Christians, Trump, marching, lament and empathy…oh my.

This week, I joined 175,000 Seattleites and millions of people around the world who marched in protest against the bigotry espoused by Donald Trump, targeting women, immigrants, people of color, and other marginalized groups. As a pro-lifer, I debated whether or not to join the march due to controversy surrounding the national march in D.C. regarding the exclusion of pro-life groups from sponsorship and the debate as to whether pro-life women should be marching. With the encouragement of some of my pro-choice friends, I decided I had to be there. I longed for an outlet to express my grief and denouncement of Trump’s disparagement of so many.

Since my decision to march was last minute, I headed to the march alone. I battled Seattle traffic and double parked narrow streets before I finally found a place to park, so I joined the march about 1/3 of the way in. It was powerful to see the sea of pink moving through the streets of Seattle. Hands of diverse age, race, religion, politics, gender, sexuality, ability, etc. held up signs that were creative, artistic, poignant, humorous and powerful.

I quietly merged into the wave of marchers, finding myself behind a mother carrying her child in front of her. On the back of the carrier was a sign that read, “For my immigrant grandparents, for my biracial parents, for my daughters, for justice, hope and human dignity #whyimarch”. I was surprised by the wellspring of emotion within me, and I suddenly burst into tears.

I pictured my own hard working, generous, sacrificial parents — both dark skinned, heavily accented immigrants from India from the early 1970’s. They spent the past 45 years making a life for themselves and for my sister and me in the United States. They both worked, taking jobs they didn’t always love in order to support us and other relatives. They served and gave to their local churches. They were friendly neighbors. They paid taxes and carefully followed the laws. They raised my sister and me to care about the suffering and the poor. They have loved this country, our home.

I remembered how it felt to hear Trump paint Mexican immigrants with a broad brush — calling them rapists and criminals and suggesting that a Mexican judge could not perform his duties on account of his race. I remembered Trump unrelentingly hammer our first black president about his citizenship with unsubstantiated claims that he was born outside of the U.S. I remembered Trump blaming immigration for the actions of the Orlando shooter — a brown skinned man who was born and raised in the same town as Trump was, a U.S. citizen whose parents immigrated decades ago.

How could I not feel that my U.S. citizenship as a person of color and a child of immigrants born and raised in the U.S. was worth less than the citizenship of my white brothers and sisters who were also born in the United States? While I cherish my Indian heritage, I have been to India only 3 times, and the last time was 24 years ago. The United States is the only home I have known.

And what about my immigrant parents who have spent more than half their lives here? Are they less American because they immigrated? The United States is their home too!

I thought of the fear mongering Trump engaged in by suggesting we turn our back on desperate refugee children, women and men who are suffering as part of a crisis we helped to create. As an immigration attorney, I know all too well how stringent the American vetting process is already for immigrants and refugees. I thought of Trump suggesting we ban Muslims from immigrating and that we register Muslims within our borders. I thought of my Muslim friends — wonderful, delightful and normal people. I know that people are scared — no one wants to experience a terrorist attack. But statistically speaking, of the vast numbers of Muslims in the world or even in our country, what percentage of them are terrorists? We don’t target white males because the majority of serial killers happen to be white males, do we? I am terrified of flying — and yet I know it is an irrational fear based on the relatively few plane crashes that happen in comparison to the millions of flights that take place EVERY DAY.

Comedian Aziz Ansari was on to something when he recently appeared on Saturday Night Live and suggested that for every negative portrayal of people of color in popular culture, we should also show the far more common and mundane portrayal of people of color sitting around enjoying nachos together. The chants to “build a wall” show that we are sensitized to negative portrayals of immigrants and people of color despite the fact that these do not portray the norm. Similarly, the election of a president who has capitalized on those portrayals demonstrates that we are de-sensitized to racism and xenophobia toward the same. In the weeks since the election, I have heard story after story of people I know personally who have experienced an increase in racist and xenophobic actions against them. It is not that racism and xenophobia did not exist prior to this charged election, but the President’s ignorant speech has permitted and emboldened it in a new way.

Back to the march…..I had barely composed myself before spotting another sign that quickly ushered back all my tears. It was a young boy, maybe age 8 or 9, holding a sign that said “Mr. President, Protect my sister, not insult her”. I thought of my precious little nieces, with their thoughtful barrage of endless questions, with their innocent eyes, with their carefree laughter, and with their sweet hugs. I thought of my older nieces, stepping out into the world, learning who they are and who they are meant to be, contemplating the impact they were meant to make on this world with their love, their talents, their passions, and their voices. I thought of my friends who have suffered sexual assaults of all sorts — from strangers, from dates, from familiar faces, and even from their own family members. I thought of my clients who have described in detail the atrocities committed against their bodies, minds, and spirits as others violated their sexuality. I thought of girls and women who have been picked on, judged, overlooked, or ogled because of their bodies. I thought of every woman I know who has felt less than because she didn’t measure up to some unattainable idea of what a woman’s body should look like.

And then I thought of our President, who bragged in the most crass and crude way about objectifying, grabbing, and taking sexually from women without regard to consent. I thought of the way he minimized, excused and swept it all away as “locker room talk” as if glorifying sexual assault was somehow okay if it was “locker room talk” (thankfully, I know many men who say that this talk was never spoken/accepted in any of their locker rooms). I thought of Trump’s repeated insults to women as being “pigs” and “nasty”. I thought of the way that he spoke disrespectfully about a reporter’s menstrual cycle or his disgust for a breastfeeding lawyer. I thought of how he bragged about adultery, ranked women on their body parts, talked about his own daughter’s body parts, and even said he might have dated Ivanka Trump if she wasn’t his daughter. I thought of the vulgar banter he had on repeated occasions over the years with Howard Stern. (Here is a more detailed account and timeline of some of Trump’s most offensive sexist moments.)

As I marched, I thought of my list of friends who described what their post-election world has looked like — being assaulted in the street after the election, being cat called with increased intensity and frequency, having racial slurs yelled from across the street, having children ask questions about fears of being deported, etc. My heart could barely contain all the aching.

And also, I felt proud as I looked around at the dense crowds of people — women, children and men marching, chanting, waving signs, linking arms — saying “No, Trump does not reflect our values!”

My elation from such a powerful, uplifting march was short lived. It did not take long before I saw the comments streaming in from Christians and others decrying the march, some for the pro-choice messages and others for the anti-Trump messages.

I understand that good people can disagree. I understand that there were many reasons why honorable, kind, intelligent people cast their votes for Trump. Some acknowledge there is no excuse for the way he has conducted himself, and yet they felt compelled to vote for him for reasons such as their pro-life convictions or concerns over the Supreme Court. While I am passionately pro-life, I cannot agree with their reasoning for putting in power “a narcissistic bully with a hammer” (as my husband calls him). He does not meet the first threshold of the basic decency required to be a public servant, let alone the decorum, diplomacy, self-control, self-sacrifice over self-defense or self-aggrandizement that is required to be POTUS.

What has absolutely broken my heart though is hearing from Christian brothers and sisters (especially friends) who defend, minimize, ignore, or deflect from the bigoted, disgraceful, demeaning things Trump has said or are unwilling to sit down with a person who feels directly harmed by Trump’s election. This is difficult to accept on many levels — firstly because, regardless of our political inclination, the vulgar and demeaning language Trump has used to describe those in the margins and those with whom he disagrees is ungodly. Christians believe that all human beings are created in the image and likeness of God and therefore have intrinsic value. Trump’s words and treatment of others is blasphemous. Secondly, honoring God involves loving our neighbor as ourselves. In the story of the Good Samaritan, Jesus makes clear that we cannot pick and choose who are our neighbors. We are also called to treat others as ourselves. Finally, as a member of the Body of Christ, when one member suffers the whole body suffers. It seems that there are many who are quick to call the suffering of different parts of the body as “whining” or “not that bad” or something from which they should “move on”. These platitudes are easy to give when we are not the ones who are suffering directly.

As one who is grieving in this post-election environment, I can speak to my own loneliness and marginalization as a woman of color and as a child of immigrants, knowing that I have friends who have been silent or have even lashed out when I and others have expressed grief or anger over Trump. It is hard for them to understand that for me, and for so many others, our anger, grief and protest is not about politics but about dehumanizing groups of people. This is a pain that hits us to the core.

And also, I do not want to be one who “returns reviling for reviling” or who treats others as they have treated me rather than treating others as I would want to be treated. I want to refrain from painting others with a broad brush, and I want to take the time to really listen and try to understand those who would disagree with me. I want to boldly stand up against injustice, but I also want to do that with integrity and grace. This is a hard balance and I am fumbling through this — sometimes falling flat on my face. But it is my longing.

I saw a sign from one of the marches that read: “Privilege is when you think that something is not a problem because it is not a problem to you personally”. Whether or not we understand, rather than minimizing or denouncing the cries of those who are hurting, we ought to at the very least sit with them and listen. Weren’t Job’s friends rebuked for their failure to do this? Instead of sitting with their friend, seeking to understand, or mourning alongside their friend, Job’s friends had platitudes for his suffering. They wielded true and good principles much like Christians often use bible verses as weapons to silence the suffering. While this is not a commendable reaction, it is a normal reaction — other people’s suffering makes us uncomfortable — we have all experienced that. Often, we don’t understand, we don’t know what to say, we are impatient, lament is awkward, and sometimes grief evokes feelings in ourselves that we are not ready to face (like our own feelings of grief or shame for instance). And yet, we are called to press through this, to persevere in the difficult work of love.

And I have received grace in this time too. For all the times I have felt unseen or even injured by Christians in this season, I have also had immensely healing moments too. I have felt the support of others in the margins as well as those who do not feel directly impacted by these times. I have had friends reach out to check on me. I have had friends stand up in speech and action against oppression. I have friends fiercely promise to stand by me in the face of being threatened and demeaned by the likes of Trump. I have had friends listen with compassion and sit with me in my grief. I have had friends weep with me, over my story and the impact of this season on me as well as the impact of this climate on so many people in this world.

This is love.

“By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” John 13:35