I Hate Donald Trump

"Yeah, we KNOW." — You, probably.

And yeah. On the one hand, saying I hate Donald Trump is about as obvious as it gets. On the other hand, which definitely hates Donald Trump as much as that first hand, sometimes I need to just say it. (Or write it, as the case may be.) I need to express clearly that I detest him and every single fucking thing for which he stands.

I spend so much time dissecting policy and synthesizing the news and curating it into digestible bites and connecting the dots to broader narratives where the political press fails to do that necessary work and writing explanation of why this matters and what that really means that sometimes I spend my entire day immersed in information so profoundly upsetting that it requires enormous amounts of psychological energy just to keep myself steady and focused enough to string together the words that convey everything that is happening and its grotesque context.

I have to disallow myself from actively feeling that hatred in order to do this work.

But it creeps up on me. Over and over. I bury it beneath the calm I need to process the shitshow that is the Trump administration and navigate the abuse that piles up in my inbox and fills my Twitter mentions and spills into comments, both from conservatives who hate me for being so radical and progressives who hate me for being so incrementalist. Plus everyone who hates me just for being a woman. Or fat. Or a dyke. Or married to an immigrant. Or whatever.

All of whom — yes, even the progressive men who clamor over each other in tumbling desperation to be the next one to tell me that Bernie woulda won and I'm the reason everything is terrible — are empowered by Trump and the ugliness and bigotry he purveys like the slimeball salesman of toxic wares that he is and has always been.

Everything I feel in this grim upside-down every day simmers beneath whatever semblance of cool professionalism I can muster. And then it boils over.

And when it boils over, I cry and I seethe and I snarl. And I spit with venom: I hate Donald Trump.

For every post I write about his gross agenda, there is a post I want to write about why I hate him. For every sentence I write about his deplorable party, there is a post I want to write about why I hate all of them. For every word I write about his corrupt family of shameless grifters, there is a post I want to write about why I hate them, too.

I hate who he is. And I hate what he's doing. I hate every goddamned second of this.

Almost exactly a year ago, I wrote: "I ache at the sadistic impulses of this administration. I hate every minute of it. Their malice grinds at me, but also beckons my resolve to be a sentinel for my values. If there comes a day when all I am left able to write with each sunrise is 'I hate Donald Trump,' I will be here, doing it."

I'm not there yet. I can still write other things. But I need to write this, too: I hate Donald Trump.

Shakesville is run as a safe space. First-time commenters: Please read Shakesville's Commenting Policy and Feminism 101 Section before commenting. We also do lots of in-thread moderation, so we ask that everyone read the entirety of any thread before commenting, to ensure compliance with any in-thread moderation. Thank you.

blog comments powered by Disqus