I opened the diary I posted yesterday with a statement as to why I chose to tell my story. Rather than recap yesterday’s post, I encourage you to start from the beginning. If you’ve already read Part I, this is the rest of the story.
My father wasn’t a part of my life when I was a kid. I never felt like I missed out though because I had the best Grandpa, my Mom’s dad. He filled the role my father should have better than my father ever could have. So many times growing up, the voice of reason that helped me find my way was my Grandpa. I’ve thought about him more in the last few months than I have in several years. I’ve remembered conversations I had forgotten about long ago. I wish I could talk to him, but he left this world almost 30 years ago.
In the response to the insurrection, I saw what I’ve never been willing to let myself see before. I saw hate. Pure. Unadulterated. Widespread. Hate. Once seen, that can’t be unseen. Beliefs I’ve held my entire life – the values that shaped who I am as a person – my universal truth that people are good – all of it was shattered by silence.
The change within me started with an immediate shift towards seeing things in more black and white terms (so much for glorious shades of gray.) If you didn’t condemn the insurrection, you condoned it. No middle ground. Silence equals support. Anything short of outright, unequivocal condemnation was unacceptable. I drew a line with my family and friends. Condemn the insurrection or you are neither family, nor friend. With many, I cut ties.
Most who joined the destruction that day have shown no remorse. A few have issued apology statements with all the sincerity of a breathless “I Love You”, whispered by a 17-year-old boy on prom night from the back seat of his family sedan. Honestly, I don’t care if you feel remorse. I don’t want to hear your apology. The only things I want to hear is your guilty verdict and your sentence.
May justice be swift and let it be harsh. For those who were armed and equipped with tactical gear and restraints as they hunted the Vice-President, Speaker Pelosi, and others; treason charges are in order. For the others, anyone convicted should receive the maximum sentence allowed by law with a requirement to serve the full term. No early release. I want our justice system to send a clear, unmistakable, and unforgettable message. If you rise up in violence against this country because your precious white privilege feathers got ruffled, we will squash you. Like. A. Bug.
In his memoir, On the House, John Boehner talks about the incoming congressional representatives elected in the 2010 mid-term elections. “What I had not anticipated was the extent to which this new crowd hated—and I mean hated—Barack Obama.”
That deep hatred of Obama and what he represents were the seeds from which Trumpism grew. Once sprouted, it quickly morphed into an intolerance of anything not white and greedy. It spread through the Republican party like wildfire. With or without Donald Trump, today’s Republican party is the product of a philosophy of hate for anything not White, Anglo, Straight, and Protestant.
The hate plays out daily. With 361 bills, in 47 states, Republicans have submitted voting reform laws to combat a voter fraud problem that does not exist on a significant scale anywhere in the US. They declared war on a non-existent problem by modernizing Jim Crow. 361 bills in 47 states, each specifically crafted to erect barriers to black and brown people voting.
Georgia’s Lt. Gov. Geoff Duncan admitted on CNN, that Georgia’s new voter suppression laws were based on misinformation. Republican officials in Georgia knew, at the time they voted, the bill was based on a lie. They wore their racism like a badge of honor and passed that damn bill anyway. Once again, democracy takes a back seat to white Republican’s need for power.
Republicans in Arkansas recently passed the Medical Ethics and Diversity Act, which allows medical providers to deny healthcare to LGBT people if doing so conflicts with their religious or moral principles. In hearings, Republicans told critics to keep the bill in perspective. Here’s my perspective: Republicans invoke the name of God, to justify turning a shield meant to protect, into a sword they can use to attack those they don’t approve of. People dying preventable deaths because they are deemed unworthy is the epitome of the Republican philosophy of hate in action.
A few months ago, if someone had asked me if it was possible for a Republican to be a good person, I would have been offended that they even asked such a question. Of course, a Republican could still be a good person.
That was then.
When someone tells me they are a Republican now, this is what I hear:
“I‘m not racist, I just support racist policies.”
“I don’t lock my children in cages, but I don’t object when those children are.”
“I don’t kill Black people, it’s just not that big a deal to me when the police do”
“Yes, Black lives matter, just not as much as mine.”
“Take away my white privilege and you’ll meet my second amendment rights.”
So can a Republican be a good person? When you choose to affiliate with an organization, you give your approval to that organization and what it represents. Affiliation means you support the mission and promote the philosophy. Good people do not approve of, support, and promote hate. I think that answers the question.
In a country with 210M voting-age citizens, we escaped Trump’s America by just 7M votes. Do the math: Three percent of the adult population is all that separates an America that craves power for the white race from an America that can empower the human race. Three percent is all that separates a future America that is more just and fair from one that returns to the racist, homophobic, xenophobic, and misogynistic hate-filled ways of yesteryear. Just three percent. When did hate become America’s drug of choice?
The division in America is so deep, it has penetrated this country’s soul. I don’t know what the pathway to healing is. With nearly 50% of this country’s adult population choosing to embrace hate, I’m not sure a pathway to healing even exists. But right now, I need to focus on the pathway of healing for myself.
There was a time not so long ago that my beliefs and values aligned and created a world view that made sense to me. Now, I’m a pacifist ready for war. I value redemption and second chances, but demand swift, harsh justice. Instead of appreciating all of my relationships, I’ve severed ties. And just exactly how does someone focus on the good in people, when hate is what lives in the hearts of so many?
I never thought of myself as naïve, but maybe I was. For what it’s worth, I’m not anymore.
For several weeks after the insurrection, I had difficulty sleeping at night. I couldn’t stop the thoughts that were racing around in my head. Thoughts so foreign to me, they couldn’t have been my own. I started to withdraw from my friends and family.
The lack of sleep, the isolation, those thoughts racing in my head. It started to take a toll. I couldn’t eat. I spent more time alone. I lost weight. I’m not a big guy to begin with so it doesn’t take much for it to show. I couldn’t concentrate. I started making mistakes at work. I reacted to people and situations in ways that didn’t make sense – not to me or to those around me. I was angry. So angry. Always.
People started asking what was going on? What was wrong with me? I couldn’t tell them. I couldn’t talk about this. Not these thoughts. Not these feelings. Not with anyone. So, I withdrew even more. I pulled away from my husband. When I needed someone to have my back, I turned away from the one person who always has.
Once I saw the hate, I saw it everywhere. In every person. In every action. In every motivation. The more hate I saw, the less I slept, the less I ate, the more I withdrew, the angrier I became, and the more hate I saw. And the cycle continued.
My world changed in one day. It was too much. I shut down. My emotional switch turned off. Eventually, I was alone.
Then one day, I saw it. Alone, in the silence, looking back at me from the mirror, I saw it. Hate. Pure. Unadulterated. Hate. I stared into the mirror. I didn’t know that man looking back at me. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to hate, but I couldn’t let it go. I didn’t want to become like them, but I wouldn’t let them win. I had to choose. Hate or not to hate. I had to choose.
As I stood there in the silence, staring at that man in the mirror, I heard his voice as clearly as if he was standing next to me. “When in doubt son, lean towards the latter.” I started to cry.
It was the first real emotion I had felt in weeks. The hurt was so deep, but feeling it – just feeling anything – felt so damn good.
I’ve never understood how radical extremists became who they were. I have a better understanding of how that happens to some of them now. The change within may happen quickly, it may happen slowly. But it begins the day they come face to face with a level of hate they aren’t prepared for. It’s too much. It shatters their world. They shut down, pull away, turn off. Eventually, when they are all alone, the time comes when their two worlds meet. Their world before hate and their world after. They can’t live in both. They have to choose. Standing alone in the silence, they have to choose. Some choose hate, some choose not to. But they have to choose. I did. And at the time, it was one of the hardest choices I’ve ever had to make.
In the silence following the insurrection, I saw an America I had often heard described, but refused to believe was real. Once that America is seen, it can never be unseen. I know I will never view the world the way I did before. This small rural town I call home will probably never feel like home again. Sometimes I miss that worldview, but I’ve learned how much that worldview was shaped by a fear of hate. Fear of hate isn’t a view that fits for me anymore.
I can’t say this experience is all behind me yet, but I’m getting there. While I don’t see hate in the face of every person now; I know in many, it’s there, just below the surface. But I don’t fear that hate anymore. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. I’ve known it. I’ve held it. I’ve lived it. And, I didn’t choose it.
I’m still working on reconciling my post-insurrection beliefs with my pre-insurrection values. It’s a process that will continue for a while. I know in time that process will lead me to a world view that, at least for me, makes sense. Whether “most people are good” will be a value that fits the new world view, only time will tell. I know there is more hate in the world than I believed before, but maybe not as much as I saw just a short time ago. I’ve learned the opposite of hate is not love, it’s forgiveness. When you are all alone in the silence and you have to choose; there is only one way to not choose hate. Forgive. No, it’s not easy. But it really is that simple.
My grandfather was the first person I ever learned to trust. And nearly 30 years after he left us, when I needed someone I could trust the most, he was the voice of reason that penetrated the silence to help me find my way. Seven words that will never steer you wrong; when in doubt, lean toward the latter.