After coming home from college to begin Thanksgiving break, I sat down with my younger sister, a cynical senior in high school, to talk about the election. I asked her what the election taught her about human empathy, and she ranted about about how 46 million Americans voted for a man who ran on a platform of racism, sexism, homophobia and discrimination. Then she looked up at me from the burger she was eating, chewed thoughtfully, pushed in her chair and hastily stood up, declaring before storming away, “So, what did the election teach me about human empathy? That it doesn’t exist.”
I disagree.
On the night of November 8th, 2016, I lay on the floor of my friends’ dorm room, my face pressed into a beanbag as silent tears rolled down my cheeks, wrapped in a blanket and buried under a pile of other crying girls who felt equally as disrespected and in danger.
The next morning, we marched around campus in protest, feeding off the furious energy of impassioned millennials, so intense it was overwhelming and almost palpable. I remember hearing one young black man speak about how Martin Luther King didn’t just campaign for equal rights, he fought for equal rights. I remember how I began to cry when he said this because I could hear how hard he was trying to project his voice and fight back tears simultaneously.
Notes started appearing on the white boards outside of the rooms on our floor. My roommate and I used ours to assure people they were not alone and had a voice to speak their beliefs. My friends’ board next door advertised hugs, tea and blankets. My RA’s board read, “Friends: you are cared for, you are respected, you are valued. Take time to yourself and let me know if you need a friend to sit with you or even just a piece of candy. I can do both.” A close friend of mine left campus for four days to protest in Boston, and was met with only encouragement and understanding from professors. Some of my professors dedicated precious time from teaching class to offer support and talk about the election, and I heard from some of my friends that their professors did the same.
The weekend after the election, I attended the march into Amherst. I marched with a transgender friend of mine and felt my heart swell watching his face light up as people chanted “Trans lives matter!” I heard a group of men shouting “Her body, her rights,” and saw a sea of white skin chorus, “Black lives matter!” People meant what they said, even if they never experienced discrimination from what they shouted firsthand. It wasn’t a contest of “who does this affect the most?”, it was a mutual agreement that we would all be affected in some way and needed to support each other.
Social media, on the other hand, was a toss-up, a melting pot of ideas and justifications for voting either red or blue, a place where one could find both intolerance and understanding at the click of a button. I used the election as an opportunity to announce to those who didn’t already know that I identify somewhere on the spectrum between gay and straight, and received nothing but unconditional acceptance and love.
So what did the election teach me about human empathy?
It taught me that the people who tell me I’m not alone mean it. I have friends of different races, sexualities, beliefs and genders who are equally fearful, disappointed and shocked. I am eternally grateful for their support. It taught me that there are people who don’t understand others’ struggles, despite wanting to understand. It also taught me that the people who both don’t understand and don’t want to understand us probably do not have a place in our lives. It taught me that some humans have this remarkable capacity to truly relate to others, and we need to appreciate and nurture these special people, because they will be the ones that change our nation.
So, to my sister and those who are losing faith in the direction of our country: empathy exists. Empathy prevails more often than not. It is not a rare trait, but it exists in rare forms, in special people. There are people who mean it when they tell you you are not alone, even if they are radically unlike you. You now know who belongs in your life and who might not belong so well anymore, not because of who they voted for, but because of how they justified doing so in relation to you. I urge you all to dedicate your time and energy to appreciating those who support you, providing this support for others, and using your voice to spread positivity. Because chances are, if you’re reading this, you are an empathetic soul who would not want to hurt another person, regardless of if they hurt you intentionally or unintentionally, during this election season.
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