Shouting Red | The World Around Us

I remember reading a post stating, “If Trump wins I’m going to be openly more of an asshole to ignorant sexist racist homophobic people. No more being polite to these fucking idiots. Fuck.” I frantically shouted a response, “No, please. This is when things will certainly go down. Yes, he’s terrible, but if we are going to not be polite and be assholes, then doesn’t that make us just like him?!” I still had hope not that Hilary can win because that had gone by, but that the country isn’t as bad as it revealed itself to be. Among the 21k responses this post received, I can only hope and will that at least a quarter of the people responded as I did.

In the frantic nature of people, we are quick to panic and quick to shroud ourselves to protect our most vulnerable sides. Everywhere I looked, there were open responses of hatred, cutting sharp and leaving lacerations too deep to naturally heal. When I turned around, there were open responses of love, quickly patching and sealing the cuts, the gentle and encompassing red shrouded the sticky and oozing red, the leak that was always there, but we simply ignored because it was easier.

People bravely opened up their shirts to show the world their wounds that were caused from the other night, but the stood still without swaying and opened up the dialogue to converse with them. Our pain united the states and while it did force ourselves to expose the problems, we are evident that it is here. We can’t avoid it as it stares at us in the face. In one of my classes, we expected to just be jumping into Margaret Fuller, instead my professor opened up and said, “I stayed up late last night watching the election and I’m tired. You are also tired. Before we start class, I want to open up a discussion. If there’s anything you want to talk about, we can talk about it.” We stared back at her, not entirely comfortable with this open dialogue because our wounds were still raw but I appreciated her gesture of openness. On campus, a group of students holding handmade signs with “Send hugs not hate!” and “Love Trumps hate” and “Free hugs!” stood around smiling in the bleakness. When I walked by them, I smiled comfortably and felt myself stand up straighter.

My roommate and I hang onto the hope that because Trump is under so many watchful eyes, he wouldn’t do anything as reckless as he promised. We told each other about the small lights that we witnessed and we gave a small sigh of relief. People were shouting red, but for the right reasons.


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