In the early afternoon, my mother called, trying to sound cheerful, as though everything was fine, as if life would continue on without disruption. And it will… eventually. But today, optimism feels far from uplifting. It’s difficult to grasp onto hope when the path ahead seems so uncertain, when so many of us feel disconnected from the systems meant to protect and represent us.
She admitted she almost skipped voting, convinced her presence wouldn’t change a thing, wouldn’t make a ripple in the tide already set in motion. But then she paused, closed her eyes, and pictured my two young daughters—her granddaughters, ages three and eight—dressed in white bonnets and red cloaks, reminiscent of The Handmaid’s Tale. The thought of them bound to a future dictated by regressive ideals stirred something in her. She immediately stopped what she was doing, drove to her precinct, and cast her vote. It wasn’t much, perhaps, but it was something. This is the reality we live in now—a climate of fear and frustration, tempered by whatever acts of resistance we can muster.
On one side, there are those celebrating their chosen leader, their self-proclaimed “savior of America,” convinced that within a mere four years, he’ll magically solve all their grievances. They believe that he’ll lower the cost of groceries, bring down rent, and restore a way of life they feel has been stolen from them. These supporters are fueled by a genuine anger over their struggles, deeply affected by economic and social issues they feel have been ignored for too long.
On the other side is the Democratic Party, whose strategy seems increasingly driven by animosity toward DJT rather than a clear vision for the nation’s future. I don’t blame Kamala Harris for the recent defeat. Instead, I hold the party itself accountable. Harris was handed a nearly insurmountable task: in just over 100 days, she was expected to construct a campaign that could rebuild public trust—a trust her predecessor had slowly eroded. Yet instead of presenting an actionable vision for the future, her campaign seemed preoccupied with attacking her opponent, playing on fears and criticisms rather than addressing real solutions. The electorate wanted to hear practical, achievable plans to address the issues affecting them daily, but the message they received felt detached from their struggles.
Meanwhile, DJT’s approach was chaotic, even unhinged at times. But to his supporters, his anger and frustration mirror their own, even if his “plans” are loosely defined. In his unpredictability, he has managed to capture something the opposition could not: an energy that resonates with people who feel unheard. To them, his rage is a sign of passion, a reflection of their desire for change—even if those changes are only loosely sketched “concepts.” His willingness to articulate any plan at all, even a flawed one, stands in contrast to an opponent whose platform appeared clouded by reactionary rhetoric rather than proactive solutions.
I’m left wondering who should bear the brunt of my frustration. Is it the American people, struggling and desperate enough to place their hopes in someone unpredictable? Or is it the Democratic Party, who, rather than focusing on policies that would support those struggling, concentrated on disparaging their opponent? This polarization—between fear and resentment, between anger and frustration—has left so many of us disillusioned with both sides.
In this battle of egos and ideologies, the biggest casualty is the unity of a nation and the promise of a future where our children can thrive in a country guided by compassion, clarity, and resolve. The failure of the party to clearly champion these ideals has left many questioning where we turn next.
