What I see in Trumpism: arrogance

Opinion editor’s note: Strib Voices publishes a mix of guest commentaries online and in print each day. To contribute, click here.

•••

In 2016, at the age of 7, I distinctly remember my mom waking me to inform me that Hillary Clinton had lost. I remember crying. I did not fully comprehend the political implications of this loss, yet I felt its weight. I understood that my wish for a woman to be placed into the White House had failed and, even more so, I knew that my friends were no longer safe.

At the time I attended Whittier International Elementary in the Minneapolis Public School district, where a significant portion of my peers came from immigrant families. I did not know what percentage of them were undocumented, nor did I care; all I knew was that they now feared for their families’ togetherness.

That morning walking into school, the somber atmosphere was notable. My teachers were visibly upset, and many students did not show up. In the classroom, as my teacher explained the results of the election, I stood up and informed my class that Ilhan Omar, a Somali, Muslim woman, had been elected to Congress. I told them that the president did not have all of the power, that we must pay attention to victories such as hers as well.

Fast-forward to 2024. On Oct. 4, Ilhan Omar visited my high school — Washburn Senior High — to attend our mock election event. As I was informing Rep. Omar of the unwavering support my family has, and will continue to give her, a sophomore boy came over and began questioning her. He criticized Kamala Harris’ ability to lead and make decisions, praising Donald Trump’s leadership to Omar’s face. When it came time for him to leave, he shook her hand, looked into her eyes and said, “I learned nothing.” Her response was concise but powerful: “You did not want to learn.”

I left that encounter in a state of pure astonishment. An uninformed, 15-year-old privileged white boy felt such an immense sense of prerogative that he believed he was on equal footing with a U.S. representative. His arrogance, in a way I have never entirely experienced, crystallized for me what the concept of Trumpism truly represents. Trumpism is a 15-year-old boy feeling as if he has the qualifications to debate with a seasoned politician. Trumpism is men with entitlement so strong that they will pass laws to strip women’s rights, men who view leadership as dominance rather than reason.

As a young woman, today I am terrified. I am terrified that my ability to choose — my ability to control what happens to my body — will be taken. As a student, I fear that the conversations that provide us with the opportunity to initiate discussions regarding the critical issues of systemic oppression in our society will be dismantled. As an ally to the trans community, I am terrified that my loved ones will be put in danger purely due to who they are. This is the reality of Trumpism. Trumpism is fear, it is loss, it is hatred, and it is a call to action.

As the weeks following Trump’s re-election unfold, we need to initiate discussions — discussions that broaden our perspectives and demand accountability. We must form spaces in which precarious discussions can thrive — where we absorb the stories of those who have been marginalized — and through those conversations, work to dismantle systems of inequality.

It is not enough to cast a ballot; change comes from proactively launching moments that push back against fear and hatred. It is through difficult conversations — whether that is at school, at the dinner table or at a rally — that the path forward is paved.

Lydia Ganser lives in Minneapolis.