The Hidden Trump Supporters at America’s Most Liberal College
As most of the students and faculty at the University of California Santa Cruz mourn the election of Donald Trump, a small group of the new president’s supporters keeps their political views secret, fearing alienation, stigmatization, and even physical violence on campus.
Fuck Donald Trump
The boxy study room in the basement of McHenry Library has no ventilation. It amazes me that we fit a dozen of my classmates into here. My gray T-shirt is drenched in sweat. I sit slouched in my chair completely fixated on the projector screen, which has been our bearer of bad news for the past hour.
“What are the odds now?” I ask my buddy Tomas after the on-air commentators call Wisconsin for Trump. “fivethirtyeight.com says it’s 95 percent for Trump” he replies sullenly without looking up from his laptop. Everybody in the room lets out a collective groan. “I’m out,” I tell my friends. The shock of such an unexpected election result compounds the physical discomfort of being packed in such a small room.
As I walk through the upper floors of the library towards the exit, I pass scores of students with the same numb, disbelieving look plastered on their faces. Few people are studying. I hear audible whispers. A girl obsessively refreshes her browser.
I leave the building and enter the chilly Northern California night. A group of students joins me as I walk towards the center of campus. In the distance, we hear shouting. “Fuck Donald Trump! Fuck Donald Trump!” a group of students screams. As I get closer to the Bookstore, the “Fuck Donald Trump” chants multiply as dozens of undergrads repeat the sentiment in unison.
A warm hand taps my ribs. I look over and see my friend Allison (not her real name). Allison redirects me away from the chaos. She looks anxious and dejected. “I need to tell you something, but you can’t tell anybody,” she says lowering her voice. “I voted for him” Allison continues before I can reply. “I didn’t want Hillary to be president. We live in California, and I didn’t think he would win. Please don’t tell anybody! I don’t want to be a pariah!” she pleads. “Are you really terrified about other people knowing?” I ask. “Yes,” she replies, “it could be the end of my social life.”
Trump Therapy
My professors dedicate the beginning of their classes to the election. Each lecture starts with a 20 minute open forum of students venting about the result. One teacher announces that students who feel traumatized by Trump’s win can come by her office anytime to talk about it.
Normalcy returns to campus after a few days. Winter Break comes and goes. The upcoming presidential inauguration rekindles many of the passions of election night. Activists plan to walk out of class when Trump’s takes his oath. Many students intend to participate in the women’s march the next day.
I post on the UC Santa Cruz Facebook page looking for Trump supporters who feel uncomfortable expressing their political preference on campus. No one responds for the first 24 hours (I later learn that a group text was sent out urging people not to talk to me because I could “out” them as Trump voters).
Just before I am about to scrap the project, the replies start coming. I get almost a dozen messages from “closeted” Trump supporters in a three-hour period.
“We Need Stricter Immigration Policies” -Stephanie
Stephanie recognizes me the minute she sees my face on Skype. We figure out that we had a class together last semester. Stephanie briefly summarizes her political background for me. She grew up in a small town in the Mojave Desert, best known it’s Date Shake stands, outlet malls, and Indian Casinos. She was raised by an immigrant Argentinian mother and a Mexican step-father. She describes her parents as conservatives in the “most basic sense.”
“I like Trump’s policies on immigration,” Stephanie tells me, “I have family trying to come here legally. It’s really hard, and it’s a very long process. We need to have stricter immigration policies for illegal immigrants.” Stephanie also believes that the media painted a “distorted picture” of Trump, “I really started [supporting him] at the point when I actually researched him and watched his speeches.”
“How did you feel when the ‘grab her by the pussy tape’ came out?” I ask her. Stephanie laughs sheepishly, “I thought you might ask me about that” she replies, still giggling. “We all have said things we are embarrassed about. I know how guys talk. I am sure I have said things privately about guys that I am not proud of,” she replies.
Stephanie says that she received negative feedback on campus for holding up a Pro-Trump sign on campus in the quarry during the election season. “Stuff like that really get’s under people’s skin here. It’s just like when you say ‘the wage gap isn’t real,’ or disagree with any of their core issues,” she says.
On election night, Stephanie watches the election at home. Stephanie and about ten of her UCSC friends exchange celebratory texts in a Pro-Trump group chat. They also talk about avoiding the anti-Trump demonstrations and keeping a low profile at school the next day. “Worst case scenario, someone could have been physically attacked if they wore Trump gear,” Stephanie tells me.
Stephanie asserts that few people suspect her of being a Trump supporter post-election. “As a woman, I think I get a free pass. People just assume I am a liberal,” she tells me with a slight giggle. “I want to tell my fellow students that there are a lot more Trump supporters than you would think,” she continues.
Stephanie and I close our conversation talking about the “UCSC College Republicans,” which closed in the wake of Trump’s rise. “I think now we can start College Republicans again,” she says before signing off.
“Christians Would Face A Lot of Scrutiny Under Hillary” -Ashley
Nobody on campus suspects that Ashley, an 18-year old freshman with olive skin, jet black hair, and a Hispanic last name supports Trump. “I was too afraid to tell anyone on campus who I voted for. Nobody asked me. I think they just assumed I voted for Hillary,” she says.
“My family and I originally supported Ted Cruz,” Ashley explains, “since [Cruz] wasn’t an option anymore, it basically left just Hillary or Trump. Hillary is pro-abortion, and that’s not something I will ever support. Christians would face a lot of scrutiny under Hillary.” Ashley tells me that she spoke with her pastors about the election and that “they were very open about supporting Trump and voting for him.”
Despite her vote, Ashley still holds significant reservations about the new president. “To be quite honest it’s not like I was a full on Trump supporter from the beginning. I struggled with whether or not I was even going to vote because I didn’t want to vote for either of them I knew I wouldn’t vote for Hilary,” she says.
Ashley is also disturbed by Trump’s infamous Billy Bush Tape, yet she remains optimistic that he will change. “Of course nobody likes those comments. Especially as a woman. I feel that it was entirely unnecessary and hopefully, he can grow through the first few months of this presidency and become better at choosing his words and becoming more refined and respected,” Ashley tells me.
Three months post-election, Ashley remains “reluctant to be open about [her vote] because of the hatred and the aggression and some assaults that have happened on campus (Author’s Note: While I have personally witnessed heated verbal confrontations on campus, I have not heard any evidence of physical violence aimed at Trump supporters.).” Ashley wishes to express her political views but concedes that it’s “kind of hard when everyone talks about the election or inauguration or protests on campus because everyone assumes you voted for Hillary.”
As we conclude the interview, I ask Ashley what message she hopes to convey to her classmates.
She replies, “Many people are too unwilling to listen and try to see my perspective and will automatically judge me because of my vote. I would tell them that hate and hostility will not help anything. It will not change the fact that Trump is soon to be our president. It will not change opinions of those who voted for Trump.”
“I’m Definitely Not a Conservative. I voted for Obama Twice” -Joe
On election night, Joe sits in McHenry Library watching CNN and NBC streams. He supports Trump and reacts far differently to the election result than his despondent classmates. Joe is older than most of his colleagues (he is 26), and has a different worldview; he joined the Marines 5 years ago.
On Party Affiliation:
I’m definitely not a conservative, registered libertarian and voted for Obama both times. Jeb or Ted Cruz would have been a nightmare. Donald Trump is a special case.
On Trump’s Unique Appeal:
After the first Republican debate during the primaries I started to pay attention to him, as a joke at first, but quickly realized he was saying things that no other politician would. By February I was sure he was going to win the presidency. His willingness to distance himself from the religious right was great to see.
On Supporting Trump at UCSC:
I’ve worn my MAGA shirt around campus, and the people who have stopped to comment have actually been pretty supportive. But I’ve given up trying to talk about it in the classroom after being called a domestic terrorist and a fascist (which again, is entirely within people’s rights if that’s how they want to react, I just don’t think it makes for fruitful discussion). I’m sure the mob mentality plays a factor, I’ve been able to have really good talks when talking to people individually and in small groups.
On Faculty:
With the way some of the teachers and TAs talk about this election, most of the time I don’t mention anything because I don’t want it to affect my grades.
On Trumps Controversial Rhetoric:
Early in the primaries he still hadn’t figured out the language to describe his ideas, and it was a little concerning. The more time I spent listening to him and after having read “The Art of the Deal” it became easier to understand what he was trying to say. I found myself often translating his “trumpisms” to proper language for my friends who were vehemently against him and had a hard time digesting his language.
“I Just Don’t Want to be Witchhunted” -Allison
Allison pulls the stud out of her ear and brings it close to my face, clenching the earring between her index finger and her thumb. “Look closely at it. It’s a real diamond. This costs as much as some people’s engagement rings.” Like most straight men I have no sense of fashion and absolutely no idea how to tell the difference between real and fake jewelry.
“In my hometown, everybody is rich, and almost everybody votes Republican” Allison tells me. “Coming from a family with a lot of business and personal wealth, it’s comforting to know we won’t be taxed. I vote Republican because my parents came from nothing and were smart with their money. I think they deserve to keep what they earned,” she continues.
“Before coming to Santa Cruz, I had never lived in a town with homeless people. I never felt uncomfortable asking my parents for money. I had never met kids whose families had financial problems. The kids from back home who I thought had money problems, those aren’t real problems,” Allison explains.
“I could sense how liberal it was here the second I arrived,” Allison says. She pauses for a second, sighs and continues, “as a freshman, people walked through my dorms passing out voter registration forms, reminding everyone not to forget to register as a Democrat.”
Allison tells me that she lied about her political affiliation throughout the campaign, “people like me said shit just to fit in actually voted a different way. I would talk shit about Donald Trump in public,” she recalls. Allison continues, “It was a really hard time, my parents know that I cried.” I can see the emotion on her face as she recalls her rough ordeal, “I knew I would be a social pariah, which why I decided to keep quiet and listen to people say horrible things about people who voted for Trump. It’s been really difficult knowing that all these horrific things that even my closest friends are saying have been indirectly directed at me. I know they don’t think of me in that light, but it is difficult to hear someone say such horrible things about a group of people that includes yourself and assume that you are still the exception.”
The events after the election upset Allison as well. “I was furious they were wasting my class time. It costs my parents $50 per lecture. I just wanted to leave,” she says, alluding to “in-class therapy sessions” after the election. “It made me feel like the villain. It was not like I could say anything. I don’t think my character is any lesser because I voted for Trump. Just because I voted for Trump, it doesn’t mean I’m not a feminist.”
Allison pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts for her concluding remark. She leans in slightly towards me and says, “If Hillary had won, I wouldn’t have cried. I wouldn’t have said, fuck her, she’s not my President. You can’t fight fire with fire all the time.”
“I Can’t Even Live” -Sam
I meet Sam at Iveta Cafe. He stands well over 6 feet tall and wears a bright yellow hoodie which matches his long wavy blonde hair. He wanders around the restaurant for a few minutes before he finds my table.
Sam comes from a family of fiscal conservatives from suburban Los Angeles. His political views are influenced by talk radio and right-wing websites. Sam describes himself as “one of the only conservative students at a very liberal high school.” One of Sam’s high school teachers even told him that he hoped Santa Cruz “would change his political views and make him more liberal.”
“I appreciate a lot of Trump’s right wing views,” he tells me, “but I also like that he’s not all the way to the right. I am not a social conservative. I am just against political correctness.”
Sam designates political correctness as one of his biggest issues. “Political correctness causes people to have major prejudices against those who they disagree with,” he tells me. “This was exactly what I expected UCSC to be like. I have only met one girl who openly supports Trump on campus.”
Sam initially reacts to the polarized political environment on campus by closing up “I chose not be openly conservative. I would look over my shoulder when I was talking to my dad about politics on the phone. People would get emotionally charged when I try to talk politics. I realized that I couldn’t live like this. After last quarter I decided that I would be open about it. People can make snap judgments by hearing things that I say. I have to very careful in how I phrase things. It stresses me out. I feel that I am on the hot seat.”
Shortly before the election, Sam veers away from the GOP candidate and votes for Gary Johnson instead. Although Sam agrees with many of Trump’s platforms, he dislikes the Donald’s environmental policies and personality flaws.
Sam tells me that he struggles to convey his views on campus effectively. “I talked to some girls in my dorm who were crying on election night. I tried to console them, but it didn’t go well,” he explains, “I don’t know how to say that I want Syrian refugees to be vetted without sounding racist. I mean I don’t consider myself an Islamaphobe.” Sam tells me another couple cringeworthy stories about awkward exchanges with his classmates that result him being labeled as a “bigot.”
Sam finishes our interview with a message for his message his fellow students:
“I want people to give me compelling information that can change my mind. I want to have conversations and arguments where both people learn so much. I am concerned about social justice. I want all people to succeed. People here see my conservative political views as an attack against social justice because we disagree on the means of achieving progress. From that point on, they reply to everything I say with an ad-hominem attack. A lot of the people on the left at this school talk about how tolerant they are, but in reality, they are hypocrites. They never to stop to realize that we have the same ends.”
Inauguration Day
I feel like I have come full circle. I stand at the exact same spot next to the bookstore where groups of angry, discombobulated students rallied on election night nearly three months ago. Today a more organized protest assembles minutes after Donald Trump takes office. Hundreds of protesters chant “No Trump, No KKK, No Fascist USA!”
I follow the mass of humanity for about 100 yards before I feel an unusual urge to turn around and leave. I stand in place for a couple minutes, watching the crowd advance farther and farther in front of me. I can no longer rationalize continuing onward in pursuit of the group. The sun shines brightly for the first time all week. I realize that it’s time to walk away from the chaos.
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