Opinion | What the election results mean to me

On Wednesday morning after waking up from three hours of sleep, the texts I received from my parents were one line — “I’m so sorry.” Wednesday, Nov. 6 was the only time my parents didn’t have a solution. They couldn’t offer a positive outlook or ease the pain with a witty joke. We all felt the impending doom, the fear and most intensely the confusion that this election illuminated. This election brought about a slew of emotions for me and my intersecting identities, and I am not alone in this feeling. Nearly every woman, LGBTQIA+ person, mother, father, sister and daughter who cares about the future feels this way. This election has affected every core part of my identity, and here is how. 

As a mixed woman 

I am Black and Guatemalan and hold each of these titles with a badge of honor. I have always been aware that my Blackness will cause unease in individuals, and I always have to keep my “head on a swivel” as my dad consistently asserts. These facts are a part of my life and my mindset. However, what the results of this election have sparked is the fear that people won’t feel so inclined to hide their racism behind a smile or singular remark anymore. As their comfort increases, mine decreases an insurmountable amount. 

When a man who the Department of Justice sued for refusing to rent to Black tenants in 1973 becomes president for the second time, I have a reason to be scared. When a man who declined to condemn support from former Ku Klux Klan leader David Duke becomes president for the second time, I have a reason to be scared. When a man who asserted that there were “some very fine people on both sides” of the white supremacist protests in Charlottesville, Virginia, in 2017 becomes president again, I have a reason to be scared. 

I have a reason to be scared because if the President of the United States continuously engages in acts of racism with no repercussions and responds to instances of racism with no condemnation, where do we draw the line? Donald Trump deems any recognition of DEI as a harmful “woke” agenda. But that recognition of DEI is recognition of myself and other people of color. We are the ones who need employers to understand what intersectionality is and how to recognize it. We need our future coworkers, friends and partners to realize that the inability of society to see us as equal exemplifies the necessity for equity. His persistence in erasing “wokeness” is persistence in erasing my identity. 

As a woman, my bodily autonomy is not up for debate. The mere fact that reproductive freedom was on the ballot exemplified the regression the country is facing. The fact that the side threatening this freedom won confirmed the regression. Bodily autonomy is personal to me — kids are not something I can confirm I want in my future, thus I need all the options I have as a woman. In the United States, the maternal mortality rate is significantly higher for Black women, who are three times more likely to die giving birth than white women. The lack of regard Trump has for women’s health is a direct threat to our livelihood. 

As the daughter of an immigrant 

“Illegal aliens,” “animals,” “rapists”, “drug dealers” — these are the words Donald Trump has used to refer to immigrants who are “poisoning the blood of our country.” However, when I think of immigrants like my mother and grandmother, I think of hope, resilience, strength and courage. They didn’t come to this country to “poison” it — they came to this country to start a life by working hard and doing their part. 

At 19 years old, my grandmother came to Chicago with my 3-year-old mother and worked tirelessly to get to where she is now. The obstacles my grandmother faced and the risks she took to get to this country and make a life for her and my mom have always been extremely admirable. I remember her telling me how she had to ensure her daughter had food on her plate, a coat for the Chicago winters and a school to attend while simultaneously trying to get citizenship to feel a sense of security. It took my grandma 12 years to become a U.S. citizen. In return for the sacrifices she and countless other immigrants have made and the contributions they have given to this country, she is offered xenophobic rhetoric by the President of the United States. 

The “us” and “them” notion Donald Trump uses when addressing immigration is harmful and diminishes the importance of immigrants in our country. Despite all of this, my grandmother has never lost her pride in this country — she thanks it for creating a life for her and my mom and granting her the security and opportunity she deserved. I vividly remember the 2020 Fourth of July when I told her I felt no reason to celebrate the country. She explained that while this country is in trying times, she has to have pride as it gave her the life she worked so hard for. 

The day after the election, my grandmother messaged my sister and me reminding us that “one day we will have our day.” I saw this election take a portion of my grandmother’s unwavering pride in this country. 

As a Black woman studying politics and law 

What I saw on election night was an extremely qualified mixed woman not being trusted, heard or recognized by the American people. Instead, they deemed an underqualified, blatantly racist and xenophobic man a safer choice in an election with rights on the line. Let me be abundantly clear — I did not agree with all of Harris’ policies. A presidential candidate is never going to be perfect, and everyone should remain critical of candidates to ensure accountability. With this in mind, when she started her campaign and there was still that possibility that the first female president could look like me, I felt hope I had never felt before. 

I have been cognizant of the fact that I want to enter a career in law — where only 2% of the field is made up of Black women. The lingering thought that I wouldn’t make it because of these demographics has always loomed over me. However, when I saw the power that Harris held as a leader, her confidence in her words and her immense intelligence, I — and I’m sure many Black women — felt pride and possibility. 

When I attended her rally the night before the election, I thought that this doubt I had in my capability as a Black woman pursuing politics and law would finally ease if the country understood it could and should be run by an extremely qualified woman of color. Unfortunately, the doubt is still there, and now it has intensified. The exit polls only affirmed this lack of trust in Black women. 53% of white women voted for the antithesis of their being while 91% of Black women, including myself, showed up for someone who would show up for them. Unfortunately, we were met with disappointment again.
While Harris’ loss felt like a loss of hope and a big enough reason to stop constantly trying to excel as a Black woman in the face of ignorance, it has only inspired me to keep persisting until one day I and other Black women are listened to and trusted.

I implore you to have uncomfortable conversations about this election, share why you care and share how this hurts you and other communities close to you. Remind those that you are having uncomfortable conversations with that their discomfort will last the length of the conversation, but others have to live in the discomfort. They have to live in fear as a result of others’ neglect. Vulnerability, honesty and discomfort are all parts of this fight, and we must continue fighting. Even if it is not your rights directly being threatened, utilize that place of privilege to aid others. 

Grace Harris has a passion for social justice and advocacy. Her email is always open to more ideas — gmh66@pitt.edu