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    • I found out that most of my family voted for Trump. Here’s how I answered.
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    I found out that most of my family voted for Trump. Here’s how I answered.

    Online Niel Posted on

    I am a black woman, and my brother, mother, and father-in-law voted for former President Trump—again. This realization hit me like a punch in the gut, leaving me in a whirlwind of disappointment, anger and deep dismay.

    I face the reality that the people I love – people I trust – have made a choice that feels like a betrayal not only to me, but to the values ​​I hold dear: justice, equality, empathy.

    How do you survive, let alone thrive, in a world where your closest relationships lie on the other side of the ideological chasm, choosing a path that threatens the very fabric of our common humanity?

    “But are you dead?” is the cold, dismissive response to the deep evil of another Trump administration that I’ve heard. This sentiment, echoed by some who insist that we “survived” his last term, treats survival as an acceptable standard. But is survival enough when our rights, safety and humanity are at stake? How do you define survival when it means putting up with an administration that strips away rights, promotes hate, and leaves the most vulnerable ever more exposed?

    It is testimony of survival children placed in ICE detention facilitiesseparated from families without the certainty of reunification? It is violence and discrimination against trans and queer youth? maybe mothers who died because of the overturning of Roe v. Wadewhere something as basic as life-saving healthcare has become a battleground of ideologies? Survival is relentless police brutality against black communities? Is it? eroding affirmative action or facing deportation from the only home you’ve ever known?

    If this is survival, I’m not good. Surviving injury is not a standard to aspire to. Real power is found in the communities we build, the rights we defend and our commitment to ensure no one is left behind.

    Amira Barger and her 9-year-old daughter, Audrey.
    Amira Barger and her 9-year-old daughter, Audrey.Courtesy of Amira Barger.

    My daughter stayed home the day after the election – scared, crying and asking through tears, “What do I do? are we moving? Will I now be illegal in this country?“

    I had some words of comfort as the same questions were running through my mind. How do I tell my 11-year-old that home might not be safe anymore, that this place might not be ours in the way we once thought? That our country doesn’t love us back. That neighbors, colleagues, classmates, friends – even family – chose a monster. They did it knowingly. They did it on purpose. So they did, AGAIN.

    No candidate is perfect, and grievances like gas and food prices are real. However, focusing exclusively on individual problems, on personal gains, numbs us to the bigger picture, leading many to vote against their own interests. These choices are often not about politics, but a desire for perceived security, social status, or influence—aligning themselves with power structures that ultimately harm them and those they claim to love.

    I am cautiously comforted by the paradise that California can offer while our world is on fire. But for those on the fringes of society, our survival has never depended on retreating to a safe haven – and certainly not on institutions built to overlook or harm us – but on the strength of our communities.

    Black communities, LGBTQIA+ people, immigrants and other marginalized groups build resilience through the networks they create. Mutual aid—shared meals, childcare, transportation, and legal resources—is not charity. It is solidarity in action, filling the gaps left by traditional institutions. Solidarity is not rejecting evil because you don’t want it to happen to you someday; Solidarity means rejecting evil because you believe it should never happen to any of us, ever. Embracing this ethos is a radical commitment to empathy, interdependence and hope for all.

    Growing up in Guam, I experienced firsthand the importance of representation—and the harm of its absence. With no electoral weightmy parents’ votes were barely counted, showing me how political systems can fail entire communities.

    Chamoru appreciates that chenchule’a system of reciprocity, and inafa’maolekwhich emphasizes our interconnected well-being, taught me the power of community and shared responsibility.

    I saw one Instagram post which read: “People who voted for Trump did so primarily for reasons they saw as beneficial to themselves, while those who voted for Harris did so for reasons they may not have – never affect them personally, but which would benefit those around them”.

    This idea underscores what I learned as a child—our strength and humanity lies in prioritizing the collective good over individual gain. Supporting a harmful administration solely for personal gain does not meet this standard.

    Reflecting on the choices of my fellow voters, I am reminded of the activist of Mariame Kaba wORDS: “Hope is a discipline.” Hope is not fleeting or passive; it’s something we cultivate—a daily choice, even in uncertainty. I wasn’t stupid because I hoped we would finally see our first female president, a leader committed to protecting fundamental rights. Although moving forward is difficult, hope anchors and strengthens us, urging us on. Our new reality under Trump is not just about survival; it’s about creating a future where everyone has a chance to thrive, regardless of who’s in power.

    As a parent, this means having open and honest conversations with young people about the world they are inheriting. We owe it to them to teach the values ​​of resilience, community, and the collective impact of their choices.

    They must know that their power lies not only in individual success, but in uplifting those around them, in making decisions that benefit the many rather than the few. Finally, I answered my daughter’s questions with the wisdom I could muster in the midst of the pain. I said to him:I love you more than they hate us. And that’s our strength.” A lesson I learned from author Michelle MiJung Kim, in her book “The awakening.”

    To those of us on the sidelines: I see you, I stand with you, and together we are stronger than hate. Let’s reject mere survival and build a future based on justice, empathy and resilience. True safety lies in choosing each other and recognizing that the most powerful way to protect our future is to create ourselves.

    Online Niel
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