The atmosphere in that arena triggered my black fight-or-flight response.
You know what sounds like a good idea for black history month? Going to a Trump rally.
My dad was the one who initially suggested that we go. I wasn’t interested at first, but going presented a unique opportunity. You see, like many leftists and liberals — I stay in a very “left” bubble. The social media I follow, the news that I watch, and the political pundits whose work I follow are all left-leaning. That is very much by choice.
I don’t feel the need to hear the white supremacist talking points Fox and Breitbart are spouting, BUT it means I don’t have direct insight into what the other side is thinking. I am well aware of the rhetoric of the right, but seeing firsthand isn’t something I have experience with. This sudden shift in the political atmosphere was incredibly jarring.
With that being said, I have never been so uncomfortable in my life.
My dad and I couldn’t share our real thoughts with each other in line lest we get manhandled out of line, so we just stayed quiet and listened to the conversations happening around us.
“Bernie’s $15 an hour idea is fucking retarded.”
“Aloha from Trump! [as she showed off her Hawaii vacation photos of her wearing a MAGA shirt]”
“These people [liberals] are people that read the title of the article and not the actual fucking article.”
“I can’t have a conversation with them [liberals].”
“I’m so glad my kids understand the value of a dollar and aren’t falling for Bernie’s socialist BS.”