Two weeks ago, I sat in astonishment as inauguration day approached. I remember a feeling of fear, shock, uncertainty. There was a certain level of otherworldliness to the entire event that suggested to me that perhaps it wouldn’t happen at all; maybe by some stroke of luck, all of my grievances from the past year would be proved false and Donald Trump would shock the world with a surprise twist, just like the conspiracy theorists predicted. That did not occur. And instead, I watched in utter terror as the beginnings of his presidency unfolded in frightening ways.
And then just a day later, I witnessed countless numbers of men, women and children pour into the streets. They brandished signs and they wore smiles that tore their mouths wide open. The day before they had been tense and exhausted, just as I was. But on that day, they lifted their hands to the sky together, and they showed love and hope. They fostered the spirit of unity for which our name stands. They showed that we do not have to be a country divided by hate; that, instead, we can be unified for a common good.
I entered this election with a great deal of unease. This did not dissipate over the course of the campaign but was merely exacerbated by the news we were dealt on November 8. I have held out hope for our now-president every step of the way; there were signs that he might actually not be as much of a disaster as I once believed, although those glimmers of relief have since been squashed unquestionably.
But in spite of this, there is hope here. There are still people who refuse to let their voices grow hoarse and continue shouting from the rooftops until equality is no longer an argument. There are still people who love this country and its people -- all of its people -- with the entirety of their beings. From every corner of this nation, from every background, from every side of the aisle, there is hope here: when I walk onto my campus and see students existing in harmony despite differences of belief or religion or ethnicity; when people of different political beliefs on my Facebook timeline can calmly and rationally communicate with one another about their differences; when my family remains strong even as we are divided by our own opinions.
There is hope here. And perhaps this is naïve and childish, or perhaps this is exactly what this country needs. I do not intend to accept the bigotry and hatred that has been displayed by my peers and my fellow citizens, but I also refuse to believe that we are beyond saving. This country – this beautiful, flawed, historic nation – was built upon the backs of men who demanded justice, who believed in themselves and in their fellow men.
I believe in these things, too. I believe in every single member of this country to do better, to be better, to come out of this election cycle and into this new age with opened eyes and opened hearts. We have work to do. There is so much to be done. But two weeks ago, I watched my timeline flood with images of women, men and children marching together as one without fear or helplessness. I saw them marching with passion. I saw complete strangers hugging and holding hands and raising their signs in the air with a sense of determination.
Let us carry this into 2017. Let us foster this love. Love, after all, trumps hate. Every single time.
