As the woman walked by me waving her Trump sign, she yelled,
“Y’all are stupid! Go Trump!”
I stepped forward with my hand extended and she noticeably
flinched backwards as I did. I called to her,
“I respect you. Don’t worry, I respect you. You are
politically active and I think that is what is important. We are both just
trying to be patriots by standing up for what we believe.”
It was then that she hesitantly took my still-outstretched
hand.
“I believe I am a patriot.” She said, “I belong to the
Daughters of the Revolution and my family goes way back.”
I responded, “I think that is wonderful. We may not agree
politically, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get along.”
We talked and then this good woman thanked me, smiled, and
waved as she walked away.
When I had learned that Donald Trump was coming to my town
of Fayetteville NC, I immediately began organizing a demonstration to voice my
disagreement with him and his platform. I feel strongly that his policies are
either without substance or would be harmful to our Nation. Ultimately, I feel
that his character and language are not dignified, and someone so deliberately
hateful and abrasive should not represent us all as President. I feel these
things so strongly that I stepped out of my comfort zone to stand up for what I
believed, publically. I chose to get involved.
Through social media, I reached out to a few like-minded
individuals and received a permit to protest through the County. I worked with
the Sheriff’s Department and the Coliseum complex management to learn what they
needed from me and my group.
I set forward rules for our protest;
Be Safe, Obey the Law, Be Respectful, No Weapons, No
Vulgarity.
Our group was small, but as the day for the protest grew
close, several other groups asked to stand with us since I had obtained a
permit. I agreed, inasmuch as they followed our guidelines.
Yesterday, we stood by the parking lot entrance and held our
hand written signs, waved, and smiled. Many people waved back, a few flipped us
off or shouted rude things, to which we responded with peace signs, or yelling
back,
“But we love YOU!”
My friend Blanca would always say,
“Enjoy the rally! Have a nice night!” All in all, I felt
very positive.
As the afternoon rolled on, more people joined us from the
alternate groups. Some chanted, “White, black, red, brown…We don’t want Trump
in our town.” And although chanting isn’t my favorite technique, I figured it
was relatively benign.
Later, we moved closer to the Coliseum where there was foot
traffic. I met others on both sides of the political spectrum.
I want to
mention my new friend Mr. Stinson, an avid Trump supporter. He is also a
Vietnam Veteran and when I saw his hat and tell-tale leather vest, I had to
talk to him.
Never miss a chance to thank a Vet.
At first, he wouldn’t shake my hand because I was a
protester, but when I told him I just wanted to thank him for his service, he humbly
smiled and told me that the real heroes were the ones who never came home. My
husband and I talked with him for almost half an hour, hearing his stories of
war and Southern politics. When he learned my husband was active duty military,
he reached for his hand to thank him in return.
Police officers were all around, walking, chatting with each other, and observing.
Like bored life guards, they were relaxed but keenly attentive, scanning both
crowds. I thanked several of them for doing their difficult job. I asked a few
if they were tired and if their feet hurt. They would laugh and confirm yes, to
both.
It had gotten dark and individuals who had gone inside the
rally and had been kicked out by Trump were starting to join the line of
protesters. The rally would be ending soon and I had small children waiting at
home who needed to be put to bed on a school night. Most of my friends had
either left, or were leaving with me. It was time to go.
By the time I got home, things at the Coliseum had
escalated. I walked into the house to see videos of lines of police officers
separating angry, chanting protesters from screaming Trump supporters, inflamed
from the rally. (Can I just say that our law enforcement don’t get paid
enough?!)
I was so disappointed.
I believe in good, better and best methods. At first, these
images made me reflect if protest was the best way to get my message across. I
wondered if it only served to solidify the views of others by hardening their
determination when faced with resistance, even when they are only lukewarm in
their resolutions. Perhaps, I was wrong. Maybe yesterday, I was only working
against myself.
On the other hand, I could see people soften and change when
I talked to them. Actually, I think it was when I listened that they opened to
me. It was their own voice that made them receptive, not mine. But my voice was
there too! and I hope that my presence mattered and that it helped. I hope my
actions last night honored my beliefs and my community.
I was there partially because I believe that Trump
exemplifies intolerance and hate in his behavior. How could I protest that by
using those same methods? I believe in being the change I want to see. I
believe in diplomacy.
But diplomacy broke down last night.
Honestly, I can see fault on both sides, even the side that
I am on. I can see that we need to choose not only a good way to protest, but
the best way to protest.
To be clear, I know that we cannot negotiate with much of
the extreme radicalism coming from the Trump movement, and instead must stand,
courageous and immovable, in the face of it. But we must never sacrifice our
principles through any thoughtless instigation.
I obviously believe that politics does not have to divide
us, and to confront each other does not mean we have to contend with each other.
It is important that people who believe in temperance and peace always show up.
This is what I know: education, peaceful discourse, and
compromise can be keys that unlock our political differences. If any of those
are missing then progress cannot be made. I believe that protest has a place in
that formula. I implore both sides to reach out… and choose what is best.
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