The Protect Our Futures march in New York City, November 9, 2024 (Anadolu/Getty)

Co-published with Ireland’s The Journal:

America Put The Gun To Its Head and Pulled The Trigger

EA on International Media: A Convicted Felon Will Be US President — How Much Damage Can He Cause?

I have finished grieving.

In the midst of 35 hours without sleep, I processed what had just happened in my native country. A man who in an undamaged system would be behind bars, out of business, or banned from political office is returning to the White House. This time, rather than trying to hold power in a coup attempt, he had succeeded legally with the support of almost 73 million voters.

Upon his inauguration in January, that man will not serve the US system which he was elected to represent, but will serve one person: himself. Seeking vengeance against all his imagined “enemies”, he will try to co-opt or even tear down that system.

He will try to deny women their rights, rail against minorities even after courting them for their votes, and threaten the deportation of millions. With no coherent policy or even ideas, he will use those worried about their economic futures as cannon fodder. Abroad, he will sacrifice the people of Ukraine to his friend Vladimir Putin, and court the favor of autocrats rather than long-standing allies.

I grieved for all of this. And then on Thursday, I stopped.

It’s time to saddle up and ride, folks. To reclaim decency and respect and tolerance and an entire country — and to bolster my new home in Ireland by doing so.

Contemplation, But Not Retreat

Inevitably, as the Trumpists celebrate and mock those whom they dislike, there has been much navel-gazing and finger-pointing on the other side. Some have turned their grief upon Kamala Harris, some upon Joe Biden, some upon the Democratic “machine” and the spectre of “big donors”, some upon “celebrities”.

Reflection is necessary. Even on the Trumpists’ loudest themes of the economy and immigration, the Harris campaign could claim progress: a sharp fall in inflation, a steadily-growing GDP, historically-low unemployment, a 77% decline in undocumented immigration across the Mexico border this year. But those facts were swamped by the sentiment of “feeling” and the Trumpist spectacle of carnage and invasion.

Perhaps more importantly, attention must be paid to the issues that should have but failed to bring out key blocs of voters. As expected, women preferred Harris by 10 points over Trump, 54%-44%, whereas men supported Trump by the same margin. But six million fewer women than men cast ballots, and despite Trump’s assault on their reproductive rights, more young women — 40% in 2024 v. 33% in 2020 — voted for him.

Contrary to a lot of chatter in the press, Black voters stayed loyal to Harris by a margin of 86%-12%. However, in what may have been the election’s “tipping point”, 45% of Hispanic voters — defying Trump’s insults of them and their countries of origins — voted for him, up from 32% in 2020.

So, yes, a lot of contemplation is needed. But contemplation does not knee-jerk suggestions of giving up campaigns for rights and equality because Trumpists stigmatize them as “culture wars”. It does not entail superficial references to “centre” v. “left”. It does not include ceding ground on the necessity for investment in a green economy; on rights and justice being part of the address of immigrants, refugees, and asylum-seekers; or for the security of those threatened by invasion abroad.

“We Can Survive, Whatever We Must Survive”

Almost eight years ago to this day, I sat in a soulless hotel room in Guildford, England and covered the ascent of Donald Trump to the Presidency through lies, vulgarities, stalking of his rival, and even a helping hand from the Kremlin.

I thought then that my “America” was lost. But as Trump took the country through chaos, shutdowns, division, and impeachments, as he sacrificed Americans to COVID-19 and his ego, I watched those Americans who would not accept defeat. I saw them embrace community. I saw them exercise compassion. I heard them call out the insults. I saw them comfort each other as they had to grieve.

So here we are again, with the stakes even higher than in 2016.

I won’t indulge in the platitude “darkest before the dawn” because I cannot be sure — no one can be sure — that there will be a dawn this time. The damage may be too grievous, the invective too entrenched.

But I keep with me the mantra — coined in the first weeks of the Trump dystopia in 2017 — “Nevertheless, She Persisted”. And in my pockets are the words of James Baldwin, persecuted for his color and his sexuality by the Trumpists of another era:

I can’t be a pessimist because I am alive. To be a pessimist means that you have agreed that human life is an academic matter. So, I am forced to be an optimist. I am forced to believe that we can survive, whatever we must survive.

Saddle up, folks. Let’s ride.