The day after Election Day, I was feeling…to be honest, I can't explain it. I was already contented with the fact that no matter who was in office, I would still have to fight to ensure equal rights for my trans siblings, nieces, nephews, and niblings. Nevertheless, I was rooting for a Harris win—a blowout, to be honest.
But the day after, it all felt like a nightmare wrapped in a fever dream while sleepwalking.
As I checked my social media feed in the morning, I noticed a few who shared posts encouraging folks to put differences aside post-election. Doing so was a sense of respectability, measuring one's maturity. Many of the folks who shared this came from surprising sources: a white gay administrator in the school district, a Latino man who knew several of the same trans women I knew, and a white female who loved girlie pop and cheerleading and had loved to post her gay besties.
Throughout the day, I noticed a similar pattern coming from those I knew were outright supporting Trump.
After trying to figure myself out through the day, I completely forgot that I had yet to take my dog for a bathroom break. There's an open green space near where I live, in the city's heart, so I decided to take her there. I was walking back and had the right of way to the crosswalk. Despite having the right of way, one driver swerved left impatiently. I was so close that I could see the light of his blunt glow. With no mind, he continued to drive. Fortunately, I was quick enough to memorize the slightly beat-up, four-door blue sedan driving down the street without a care, memorizing the make, model, and license plate.
Is this the madness we now inhabit?
As I got back into the safety of my apartment and called the police as soon as I got there, I also had to settle back into work quickly. While sitting in the meeting, thoughts circled through my mind: was the driver impatient, or did he feel emboldened following the election? Was he in a rush, or did he have a gripe towards Black trans women? Whatever it was, I wasn't going to take chances. I politely left the meeting, letting my boss know I had to meet the police to file a report.
I confided in a friend who wanted to grab drinks to mourn the election loss. I got ready, reassuring myself that all would be well. By the time we headed out, I had forgotten what occurred hours before. We got to the bar, ordered our drinks, and chatted as we people-watched. It was a regular gay establishment I frequent, with the same bartenders and the same happy hour 3-for-2 offerings.
But the more I sat there with my cocktail, my friend and I felt like something shifted. I saw folks smiling, laughing, and toasting their drinks. Some danced while playing darts, and others ate pizza by the pool table. I was becoming slightly paranoid.
I pondered why so many acted like it was any other Half-Off Whiskey Wednesday.
The next day, all of it hit me: the election results, the responses from people who expected to "let's agree to disagree," the driver who nearly hit me, and the people who seemingly enjoyed themselves on an otherwise grim day. Laying on the couch and watching comfort shows (mine is Bob's Burgers), I wondered how to move forward. Outside of ensuring I renewed my passport and ID, I thought heavily about how I was supposed to engage with people who appeared indifferent to the election or supported Trump.
Behind every smile that walked by, did they hide an insidious disdain toward a minority group? Behind every bartender's chat, did their tongue hide transphobia? Behind every mailman, doctor, or librarian going about their day, did they hide hate in their hearts?
DC Studio via Shutterstock
How do I navigate the fear of Trumpsters living among us?
Not to say they weren't doing so before. But it's become shocking to see those I thought openly embraced and respected me turn around and vote for someone who demeans us.
But, hey, groceries and gas will be cheaper.
It's honestly hard to say "things will be okay" when Donald Trump, JD Vance, and their cronies have made hate acceptable again. As a Black trans woman, there are many reasons for me to fear his return to the White House. There are real fears and worries, not so much by Trump's words but how his rhetoric has emboldened everyday Americans to act toward marginalized groups, and we're already seeing those results.
But then I'm reminded of how the powerful use fear against us. Fear can make us question our moral standings and doubt our faithful friends and allies. It can also make us angry, foment hatred, inspire violence, and take actions that are too costly for us to afford.
Fear is the greatest enemy of freedom.
Fear got us to where we are now, and is what has inspired far-right extremists to hail plans like Project 2025. And while we don't have a crystal ball to see what the next few years will bring, one thing is sure: don't. Don't become too fearful to forget your humanity. Don't become too worried to forget to take care of yourself. Don't become so angry that you stoop to those wholly lost of themselves.
Most importantly—don't give up hope.
Hope won't be found in most government institutions, political leaders, celebrities, or content creators. But you'll find hope in those who actively listen, hold, and hug you. Affirm yourself with those who align with your values, and don't just pay lip service. Be mindful to protect your peace, and work within your network to identify where you can receive and offer help to those similarly in need. Build your own community, connecting with others you can turn to for resources and reassurance in these uncertain times.
I've decided to remove those who found Trump appealing. Many years ago, I learned that once someone shows you their true colors, there's no need to welcome them back with open arms. (America, girl, you could definitely learn from this!) I will not block or unfriend them because I want to let them see me shine from a distance.
At the same time, I've found reassurance in certain friends and family members. It may be a small network, but it's a starting point. And I'm immensely grateful for their ability to sit and talk with me during the last few hours, days, and weeks—most certainly, for the next few years. It will get bumpy, but we will continue to live regardless.
Our ability to celebrate joy and thrive is the greatest weapon against our adversaries.
Marie-Adélina de la Ferrière is the Community Editor at equalpride, publisher of The Advocate.
Voices is dedicated to featuring a wide range of inspiring personal stories and impactful opinions from the LGBTQ+ and Allied community. Visit pride.com/submit to learn more about submission guidelines. We welcome your thoughts and feedback on any of our stories. Email us at voices@equalpride.com. Views expressed in Voices stories are those of the guest writers, columnists and editors, and do not directly represent the views of The Advocate or our parent company, equalpride.
