As a final assignment for my multicultural literature class in 12th grade, each student was required to put together a presentation of their culture–all the different influences that played a part in who that person would eventually become. There was something exciting about witnessing these presentations, as if I was glancing out a window into the speaker’s soul. It was touching, being able to learn about all the different backgrounds and perspectives that my classmates held. However, one student’s presentation frustrated me. He included a section where he espoused his love for President Trump. This didn’t surprise me, the day after the election he ran through the halls of our high school with a large flag with the words “Trump Pence” embroidered across it, donning a red Make America Great Again baseball cap. He projected a picture of himself in that outfit onto the whiteboard for the class to see. “I lost a lot of friends that day” he said, recounting that infamous day. “I don’t understand why people can’t put aside their political differences and just be friends.”
It was frustrating to see how different his perspective on Trump’s victory was from my own. For me, November 7th, 2016, was one of the excruciating days of my life. I had watched in horror during the previous months, as he had gained a following on a platform of hatred, fear, and bigotry. He held rallies with thousands of screaming supporters, who roared as he spewed venomous racism; exclaiming that Mexico was sending rapist, drug dealers and murders into the country, that thousands of Muslims cheered during the September 11th attacks and claiming that Barack Obama hadn’t been born in the U.S. He also had a frightening fondness for authoritarianism, looking up to leaders around the world like Vladimir Putin and Chinese President Xi Jinping, remarking on how they ruled their nations with an iron grip, and even questioning why America doesn’t hold military parades. He was also so unapologetically sexist and crude, his infamous “locker room” talk and mocking of a disabled reporter is evidence of that. All these horrible things compounded into an awful mass in my chest as I watched the votes roll in on election night; first Wisconsin, then Ohio and Pennsylvania, and then—my home state–Michigan. The once assured landslide victory for Hillary Clinton had crumbled before my eyes and I was scared for what was to come. I was scared because this racist, sexist, bigoted authoritarian buffoon was at the helm of what I once that was the greatest country in the world.
I carried this fear with me as I went into school the next day, only to find my classmate galloping through the halls, brandishing that ridiculous flag. How could someone derive joy for something that left me feeling so demoralized and afraid? How could someone of the events that had transpired the night before? How could someone be so close-minded? Chimamanda Adichie expresses the dangers of having a close-minded view in her TED Talk “the danger of a single story.” She shares a story about the time she first met her college roommate when she moved from Nigeria to America. Her American roommate was fascinated that Adichie knew how to operate a stove and she wanted to listen to Adichie’s “tribal” music. “The consequence of the single story”, Adichie states, “it robs people of dignity. It makes our recognition of our equal humanity difficult and it emphasizes that we are different rather than how we are similar”. When only exposed to a single perspective it can be hard to connect with those that challenge that point of view.
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