The Monster I Helped Create

I am the reason Donald Trump is seen as a viable candidate for the presidency.

Casual racism, homophobia, misogyny, and bigotry against other groups such as the poor permeated my environment growing up and as a young adult. As such things go, it wasn’t too bad—mostly occasional off-color jokes and ignorant remarks by family and family friends and schoolmates. I don’t have a clear memory of anyone in my family using the N word, for example (although I heard “wetback” more than a few times). The idea of people of color as inherently lazy and otherwise flawed didn’t have to be specially pointed out. It just WAS. The misogyny and homophobia was supported by the religion in which I was raised, an offshoot branch of Christianity. (You can spin it however politely you want, but if women aren’t allowed to hold positions that men are, the man is “head of the house,” and homosexuals are shunned unless they suppress their natures, the idea that women and gays are less-than comes through loud and clear.)

I bought into the whole love-the-sinner-hate-the-sin thing when it came to the LGBTQ community, and for quite a while I docilely accepted my lower place as a female, because religion. Now, to my knowledge I have never told a racist joke. Never used a racial slur, not even in private. Some of my best friends were people of color, as the saying goes. Where I could see racism, it bothered me. I listened in shock as my high school best friend and her sister told me about the things they had to deal with because of their skin color; it never occurred to me to doubt them. I empathized and was supportive when we discussed these things.

I thought that was enough. That I was being a good person because I did not join in. I did not laugh at the racist jokes that made me cringe. I did not actively denigrate any person, as far as I can recall. I empathized with the struggles of others. But it was not enough.

The past few years especially, I have become more vocal in my support of people of color, LGBTQ persons, women, the disabled, and other underprivileged groups. That support has coincided with the astonishing and revolting candidacy of Donald J. Trump. Once a joke, the idea that he might well become our next president has now become a reality that is both terrifying and heartbreaking, and the casual bigotry that I once thought of as “not that bad” has morphed into its current form as a major threat to personal liberty, progress, and social justice.

People I care about support this man. This terrible, awful, incompetent, bigoted man who is much better at destroying lives than enhancing them, who has no real workable plans to improve anything, and—worst of all—who actively encourages hate, violence, and bigotry in others.  I can use all my skill with words, refer convincingly to the facts, and it seemingly makes no difference to them. It’s as if they don’t care about reality. That is actively painful to me.

But I realized something a few days ago. What is even more painful to me than the fact that people I love embrace this domestic terrorist is that I squandered my best chance to make a difference to them. For years, I remained silent when I might have made an impact by speaking up. It’s true that I’ll never know whether I would have made a difference … but their opinions weren’t so entrenched then. We were all younger, more malleable. The atmosphere in the US wasn’t quite as openly divided as it seems to be now. They weren’t so afraid of The Other. They might have listened to me where they wouldn’t have listened to someone else. And I’m afraid that in many cases, my silence was taken as tacit approval.

So the person I am most upset with in this whole debacle … is me. I looked the other way when I should have faced the problem head-on. I was silent when I should have spoken up. I was cowardly when I should have been brave. I knew better, but I did not do better.

I am so, so sorry. To all people of color; to all gay, lesbian, transgender, bi, and queer people; to all women (including the one I see in the mirror); to all disabled, poor, or otherwise underprivileged people: I failed you with my silence. I cannot go back and undo the damage I (however unintentionally) did. All I can do is be a better person going forward. I will be. I promise.

That’s what this blog is about: using my words to come down as effectively as I can on the side of justice, kindness, inclusiveness, and love in a public forum. I have a Facebook page too, where I will be sharing relevant content, including links to my posts here and, probably more importantly, amplifying the voices of those who are living the struggles against racism and other forms of discrimination.

Ever better. Stronger together.

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