Soothe Sayer

I’ve been thinking, meditating, and musing over these last couple of days since Tuesday evening, November 5th—the night of the 2024 presidential election. I went to sleep watching a fictional television show because I wanted to take my mind off what, for me, was an overwhelming disappointment. I don’t like being disappointed; it makes me feel sad. While I’ve made great strides and arguments throughout my work and career as a writer, guiding people beyond their grief, I find myself in the grieving process now.

This overwhelming sense of loss led me to reflect on other moments when faith and hope were challenged, both personally and collectively. In my book, “The New Human- When the People We Love, Love the People We Love”, I state, “What is grief except the belief that love is lost?” In these moments, it does feel like love is lost. There has been a despair that has tried to grip me, and I find myself as a person with hope—but not hopeful. A person with hope, grateful that I’m not hopeless. And then I think, how do we communicate that to almost 70 million people who feel like the country is going in the wrong direction? What I want to attempt here is to solve for the love that seems to be missing—at least for me and those who wanted what I wanted.

I don’t really argue over whether I am or am not religious—I think most people are religious. But I believe we have attributed religion to things that have an overt reference to God or a god. Some people opt out of the term “God” and say “higher power.” I know that religion lives in plain sight, hiding behind tropes, colloquialisms, and overgeneralized references. Capitalism is a religion, and I think, for many of us, it has been the guiding religion in the way we vote and often the way we think.

In moments of loss and uncertainty, I find myself turning to broader reflections on faith and what it means to hope. This morning, I was reflecting on 9/11 in the year 2001. I was sitting on my sofa, watching the morning news, and saw an airplane crash into the World Trade Center. As I continued watching, I saw another plane crash into the towers. We know the story—we also learned of another plane flying over Pennsylvania, where some brave people overtook the hijackers. I imagine many of them were praying, calling out to God or whatever higher power they believed in, saying, “Don’t let this happen.” And I don’t want to burst anyone’s bubble, but God didn’t save those planes. God didn’t stop the towers from tumbling down. So many lives were lost, and in that moment, there was despair. We wanted someone to pay.

Just as I grappled with hope and helplessness in that collective tragedy, I remember when my son was arrested and convicted of things far less severe than what we see in the president elect, and there was no reprieve for him. God didn’t save him from incarceration, and this makes me sad. Even then, I reached for hope, grateful that I wasn’t hopeless. But in those moments, I wasn’t hopeful. Now, I feel a similar tension watching our nation’s choices. I don’t know what to hope for that feels valuable and true.

Here we are again—it looks like America is willing to and did elect someone convicted of 34 felonies and still facing more serious legal charges, a person found guilty of fraud, as its president. And who am I to argue with the will of the people? I’m grateful that, for all intents and purposes, I am a peaceful man. I don’t believe that oppression is the way to any genuine power. I don’t want to model vengeance, madness, or mania, to act like a spoiled child when I don’t get my way. I’ve prayed many times, offered up sacrifice many times, and I didn’t get things the way I wanted. So, I have no expectation that everything I want will come to me, because I’m aware that I’m not the only one wanting something. Sometimes what we want is at odds with what others want, perhaps even those closest to us—family or friends.

As I was waiting to write, thinking in this aftermath, I jumped to a conclusion that the majority of Americans wanted this. It was an uneducated assumption—I hadn’t done the research, hadn’t looked at the numbers. Then, in conversation with a friend, she told me about the election results. I did my own search, looking at the last three elections in which Donald Trump was a candidate.

In 2016, Hillary Clinton had 65,853,516 votes, and Donald Trump had 62,984,828. Hillary Clinton won the popular vote, yet she lost the election. In 2020, Joe Biden won both the Electoral College and the popular vote, receiving 81,283,098 votes, while Trump received 74,222,958—7 million fewer votes. I was hoping voters would turn out and reveal the will of the people.

Then, I realized something. This vote tabulation reflects the will of the people in more than one way. In 2024, as it stands right now, Donald Trump has 71.7 million popular votes. Kamala Harris has approximately 66.9 million votes. The point spread is smaller. While Donald Trump has the popular vote majority, his winning spread is smaller than Hillary Clinton’s spread over him in 2016 and certainly smaller than Joe Biden’s spread over him in 2020. What’s more telling is that Trump has fewer votes in 2024 than in 2020. What’s even more profound is that Kamala Harris has more votes than Hillary Clinton did in 2016. But the number that tells us more about the electorate is that Joe Biden had approximately 11 million more votes than Kamala Harris.

This means America has failed twice at electing a woman president. It also means that Trump is not as popular as he once was. Kamala Harris may be more popular than Hillary Clinton, but something about her being a woman made it difficult for people to vote for her. Where are these 14 million people, and what are they thinking? What do they want, and what do they want to see?

Her campaign was flawless, brilliant, full of joy. The hurdles she had to jump, the criteria, the threshold—they were so high for her. She didn’t insult people or call them names. She’s not facing legal charges or accusations of fraud—she’s a civil servant. But something in this country makes it difficult to accept women in leadership. Understanding this is crucial in addressing the deeper issues affecting voter engagement.

What gives me hope now is that, while I thought Trump had the majority of Americans—because I wasn’t looking at the numbers, didn’t want to see the numbers—I realize the numbers say otherwise. There aren’t more people who want him; there are just fewer people who want someone else. Perhaps these individuals felt disillusioned with the political process, uninspired by the choices presented, or skeptical about the impact of their vote. Why did these people stay home? Was it voter suppression? Lies in messaging? What makes us resistant to the idea that a woman can lead? This is built into the ethos of America and as my friend Coach KJ would say, “It’s a feature; it’s not a bug.”

I’m solving for the love here. I want you to know that it’s not as many people as you may think who want this, but it’s not enough of us who are perhaps certain of what we want. Will apathy win? Will indifference win? Or will we rise to fight? We stand at a crossroads where apathy and indifference threaten to overshadow progress. It is imperative that we rise above these forces, actively engaging to build an inclusive and hopeful future led by those capable and deserving, regardless of gender.

I reflect on how easily Democrats pushed Joe Biden aside because of 90 minutes they didn’t like. One person said to me in response, “It only took me 15 minutes to consider him unfit.” How is this possible? How can a person over 80, with a life of exemplary service, be cast aside for a single 90-minute moment, while his counterpart can live a life marked by crime, misogyny, and selfishness—and still retain unwavering support, even through two impeachments?

Democrats and progressives—your nobility is your Achilles’ heel. This commitment to the appearance of ethics and moral high ground has been over-exaggerated, and now it is chosen for its optics rather than its true purpose. In so many ways, this is what we grieve—an attachment to a superficial nobility that has weakened our resolve. A nobility that looks good on the surface, but instead of mobilizing people with genuine integrity, it fosters an apathy that keeps us from taking meaningful action. We lost ourselves in this idealized image of virtue, and as a result, we let apathy creep in, leaving us passive in moments when we needed to rise.

In an effort to understand this mindset, I came across a post on Facebook that seemed to capture the perspective of Trump’s most ardent supporters”

“I have to get this off my chest for America. I get it, you hated him 8 years ago, 4 years ago, and you still hate him now. I’ve seen a lot of hate thrown his way, but this guy is a consistent winner and an overachiever. Call it jealousy, call it envy, some people just can’t handle how successful he is and how much money he has; could even be jealous that he had a hot foreign model as his ex-wife. That’s what the people who support him love about him. Yes, there have been some scandals, yes, there have been some lies, and maybe a few times he’s twisted the truth to make himself look better. He’s out there every day proving those haters wrong time after time. You may not have wanted him in this role, but he’s there now, and there is nothing you or I can do about it.”

This viewpoint underscores a celebration of success and defiance, even in the face of ethical concerns.  It highlights the divide in values and the challenge we face in bridging this gap.  Now, of course, this post is totally misguided. He’s not a winner if he’s a cheater too. But I digress.

Were those 14 million people angry at the Democratic Party? Who can know this? Were they disappointed in Joe Biden because he didn’t have the strength to demonstrably keep his people in check? Or is compassion not seen for the genius of fortitude it is? I know this all too well—to have my compassion mistaken for my oppressor’s honesty. The bystanders didn’t notice my silence as compassion; they didn’t notice my oppressor’s anger as rage but saw it as my supposed dishonesty. Compassion often goes unnoticed because it isn’t as loud as rage. Compassion does not demand attention, but it does stand out to the initiated.

The good news is, there are still those 14 million, plus the other 3 million people who didn’t vote for Trump again. Those people can make a difference, and they did make a difference. I need them to make a new difference.

Listen, grieve if you must. Don’t stay there. Reframe your story. Look at the data and understand this: we are not a nation where more people want Trump. We are a nation where not enough people trust women or trust a woman’s ability to lead the masses, to build an inclusive future—a hopeful future. We stand at a pivotal moment where understanding, engagement, and action are crucial. What say you?