L
ast Tuesday night, I watched the map of the United
States turn bright red and I felt a fist grip my heart. I
had been trying to do homework and watch election
coverage at the same time, but I’ve never been the best
multi-tasker. As the night progressed, my notebook fell to
the side and I found myself intently reading Washington
Post coverage, analysis and speculation. Hours passed in
minutes, and Hillary Clinton’s path to the White House
went from assumed to unlikely to impossible. I wanted to
stay up until the end, until every vote was in, because in
my persistent optimism I waited for a deus ex machina,
I waited for my own state to turn blue at the last minute.
But, as we all know now, that didn’t happen. Michigan is
still unaccounted for. I ended up falling asleep, feeling
genuinely afraid of my own country, of the people who
voted for Trump and his sexist, xenophobic, homophobic
and racist rhetoric.
Needless to say, the next morning was painful. My heart
still ached, and I still felt afraid, lost in my own country
for the first time. Who were these people? Did they hate
me too, because I’m a woman and Jewish? Are they sitting
next to me on the Commuter North? Are they the swim-
mers I’m guarding at the Central Campus Recreational
Building? But as the day passed, and I went through the
motions of a normal Wednesday, I overheard conversa-
tions all over campus about how we can get through this
together, and that we can’t give up. I saw chalkings all
over the Diag, proclaiming that this is still home, that we
all belong here, that love is strongest of all. And through-
out the day, I felt my various communities within and
outside of the University of Michigan offering immeasur-
able support to one another. Being there for one another,
because what else could we do? I felt loved, supported
and heard by my friends and family. As I experienced this
outpouring of love, my hope began to come back. It was
also sad, to see my friends crying, fearing they will be
persecuted simply for being themselves. Wednesday was
bittersweet; I could feel the genuine fear of my friends
who were the target of Trump’s rhetoric. I also felt the
strength and optimism of a people that will not let hate
prevail on this campus, in this country or in the world. I
felt more determined than ever before to make a change,
to push the government in the direction of justice.
Because, as disillusioned and helpless as I’ve felt time
and time again, I know that the American government,
though in some ways corrupt and owned by Big Business,
is still for the people and by the people. We have to speak
up. We have to make it impossible for them to compro-
mise our autonomy over our bodies, to intersect our com-
munities and wildlife with pipelines, our right to have
clean water, and our right to marriage equality for all. I
know this seems overly optimistic, but there are reasons
why I feel this way.
The week before the election, I watched Leonardo
DiCaprio’s documentary, “Before the Flood.” It was about
climate change, the politics around it and the science
of our devastatingly changing climate. As anyone who
has ever seen a film about climate change can imagine,
it got pretty bleak. But near the end, DiCaprio showed
how public opinion can change the actions of politicians.
There was a clip of President Barack Obama in 2008, say-
ing he was against same-sex marriage. The reason he said
this was because he thought the majority of his constitu-
ents felt this way, and he did not want to lose their votes.
Clearly, as Obama felt public opinion change, he changed
his own position on same-sex marriage. Our opinions
count. Our voices matter. We just have to use them.
As a white, female, Jewish college student, I don’t
really know why people voted for President-elect Donald
Trump. Not only did he spout hateful rhetoric through the
entire election, but I’m pretty sure he is the least qualified
person to ever run for president. But I’ve been working to
understand where his voters were coming from, because I
cannot just write them off. Though we have many differ-
ences, fundamentally they’re just people, like me. We will
not get anywhere if we ignore these individuals, because
that is what caused Trump to be elected. Love trumps
hate, and that doesn’t mean only loving the people who
voted for Hillary Clinton. Showing compassion to all peo-
ple, and really trying to understand them, is the only way
to keep moving forward.
We need to think about what our country stands for.
America: the land of the free, the home of the brave. A
nation of many different cultures, religions and ethnici-
ties, living together, and thriving. Or a nation that builds
a wall? A nation that threatens to burn women in hijabs?
A nation with swastikas spray painted on walls? That
is not my nation. I refuse to accept that as the America
I’ve grown up in. I still believe that love is strong. If we
meet each other, and really try to understand each other,
I think that hate will fall away. We are all just people, and
we have a responsibility to treat each other the way every
person inherently deserves to be treated, regardless of
politics.
Now, almost a week has passed since the election. This
time last week, I was straining to get a glimpse of Obama
over the shoulders of three extremely tall men at Ray
Fisher Stadium, feeling the hope that Obama’s speeches
provide. Last Tuesday, I was elated, thinking that last
glass ceiling was about to be shattered. Since last Wednes-
day, two crime alerts have been sent out, regarding ethnic
and religious intimidation that occurred on campus, right
near my house. If this is happening here, in “liberal” Ann
Arbor, I’m scared for the rest of the country. But also,
there has been a protest against this intimidation, and
many have gathered in the Diag to show their support for
tolerance and love. Today, I feel a bit less optimistic than
I did last Wednesday. I think the reality of the next four
years is starting to set in. And yet I refuse to give up hope.
I will hold on to love and optimism, and tolerance, and I
will not stop advocating for a compassionate and empa-
thetic understanding of all people.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016 // The Statement
7B
by Eliana Herman, LSA Junior
Where Do We Go From Here?
ILLUSTRATION BY EMILIE FARRUGIA