a nice, older woman passionate about books and women’s rights. We’d had many conversations about unnecessary book bannings at school. She was among the many older women who told me Trump was a clown.
She approached a Black child, one who sat alone slumped over on a bench, and said enthusiastically, “Did you watch the election? Trump won!” She held out her hands encouraging the child to give her a high-five.
The student reluctantly submitted as the librarian skipped happily away. Celebrations like this went on all around me as white teachers, some who claimed to be my friends, others who called themselves my parental figures, hooted and celebrated Trump’s victory.
They lied to me.
It was like this secret thing they were all doing behind my back, and I assume the backs of many Black and Brown people. It was a good strategy. I know so many people who didn’t vote or voted third party because they assumed Clinton would win.
That was the day I stopped assuming the best in everyone I met. When I meet a white adult from the South, I assume they are racist until they prove me wrong. I’m not rude but I never let my guard down.
I understand elections are full of fear and propaganda. The stuff about Trump, the stuff that made it so hard to forgive people for voting for him, is the stuff he admitted to and said on camera himself.
It isn’t a coincidence that racial violence increased immediately after the Trump victory. It was suddenly cool to be racist again.
It is hard for me to believe anyone who paid attention to Trump was oblivious to this possibility.
I am constantly reminded most humans are selfish. People who barely know me will ask for my last. People who I considered friends (and even family) have stolen from me.
Trump promised a world many people wanted. Even if they considered me a friend, which I doubt, my safety wasn’t worth them losing an opportunity at…I don’t know what they wanted…being able to be openly sexist and racist again.
It is a lonely feeling, knowing how, at best, most of the people close to me are apathetic about my existence. I can only imagine how draining it is for groups who are even more ostracized and persecuted than Black people.
However, 2016 was a long time ago. I’ve grown and evolved and I hope society as a whole has grown as well. Trump is once again facing a woman who is hated by many people for… double-checking notes…being a strong, capable, and qualified woman. When we add on the minority status, the pessimistic part of me clinches my teeth.
Yet, I feel that little buzz of light I felt when Obama ran for the first time. It is no longer ignorant bliss, but a measured emotion. My glass is just a little more than half full. It is faint, but it is there. It is a chance for the world to prove me wrong. It is hope.
This post originally appeared on Medium and is edited and republished with author's permission. Read more of LG Ware's work on Medium.