The Locust Effect // Election 2016

“If you are reading this book in a state of reasonable security and peace without fear of being enslaved, imprisoned, beaten, raped or robbed, it is either the case that you are in a place of isolation far away from human beings, or you are the beneficiary of a system that is protecting you from the violent impulses of the human being that are around you” (Haugen and Boutros, p. 48).

After reading this line about four times, I was able to pinpoint why it was resonating with me so much. We have just elected the most under qualified bigot to be the next president of the United States. I immediately found myself reading this sentence trying to figure out where the word “privilege” was going to show up. It didn’t show up specifically, but wow is it implied. This line could so easily be read, “If you’re excited about Trump being elected in America without fear of being disrespected, deported, bullied, beaten, raped, robbed, assaulted, etc., you are the beneficiary of a system that is protecting you from the violent impulses of the white supremacists, racists, ableists, misogynists, pick-your-favorite-ists that are around you.”

Donald Trump has threatened every person in America who isn’t a wealthy, straight, white male, and yet somehow he got elected. This means that a majority of the country is incredibly fearful for what their lives will look like once January rolls around. I can’t begin to understand their fears, as I am a wealthy, educated, able-bodied, white person myself. The only connection to this fear that I am a closeted LGBTQ+ woman, and this doesn’t come close to the fear that others are experiencing. This doesn’t mean, however, that I am blind to the pain that is exploding all around me. I’ve been paying close attention to the way that Trump has treated everyone, from minorities, to immigrants, to women, to the disabled… the list goes on and on. The pain that I’ve felt for these individuals, while secondhand, has been immense. The ache in my stomach as I woke up this morning was unlike anything I’ve experienced. I didn’t want to leave the safety of my bed. My twitter feed is littered with cries of injustice and lament and mournful attempts of affirmation or encouragement. I don’t understand what happened for us to have gotten to this point, but I also don’t fully understand the repercussions of what is the come.

It’s especially hard to look at this situation from a Christian perspective. I waiver in calling myself religious from time to time, but it’s times that like these that make me want to turn to something bigger than myself. It’s all too easy to look at this chaos before us and simply respond with “Well, God is in control, so whatever happens in happening for a reason.” I think this is terribly naïve of us to say; I think it’s also an easy fallback, unfortunately. I think as people of faith, we are called to care for those around us, especially those that are unlike us and who are struggling. It’s easy to be called to this care in developing countries, where the problems are far away and “easy” to fix (if you will). It’s much, much harder to apply these thoughts at home to our neighbors directly surrounding us.

I really, really wish I could end this reflection with something more than pain. My brain is depleted and my heart is so heavy. To be reading a book about the developing world only to have it reflect the situation is “the greatest country in the world” is overwhelming and very jarring. I wish I had answers, I wish I had the wisdom to know where to go from here. I think we, as a nation, need to spend a few days mourning the situation that we have been put into; after time of self-reflection, we move onto love, we stand for what we truly believe in. And then? I wish I knew what to do; luckily we have a God who does (but if I’m being completely honest with myself, that’s not nearly as comforting as my brain tells me it should be).