America Hates Me
It’s November 9, 2016 and when I woke up this morning, I realized America hated me. I am an American. I was born in San Francisco on a crisp fall day. My parents are both immigrants who came to this country looking for opportunity, hope, and a better future. The way that we read about foreigners coming to America in books and movies, it sounds like a country with open arms and ample work and cash and prosperity.
Years before I was born, my mother was walking through the Tenderloin back to her apartment. When she walked by a man, he spat at her and said, “Go back to China, bitch.”
I realized now nothing has changed.
I am so utterly disgusted that a majority of America has chosen a sexist, racist, pompous, ignorant, disrespectful old rich white man to be our leader. To represent us. I thought it would be impossible, but I guess I’ve been hiding in my safe, accepting, and loving bubble of California, completely unaware to what was happening in other parts of America.
It hurts to know that most of my country, especially Middle America, believes what he believes — that people of color should be shunned. That there should be a wall separating us. That we should be sent away. That we are unequal. That it is okay to grab women. To abuse them. To objectify them. To be denied rights of our own bodies.
America hates me, and I didn’t realize how much it did until now.
I feel so betrayed by my home, my country.
I always knew we lived in a society with hatred institutionalized in our core, but I thought we had progressed so much over time. The worst part of it is, it’s not all Trump’s fault. He does not create the hate, the fear, and bigotry, but it existed within America and he brought it out. I see now the face of America, which was not the America I knew yesterday. Not “my America”.
America hates me.
Marginalized groups, it is more important now more than ever that we band together in solidarity and support one another.