A Painful Search for Common Ground

As I lay in the dark very early Wednesday morning, this was who I pictured first: Maria, my former student, without documents, wondering now whether she will be able to finish college; Sam, a high school transgender student who wants to shower after running cross-country; Frank, my African-American colleague who worries for his young children. I could touch their fear. I could not sleep.

Later, as the sun rose, I heard from my brother who voted for Trump because he didn’t trust Hillary Clinton. I heard from Bill, a former student who believed Clinton was too closely tied to big banks and Wall Street, and Diane, who lives in a small town left behind in the new economy. These are people I like, trust and respect. I did not agree with them, but I do not doubt their sincerity.

I believe in my heart that there is common ground in America, and we must find that common ground. I do not believe that half of our nation endorses the platform of animosity that underlaid Trump’s campaign. Many of us fear for our futures. Will we have a job? Will we be able to pay for health care? Will there be respect for the practice of our faith, and for our values of family and hard work? These questions led many voters to Donald Trump.

Still, it is a simple fact that Trump’s campaign has wakened our nation’s slumbering beast of anger and hatred, targeting minorities, immigrants, gays and lesbians. We have already seen, in just these past few days, a rise in attacks and bullying in playgrounds and on the streets.

We cannot leave anyone alone to face violence and bigotry. We will be called upon to stand with one another, with the most vulnerable people in our society.

I badly need to be joined by my family and friends who supported Trump, proving with their presence that they were not voting for racism and discrimination. I don’t expect us to come together in this way, however. For the most part these same friends and relatives live in small towns scattered around the country. Or they live one block away yet seem to rarely cross paths with those who will be hurt most - just as I rarely cross paths with those who have lost manufacturing jobs and see no options in their future.

It is going to be a while before I can take my own steps towards reconciliation. Right now, I wake up in the night with a knot in my stomach. My fear for our future includes speeding our slide toward global warming, a failure to protect our environment, diminished health care, and escalation rather than negotiation of international conflicts.

It would not have taken many votes for me to be sleeping better, for Democrats to be proclaiming a “mandate,” but the math would have been the same. We are a nation split apart, in many ways invisible to each other. Somehow, we have to build a bigger political majority that, I believe, reflects the true values and hopes of our nation.

I plan to listen to the voices across the great divide, to learn from my friends and family about their hopes and fears. I know that I will disagree with much that I will hear, but I need to know their stories.

I also plan to speak back across that same divide, not with a political platform but to share the stories of the very real people who will be directly affected by what I fear is  coming tsunami - my former students, my friends and neighbors. I want their names, and their lives, known.

We fight fear with hope. We find hope with action. I intend to act loudly, standing with the vulnerable. And I intend to act quietly, trying to learn and to share and to seek a broader common ground.

First published Nov. 27, 2016 in the Durham Herald Sun