What Scares Me about Trump


Election year is upon us, and every day there is a new reason to loathe politics. In my own mind, I can’t quite wrap my head around a Trump candidacy or, worse, a Trump presidency.

Over and over, I wrestle with the thought of my children’s future being steered, at least for the next four years, by Donald Trump. In truth, I don’t personally know the man, and, sadly, just like the rest of us, I am largely informed by media agendas.

This week I saw that Trump has released a partial list of the foreign policy advisors that will guide him if he is elected. Who is on this list? I would argue that it doesn’t really matter. The individuals who are passionately following Trump and pledging their dogmatic allegiance do not need to know his list (or any tangible details) because, quite frankly, it will not impact their vote.

Should it?

The problem with the Trump machine is that it is operated by one man, regardless of who surrounds him. A team of expert advisors only works if the leader they inform actually listens to them. To think that America will be led in foreign policy decision-making by a group is absurd if Trump is at the reigns. Why? Quite simply, because he will ensure that he gets the final word. If he doesn’t like an idea or suggestion, he will dismiss it into ruin. If any member of his “team” gets combative, they will be removed and replaced. His rallies have provided the kind of eerie foreshadowing that would make even Poe shutter.

Of course, I am just a postpartum, hormone-driven mother. This, I am confident, is what Trump would label me as if we ever had the opportunity to meet and I didn’t dance to the beat of his drum. Should a writing like this ever go viral, I believe Trump would create a hashtag perhaps to respond to #anothercrazywoman (second, of course, to Megyn Kelly, his go-to female whipping post).

I think what scares me most is not Trump himself but those who are willing to follow someone who manipulates them and seeks to oppress others from the freedom of thought and expression. This is not 1950s America, and, I would argue, that America never actually existed in reality – only in the minds of those who held majority power in the country, their state, or in their own community. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to move backward in time.

We weren’t all free, Donald.

And yet, I am a mother. My two children anchor me in ways that temporarily limit my inner activist. But I am anxiously watching and waiting for others to find that they, too, want to hold onto the voice that Trump would so easily antagonize, abuse, and, ultimately, silence.

I remember wondering how all those Germans could just stand back and let the Nazis pass without a single word.

Why should we believe a rose-colored future would be any different?

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