I’ll probably be fine, but will my students?

On being personally affected by the election of a rapist, and knowing others have it far worse.

On being personally affected by the election of a rapist, and knowing others have it far worse.

As a rape and domestic abuse survivor, I am sick at the thought that we have elected a President who is known to have raped his ex-wife. As a nonbinary person, I am disgusted by the negative implications this election will have for the acceptance and safety of trans and nb people (particularly, I have to say, trans women), and to their access to essential medical care. I have shouldered sexism and male entitlement my entire life. I feel hopeless knowing that one of the most self-aggrandizing, entitled, misogynistic men imaginable has been chosen to lead our country.

So yes, for me, this election has some very personal stakes. But I’m not the one who is going to suffer the most as a result of this election. Many trans people that I know, especially trans women, are panicked about the violence they may now endure, and the loss of hormones and medical coverage they will face if the Affordable Care Act is repealed. Gay, lesbian, and bisexual friends are panicked that a pro-conversion therapy candidate has been elected VP. I know people of color who desperately want to leave the country right now. I have friends with cancer,mental illness, and disabilities who are very intimately threatened, as well, by the potential of an ACA repeal. I have spoken many times over the last 18 hours with people who are experiencing suicide ideation regarding this momentously horrific event. People I care about are terrified by the cultural changes this election will foment. Right now, the world feels very bleak.

But at first, I wasn’t sure how or if I was going to respond to all of this in my classes. I felt like I didn’t have anything insightful or useful to say. However, I was given some encouragement by the pastor at one of my universities, who issued a very forthright message of dismay and contemplative sadness. I was further galvanized to speak when some of my students reached out to me, sharing how deeply this election has hurt them, and confiding in me the aspects of their identity that put them under attack.

My students are people of color, people with mental illness, disabled people, gay people, bisexual people, trans people, and actually compassionate people of faith who feel panicked and alone at this moment. And while I know that I will not have anything especially insightful to say tomorrow, I must bring attention to these things, share myself, and make myself a resource to everyone that I can. This stuff is personal for my students. It’s personal for me too.

This is not an ordinary election (though of course all elections in recent memory have come with high stakes). This is one where a majority of Americans have aligned themselves with someone who is known to have raped his ex-wife, who does not believe in climate change, who categorizes Mexican people as rapists and criminals, and who has no disregard for or understanding of basic economic principles, foreign policy, or political cooperation. I am filled with despair about all of this. Depending on how Trump’s presidency goes, a lot of people here and abroad stand to lose their lives.

But I am in a position of relative security. I have the ability to work and earn an above-liveable wage in a variety of industries. I am white and have secure citizenship. I move through the world being seen as cis and a woman, even if I’m not those things. I am in decent physical health. My brush with domestic violence was short, and I am safe. I have access to a support network that is interconnected, responsible, and loving. This election will not kill me, but it might kill a lot of people I care about.

I feel a strong sense of responsibility to do everything I can to protect those most threatened by Trump’s rise to power. No matter how sad I am, this is not about me. Some of the people who voted for Trump are my relatives, high school classmates, and childhood neighbors. They are mostly white, like me, and mostly safe from violence, homophobia, transphobia/transmisogny, and racism, like me. Because I look like most of Trump’s supporters, I have the social cache to fight his administration’s actions without nearly as much recourse as those who are browner, visibly disabled, or more visibly queer.

As someone who can move through the world with the privileges of a cis, white woman (even if I’m not quite all those things), I have a surging, intense responsibility to take care of, protect, stand beside, and hold up the people most threatened by this election — black people, trans and queer people, disabled people, Latinx people, and beyond. I know I will have to work constantly in the ensuing four years to not become too jaded to lend a hand, and to not try to comfort myself with meager assurances or rationalizations. This is going to be a long fight. People like me, who are unlikely to bear the brunt of it, must stand up for those that will.

I’m going to the rally/protest outside Trump Tower today. It won’t be a productive political action but it will be a showing of support and a coming together. Some of my students are too ill or too trapped in their circumstances to do even that. I will keep them in my thoughts, which are swirling and frantic and sad today. I will do what I can to be there for them. I have told them to feel free to take tomorrow off. I really don’t care how long it takes for them to get around to tomorrow’s exam. I value their well being and their lives more than my grade book.

I guess I will probably just say something like this in class tomorrow. I don’t know what else can be said. But if anyone has any ideas, I welcome them. Today I will donate and listen and write and reflect and rally.