After the horrible news that Donald Trump was elected as President, the next day I attended my Psychology lecture. My white male professor, who is a veteran, walked in smiling. He asked his class of 98% minority how we felt about the election. After hearing us talk with such anger, he raised his hand and silenced us. In his exact words, he said, “Look, I don’t like the guy either, but just give him a chance. It’s only four years, guys. Anyways, open up to chapter 6.”
Only four years? To him, a white male who will be completely unaffected, it may be just four years. But to me, a Latina female with half of her family illegal immigrants, it is a long nightmare that is going to be filled with tears, anger, protests, and so much more. So here is where I begin.
Dear white people, stop telling minorities to “give Trump a chance.” How do I give someone a chance whose campaign was built on such vile racism? How do I give someone a chance who expressed a great wish to deport Mexicans? How do I give someone who is a racist, sexist, misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic (must I continue?) piece of crap my respect? Growing up, my parents told me that respect is something one earns, and Trump sure as hell has not earned my respect.
I will be damned if I offend the Brown Berets, who fought so hard against everything Trump represents, to give him my respect. I will never acknowledge him as my president. And when I stated that on twitter, white people flooded my mentions with “then go back home.” First of all, this IS my home. The United States annexed half of Mexico from us and had the audacity to call it America. Second, white people cried a whole river up and down the block for eight years when Obama was in office. They said racist things, and even plotted to assassinate him. So no, Chad, I will not give Trump my respect a chance, let alone refer to him as someone who is supposed to represent and lead America.
Trump is not my president; he never will be. For the next four years, you can catch me at the next protests and marches because I will not be silent. I want my vocal chords to ache from raising my voice. Don’t like it, Becky? You can catch these minority hands.
