Trump and Chicken for Thanksgiving







Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, which is usually my favorite holiday of the year. I always look forward to cooking with my brothers and sisters and stuffing my face with mashed potatoes and Tofurkey. But in the wake of the recent presidential election, the only thing that is on my mind is how I'm going to navigate all the Trump conversations that are likely to be on the menu, too.

It's not that I am surprised or even upset that many of my family identify as Republicans. That's expected. I grew up in Mentor, Ohio, a city that has voted Republican in the past five presidential elections. But we all know that what we just saw was no ordinary election and Trump was no ordinary Republican candidate. His run to the White House thrived on our nation's divisions along the lines of race, class, and gender. The rhetoric fueling his win has been used against my own brother, who has been bullied because he's mixed-race, and it has instilled fear in my little sister, who had to come to terms with the fact that an accused rapist is her new president. I can't believe there are people I love within my family who supported him and I regret that I never pushed back.

It was last Christmas when I first realized that some of my family were fans of Donald Trump. I was in town from New York City, sitting in my dad's dining room with my aunts, uncles, and cousins on Christmas night. We'd just finished our wine-fueled feast and were having some cake and coffee to wind down when it happened—our light-hearted conversation turned to the realm of politics. It was inevitable of course. Even at that point in the presidential campaign, the former reality TV star was dominating the media with his grotesque sideshow. I assumed his leadership of the birtherism movement, his misogynistic comments about women, and his calls to ban all Muslims from entering the US had already disqualified him from being a viable candidate. But to my horror, my family praised the man who'd been bankrupt four times and liked to make fun of people with disabilities for his "business acumen" and willingness to "tell it like it is."

I chalked their outdated views up to them being old and uninformed. So I decided to just drink some more wine and keep my opinions to myself. I didn't really think he had any chance of winning. I mean, this was a guy who characterized Mexican immigrants as rapists and thought the key to solving problems in the US was erecting a ridiculous wall along the border. Even my siblings, who are too young to vote, considered Trump a dangerous bully. I believed there was just no way he could get the keys to the White House and become the most powerful man on the planet.

Of course, I was dead wrong. On November 8, I watched from my apartment in New York City with disbelief as the election results began to roll in. When my home-state of Ohio flashed red, I immediately thought back to that moment with my family at Christmas along with the dozens of other times that I had heard people try to rationalize a Trump presidency and I had said nothing.

Over the years, I have learned to avoid expressing my opinions on politics with my family. While I have always tried to have thoughtful discourse with my little brothers and sisters, my older family members haven't been as open to my views. When I would try to explain to them why I was marching in the streets for women's rights or why it's important to specifically say "black lives matter," they would disregard me. I could sense they were uncomfortable around me when topics like race or gender were discussed, because they knew I would have something to say and they never wanted to hear it. They liked living in their little bubble and I was always the one person who came to burst it. With this presidential election, I was so sick of not being taken seriously and written off as the angry feminist in the family, that I just decided to bite my tongue. Now, looking back, it's a decision I regret. We have to speak out against someone as dangerous as Trump, even when those extolling him are in our own family.

Unlike me, my Trump-supporting family members aren't quiet about their views, especially on social media. In the past weeks, they've gone from sharing Fox News stories to posting Breitbart's alt-right propaganda. Some of my relatives have even started referring to people who simply care about social justice as "libtards" and women who chose to have abortions as "baby killers."

I can see and feel the extreme impact of Trump's incoming presidency among my family. That not only disappoints me, but I'm scared to see that vitriol trickle down to my siblings. I don't want my little brother to think it's OK to grab a woman "by the pussy" because the Commander in Chief does it. And I don't want my little sisters to think that a man who believes "you have to treat [women] like shit" is deserving of anything but being put to the left. This Thanksgiving, I at least owe it to them, to stand up and finally speak my mind about Donald Trump.

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