Trump is a Hate Crime

I walked up to my car today and saw THIS:

I didn’t put it there.

It wasn’t there when I parked last night, a couple of blocks from our apartment in the Excelsior.

It explained why when we got into our car this morning, an elder Latina came out of her house to sweep the sidewalk and then just stood there, staring at me through the passenger window.

She was sending a “go away” vibe that was so strong it felt like she was going to pick up the car with her mind and throw it all the way to Sacramento.

It explained why when we stopped at a light a few blocks away, some pedestrians pointed our way and yelled “WTF?!”

This kind of general, simmering hate is already a part of living in San Francisco right now, so it was unpleasant, but not highly unusual.

But when we got to our destination, I walked to the front of the car and just happened to notice the sticker. I was stunned. My heart sank. And I was afraid.

I looked around to see if anyone was watching me.

I was afraid that I was being targeted by the person who put it on my car.

I was afraid that I was being targeted by people who thought I put it on my own car.

Take a moment to consider that a Trump sticker conjured the same reactions that these stickers might:

Consider that a Hillary, Bernie, or even Bush sticker would not have conjured so much immediate hate and fear.

Covertly slapping a Trump sticker on a car parked in one of the most ethnically diverse neighborhoods in San Francisco is NOT canvassing.
It is a hate crime.

This sticker placed on my curbside bumper is proof that Trump’s persona and rhetoric embolden people to act out in hateful ways and without regard for the rights of others.

My experience of driving around with a pro-Trump sticker on my car for a scant 10 minutes confirmed my belief that if he becomes president (or even if he doesn’t), we are in for some riots that will dwarf anything we’ve seen in the past.

And there will be no context, no dialog, no benefit of the doubt given — assumptions will be made and actions will be taken.

Trump’s otherwise farce of a campaign is no joke in that it has strengthened an already deadly supervirus of hatred for which there seems to be no cure until we come out the other side of an unspeakably ugly place.

Today, slap a sticker on my car.
Tomorrow, move on me very heavily.
Take me furniture shopping. Show me where they have some nice furniture.
Move on me like I’m a bitch.
You better use some Tic Tacs because I’m like a magnet.
You don’t even need to wait.
You’re a star.
I’ll let you do it.
Grab me by my pussy.
You can do anything.

I’m casting my vote very carefully on Tuesday, November 8.