I’ve had many thoughts since the election results were finalized, but wanted to hold off for a day or so to let them marinate. I have a strict policy for myself not to post anything while dealing with heavy emotions: something I did not practice in 2016, much to my detriment.
Back then, I firmly believed that everyone who voted for Donald Trump was a bigot, a supporter of fascism. I believed that the presence of his supporters was unsafe for me as a woman, an assault survivor, and an ethnic Jew. The scars of generational trauma began to bleed, and everything in me was convinced that another Holocaust was just around the corner.
Much has happened since then; a Holocaust wasn’t one of them. To be sure, I think many of Trump’s policies are harmful, and to this day I’ve never voted for him. But my opinion of Trump voters has changed, in light of what I’ve come to learn about the Democrat party. And it’s my conviction today that there are simply no good voting choices for Bible-believing Christians.
Recognizing my political idolatry
Growing up liberal and Jewish, I was led to believe that the Democrats were the party of social justice. I held onto that belief after becoming a Christian, and only voted Republican once, in 2012 (he lost). While I no longer identify as a Democrat (I’m politically homeless), realizing the depth of antisemitism infecting the political left has felt like a betrayal.
I have had an uncomfortable realization that while I claimed Christ as my savior, I still held a degree of political idolatry in my heart. I believed on some level that Democrats could still save us, save the country.
I no longer believe that. It’s embarrassing to admit how long I held that belief, having followed Christ since 2008, but it’s true. And now that my eyes are open, I can’t un-see the rot that many of my Republican friends have noticed for some time now.
The uncomfortable truth I can’t un-see
For starters, you can’t claim to be a party of hope when your entire platform runs on fear and misinformation. You can’t evangelize a religion of sorts that thrives on shame and self-deprecation for being white or having privilege, while offering no redemption. These tactics failed spectacularly in 2016 when Hillary Clinton lost, and it seems like the party as a whole has not learned from that mistake.
What’s more, making abortion the face of the party was also a disaster. There was a real chance to build unity with disillusioned “Never Trumpers” around the “rare” part of “safe, legal, and rare.” But that didn’t happen. Instead, Democrats doubled down on abortion as something inherently empowering and worthy of celebration, rather than the tragedy it actually is.
Also, introducing to children the idea that they were born in the wrong body is inexcusably cruel. And Democrats can’t claim that they advocate for women’s rights if they can’t define what a woman even is.
Offering the benefit of the doubt
So how has all this affected my view of Trump voters this time around?
First of all, everyone I know who voted for him did so holding their noses. They don’t like him. As a person, he is selfish and morally repugnant, and certainly not a true conservative or a Christian.
The platform he represents, however, aligns more with the values they support: abortions bans. Safer borders. An improved economy. That last one is significant, because when people can barely afford groceries to feed their families, it’s really hard to care about anything else. It’s easy to latch on to the promises of someone who claims he can fix it.
As previously stated, I am not a Republican, and I don’t necessarily agree with many of their views. My concerns about the Republican party as a whole are beyond the scope of this post. However, while not fully agreeing, I can say that I at least understand where many Trump voters are coming from. They are not the racist bigots I was led to believe they are (well, some are, surely- but I’m just talking about my friends here). And being pro-life, I understand why they could not, in good conscience, vote for a party that wants to enshrine abortion on demand, at any time, in every single state.
Calling them stupid, uneducated bigots did little in changing their minds, apparently.
So that is where I sit now, unhappy with the election results, but I would have had anxieties and misgivings regardless of who won. I don’t feel particularly safe or welcome in Trump or Harris’ America.
But I realize now that cutting off everyone I once knew who voted for him, without understanding their reasons, did nothing but isolate me further inside a toxic echo chamber. And I learned, tragically, that many inside that echo chamber actually did not tolerate me as much as I assumed.
When I joined the Anglican church, many did to me what I did to others I disagreed with: they cut me off. They wrote me off as being “one of them,” an enemy, with no benefit of the doubt, despite years of solid friendship.
And then, of course, there’s siding with terrorists and excusing the violence of October 7th, 2023. There is just no coming back from that.
I choose civility
I’ve come to cherish the people whose politics I disagree with strongly (and vice versa) who still regularly share coffee with me and invite me into their homes, where we talk about why we believe the way we do. Our goal hasn’t been to change the other’s mind, but to understand. I haven’t always had the emotional bandwidth to do this, but I am grateful when I do, because kindness and empathy are hard things to regret.
I have no idea what America’s future holds, and I do have anxiety still. But I also realize that making politicians into saviors is a recipe for disaster. There is no savior but Christ, and he is still on the throne, regardless of who is in the White House. And that’s a hill worth dying on.
Photo by Priscilla Du Pree on Unsplash
Support my writing with a tip via Venmo or become a Patreon supporter
