Hate-Filled Times

What a time we’re living in –

So much hate. So much anger.

I want to fight back, to protest, to express this justifiable longing to set things right. But I refuse to join the hate.

And, dang, it’s so easy to hate. That’s what I’m afraid of -- being exploited because of the hate I feel rising in my gorge. Here’s why:

The definition of Fascism is that it is an approach to politics that rejects independent critical thinking and instead mobilizes people around fear and rage – which makes them more receptive to strongmen leaders who then strip away collective rights and freedoms.

Our country, and our set of ideas called Democracy, has fractured so ominously under this current administration and our repulsed response to it, that I fear that we have severed all ties to what we are actually all about. We are the most unique country in the world in that we do not have a shared ethnicity, race, or religion. What we have is a shared belief in the creed that captures the spirit of Americanism. E pluribus unum – out of many, one.

The American Creed is life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness – and the promise that we are all created equal. This is the essence of our liberty. Nowhere in that set of civic beliefs, that shared creed, does it warn that disagreements, politics, wrong turns by well-meaning people should substantiate the kind of polarity and hatred we are experiencing as a country.

We’re in a war. Make no mistake about it. I hate it.

Not going to let the hate take me over, though. No way, no how. I will do all the things our freedoms allow: speak out, protest, write, join, do. Vote.

But I’m not hating you. I’m shifting my sights to fairness and justice. Hatred doesn’t solve anything.

I have to remember a moment that was profound for me: It was September 16, 2001. Our country had been attacked, our city was like a war zone, our first responders were working night and day down at the “site” to seek and find any survivors. My husband, a firefighter, had hardly been home since that horrific Tuesday. It was Sunday. He called to say he’d be home for a little while to shower, sleep, change before heading back into downtown Manhattan. I gathered the available family for dinner at our house, and as we sat around the dining room table, my husband said a grace before the meal. Around that table sat three high school boys, two elementary school children, a senior citizen, four almost-middle-aged adults. We were all looking at him, ready to hear what he was going to say. He said:

“They hate us because we get along. We come from every race, religion, and even politics. They don’t understand how this works. But it does. Don’t forget that. This country works. And they can’t stand that.”

I want so much for our sleeping giant division to right itself. For us to look up, out, far away from our own hatred. That’s us: ordinary citizens of all political persuasions coming together to keep this nation extraordinary. This country works. Let’s stop hating each other.