And so, it begins.
Fifteen months ago, I was talking to Justin in
my local bar, Mr Biggs, in New York, and I told him it would happen. “He won’t
even get past the first vote,” he said. Then, Trump did. And beyond. Next, he
was the Republican candidate. “He’s going to do it,” I told everyone last week.
And then . . . well, the rest is history (literally).
He was not my choice. I cried when it became
clear what the outcome was going to be. I woke today in shock and disbelief.
President Trump. The very words stutter from my tongue as if in combat with a
serpent on their way into the ether.
But it’s happened. And we must accept it. For
whatever reason, a self-confessed pussy grabbing, tax-avoiding racist has
acquired the top job in the world. I will never understand it, but I have to
live in hope that the disturbing rhetoric The Donald employed to land the gig
will quickly dissipate once the reality of what’s involved sinks in.
The actor and rights campaigner John Barrowman
posted a wonderful clip on Twitter this morning. In bed with his husband,
Scott, he called for the hatred on Twitter to stop. While not liking the
outcome of the election, he appealed for calm; for the continuance of people
standing up for what they believe in; for the need to move forward.
My heavy heart of yesterday is no lighter today,
but I will not lose friends over the chasm that lies between us in relation to
this. One of my closest friends and even my mother voted for Brexit; I was, and
still am, in disbelief that they did. But it’s their right. I was also
genuinely interested in their reasoning, however insane I thought it to be.
Because that’s what we do. Or should. We are the
only living species that has the capacity to voice our thoughts and feelings in
words (and before all you Chihuahua lovers out there tell me that your pooch
talks; barking doesn’t count. It really doesn’t); but we are often so busy
listening to the sound of our own voices, we forget that we have another great
skill. Listening.
I spent last night in the same bar in which I
predicted the outcome of the election and shared what seemed that very same
distant memory with Justin. It’s not the result either of us wanted and, apart
from two people, it wasn’t the result anyone else wanted there, either. It’s a
gay bar, and the horror of Mike Pence, Trump’s deputy, recommending electric
shock therapy to “cure” gays is, of course, abhorrent. As is so much else of
what has come out of these men’s mouths.
But a democracy is not about one day, no matter
how historic that day might be. It is about having a voice that continues to be
heard until it dies – and in so many forms, not least literature, long after
that.
I want to come back to ears, though. We hear but
we do not listen. Every day, we have the chance to learn from others, no matter
how different their opinions and beliefs might be from our own. Even as I
write, I am conscious of the gift of sound. I hear a police car siren racing
along 11th Avenue in New York, my keyboard tapping, my
refrigerator making ice, a car horn blowing, my mouth slurping at the glass of
bubbly I had put by yesterday in anticipation of a celebration today (ah, well;
it’s got be drunk, no matter what the occasion). Listen. Words are our armour
and our anchor.
One of my favourite songs the brilliant Iris
Williams sings is Sondheim’s Children Will Listen and I’ve had the privilege of
hearing her perform it on more than one occasion. I’m not a huge Sondheim fan,
but the lyrics of the song always move me: yes, children will listen. Adults
don’t.
At what point in our lives do we lose the
capacity to listen? Is it when we begin to form opinions different from those
our parents instilled/indoctrinated? Is it when we realised that some people
are just vile? Is it because we live in fear of not having our own views of the
world validated? Is it simply a terror of thinking that we invested in
something that might turn out to be wrong?
I have no idea. But I do know that although we
hear so much, we have lost the capacity to listen. Today must not be a day of
mourning; as John Barrowman said, the sun is still shining (although it’s not
in New York City, it’s bizarrely pissing down for the first time in weeks, but
you know what I mean). We must all, no matter what our beliefs, listen and try
to understand – that is the only way of conversion.
I will never understand attacks on any human
being, whatever their sexual persuasion. I will never understand racism. I will
never understand intolerance.
But we are complex beings who carry baggage and
gather more as life goes on. This, however, I do know: we progress only by
understanding, or at least trying to understand. As I said in yesterday’s blog,
quoting Ephesians: Be kind to one another.
Today, I cry tears of disappointment – and, yes,
fear. But onward. Upwards.
It is what it is.
And I’ll say it again. Be kind to one another.
This is all, at the end of the day, that truly
matters.
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