Learning to Love an Unlovable Man
Last week—no, the last many months—have been difficult for me. I've sat down many times to write about what this presidential election means for America. But I don't write about politics. I write about words, mind, spirituality and the human condition, so I struggled with how to write about a phenomena which is so huge, so important, and so often repugnant.
I began writing a story about the slogans of both candidates, and what their choice of language to define themselves said about them. It wasn't a bad story, but I couldn't gain traction with it. For months I've been feeling anger, disappointment and a raft of other negative emotions at the obvious racism, misogyny and elitism exhibited by one of the candidates and his supporters, and examining both candidate's slogans seemed like a cop out. Putting my emotions on the shelf and just writing about words seemed like an act of cowardice instead of an act of bravery.
And then finally this week, the last straw: Donald Trump bragging about molesting women, and both his and his apologists dismissing it as just idle “locker room banter.”
Before I go any further, full disclosure is in order. I grew up in Donald Trump’s world. I went to an elite private high school and was surrounded by money and privilege. It was in a different city, a different generation, but the rules were still the same. I was captain of high school sports teams that won championships. I played sports at a very high level in college. So I know something about locker room talk and winning.
I also have two sisters, many female friends, and a mother and aunts who I respect and love dearly. When I heard Trump's comments I was so angry all I could think was that if he had been on my team I would've thrown him up against the lockers and told him if he ever talked that way again he would be off the team. He is not the kind of person a leader wants on a winning team. A single morally corrupt person can turn a winning team into a loser.
This whole "locker room talk” justification was, I realized, an affront to my own ego, an assault on myself and the many hundreds of thousands of good male athletes who would never act that way. I was pissed. I even sat down and started to write an essay about it.
And then I watched a PBS Frontline special about both Trump's and Hillary Clinton's childhoods. I learned about his cold, unloving father, about his being shipped off to a strict military school at thirteen, about how the only spiritual upbringing he had was attending Norman Vincent Peal's Marble Collegiate Church in Manhattan, which preached success and winning above all else. And suddenly it hit me: Donald Trump didn't need my fierce anger or condemnation; he'd been getting that his whole life. He was getting it now. What he needed was something he's never had: to be loved.
Now don't get me wrong. I'm not going to vote for him, or condone his actions, or have any delusion that one act of defiance to choose love instead of condemnation will change him. He will likely go to his grave believing he's right and justified in his behavior. A lifetime of privilege and having people (including wives) kow-tow to you for your material wealth and fame will do that to you. I pity him for never knowing what he has missed.
I also have no illusions. I am certain his actions have caused much harm and pain to very many good people. And my love and compassion goes out to them in infinite ways that are hard to imagine. But if I ever met Trump in person, I would no longer throw him up against the lockers. I now know better than to stoop to his bullying tactics. Would I give him a big hug and tell him I love him? I doubt it. I don't think he'd understand. I once did prison ministry work with a convicted child molestor who was in a maximum security prison for life. It took years to get him to finally see the harm he had caused others. So I do know transformation is possible, but it takes time. However, one has to start somewhere, and I think that “somewhere” is to have the courage to stand up to hatred with the heart of compassion.
Perhaps some friends and readers will condemn me for even suggesting loving a man whose views, actions and words are so vile. But somehow, having compassion for him just feels like the right thing to do; it feels better than hating him. Imagine what kind of man he could have been if he had been loved as a child, if he had been taught to love, to have compassion and empathy for others instead of using them, grabbing them, trampling them as "losers" to turn himself into a "winner." He might have been a great leader.
Donald Trump taught me a lot this past week.