In my last blog post, I essentially committed to my daughter, and by extension, the other women in my life, that I would do my utmost to ensure that if Donald Trump manages to get through four years without getting himself impeached, that he will be a one-term president. (How it pains me to write that sentence with that man’s name and the word “president.”)
There are some things that go with that. One of them is using the bully pulpit of my privilege. To quote Patrick Stewart:
People won’t listen to you or take you seriously unless you’re an old white man, and since I’m an old white man I’m going to use that to help the people who need it.
Not only am I an old white man, I’m the type of old white man who people assume to be a Trump supporter. I’m a successful executive with a business degree. That apparently means that I should be taken more seriously than most, and I’m going to use that to my advantage.
Another portion of that has to do with social media, or maybe media in general. Social media, because of algorithms, tends to create an echo chamber of your own political beliefs, and I admittedly have thinned the herd of my friends by unfriending conservatives.
I also tend to deal with unpleasant things by choosing to ignore them. I don’t read items I know will just enrage me, or that illustrate the depths of stupidity of Trump supporters. No more will I do so. I am going to use the courage of my convictions to screw myself to the sticking point and engage… and fight. Because as Sun Tzu writes in The Art of War, “So it is said that if you know your enemies and know yourself, you will not be put at risk even in a hundred battles.”
You may note that I haven’t mentioned anything about healing the divide in this country. I’ve thought long and hard about this, and I can’t bring myself there. I’m too angry. I can’t look at anyone who voted for Trump and take their beliefs seriously. I can’t heal.
And that may be what bothers me the most.