Trump May Be My President, But He Doesn’t Speak For Me

BLM is a symbol of truth.

I never thought I’d be grateful to Donald Trump, but he solved a myriad of problems for me today.

I’ve been trying to get back on my pony. In the before time, I was a relatively prolific writer. At least a regular writer. You could count on me to spit some drivel out every day.

I kept up my routine until about halfway into my solo isolation, and then I ground to a halt. Except for a post here and there, I’ve been mostly AWOL. I decided I’d start off the second half of the year with a rousing article and get back in the groove with my previous output. But after starting several pieces, I couldn’t get to the finish line. More about that later. I feared I was doomed to the writing block dungeon, and then our fearful leader came to my rescue.

I can’t say what act of Trump has been most hideous in my estimation. As so many of us know, many vie for the gold ribbon. Incarcerating children. Cheating cancer patients through his fake charities. Cheating taxpayers through his emolument scams. Russia, Russia, Russia.

This Liar-in-Chief is an embarrassment of riches when it comes to offering up reasons for kicking him out of office. At the very least, he’s an embarrassment, am I right? Ask the victims of this pandemic, whom he seems to have forgotten as he leaves to play golf or tear gas protesters.

But as I opened a vein and bled over my computer (the late Herb Caen said that’s all it took to write a zinger of a column), our hapless president finally came through for me. He didn’t just give me an idea to write about, but he cleared the way for me to take an action that’s been on my mind since the first days of the protests honoring George Floyd.

But I’ve had a dilemma. Should I or shouldn’t I put a BLM sign in my window?

So many efforts to show solidarity by white people have been tone-deaf, or insulted rather than supported the cause. While I’ve had many thoughts I’ve wanted to put to paper (or computer screen), I’ve held back, fearing it wasn’t my place or my time.

In another time, I would have definitely taken to the streets and marched against police brutality. That I know. I’ve done more marching since Trump’s been in office since the days of the Vietnam war when I wore out at least one pair of shoes opposing that conflict.

But I weighed my vulnerability to the virus, and it was no contest. Adding to that national burden wouldn’t save anybody’s life. So I deliberated about putting a BLM sign in my window. But how would it be perceived, I wondered? As too little, too late? As just another white person trying to assuage her white guilt with a cheap sign?

I’d read all the tweets by black people offended by white people making ham-handed statements of support. It was there I learned buying a black friend a Starbucks as part of reparations was a thing? Really, white girls? Have a coffee? The price of a latte and suddenly you’re a “black ally?” Like, this moment is all about black people can’t buy their own Starbucks?

I didn’t want to be one of them, so I decided against a sign in my window. Why take the chance of offending someone I didn’t even know when they couldn’t know what was in my heart?

Until the Donald came to my rescue today.

Perhaps you’ve seen his tweet. BLM is a symbol of hate. Or some such.

I read that tweet, and instantly, I knew what was going in my window. I don’t care what anybody thinks of it. If Barack Obama himself said to my face that I was pandering, I wouldn’t take it down.

I know Trump has done more offensive things in the past three years. The kids in cages? I can’t even go there. The corruption, the lies, the dog whistles, the recent apparent thumbs up to the kill shots of our forces in Afghanistan? It just gets worse and worse.

But he crossed a line for me personally with that tweet. I cannot be associated with the notion that a cry for justice and equality from Black Americans is a symbol of hate.

I may be forced to accept that Trump is my president, but he does not speak for me. I now have a crudely-made BLM sign in my window. I cut it out from the insulation in the ImperfectFoods.com box that delivers my groceries each week. I’ll try to get one that looks better, but it’s all I had in the moment.

In fact, when I went across the street to take a picture of it, you can’t even see it from the street. But it doesn’t matter. I know it’s there. With this sign, I’m standing up to Trump and every racist in this country. Not that I haven’t made statements before, but now it’s even more public. It will be there until Trump is out of office. Whether it’s four months or four years from now. Until this country acknowledges in every conceivable way that Black Lives Matter .

We can’t say it enough. Black Lives Matter. If they don't matter, then this country isn’t worth fighting for anymore.

I’m an editor and writer on Medium with Top Writer status. I’m also an editor for the publication, Rogues Gallery. I’ve published 55 titles on Amazon and edit for private clients. If you’d like to hire me as your editor for fiction, non-fiction, or business writing, please contact me here. If you’d like to read more of my work on Medium, click here to sign up for my newsletter. Thank you for reading.