1/20/2025

Growing up in a small town (population 5,392), my community wasn’t just a place—it was my whole world. Everyone knew each other, and the connections ran deeper than friendship—they were familial. The lessons I learned from neighbors, teachers, coaches, and even friends’ parents were about kindness, respect, and community. This was a place where you could count on people—whether you needed help moving furniture or just a shoulder to cry on. It was a place where love was tangible, where the bonds were strong, and where everyone looked out for one another.

We shared everything—laughter, sorrow, victories, and defeats. Life in a small town wasn’t about individualism; it was about collective experience. It was the kind of community that, when tragedy struck, everyone showed up at your door with a casserole. We grieved together, celebrated together, and were there for each other in ways that were genuine and unspoken. There was no pretense. What one person went through, the whole town felt.

That’s what makes watching my community unravel so painful. What happened to the values that shaped me? The values of empathy, kindness, and unity that I learned from the very people now praising someone who embodies hatred, fear, and division? Seeing people I grew up with—teachers, coaches, mentors—support someone like Trump is not just disheartening; it’s a betrayal of everything I was taught. How is it possible that the very community that once taught me to care for others, to show respect for people of all backgrounds, now idolizes a man who stands for everything we were taught to avoid?

It’s hard enough to know that some people voted for him, but it’s even more unsettling to see how they openly glorify him. And what’s worse, they are passing that glorification on to the next generation. I saw a post today from someone who once taught me the value of understanding, empathy, and standing up for what’s right. Now, this person proudly shares a photo of their child, barely old enough to understand the weight of their words, expressing admiration for Trump. A child—whose innocence is now tied to admiration for a man convicted of sexual assault, who has endorsed racist policies, and who regularly spreads division and fear.

How are we letting our children learn this? How are we allowing them to idolize a man who has openly harmed so many? This isn’t just about politics—it’s about what we’re teaching the next generation about morality, empathy, and respect for others. The idea that a child can grow up believing that someone like Trump is worthy of admiration makes me sick to my stomach. The irony is not lost on me that someone who was once an integral part of my upbringing now stands as an example of how easily these values can be distorted.

And this goes beyond just one person. It represents something far more troubling happening in my community as a whole. The seeds of division, fear, and hatred were always there, simmering beneath the surface. But now, more than ever, they’re being allowed to grow unchecked. These attitudes have been normalized, spread, and amplified by the very people who once stood for empathy and inclusion. It’s heartbreaking to see how deeply ingrained these divisions have become in the fabric of my town. The values that we once shared—values that I thought were the foundation of who we were—are being replaced by something far uglier, and it feels like a betrayal of everything I was taught to believe in.

It’s also important to understand how we got here. The shift in political discourse, especially after the Civil Rights Movement, didn’t happen overnight. After the victories of the Civil Rights era, there needed to be a new way to galvanize support among voters, particularly white working-class voters. That’s when the focus shifted toward a new enemy: immigrants. The “us versus them” rhetoric became a tool for political leaders to divide people, to create a new narrative about “those who don’t belong,” and to distract from the real issues at hand. This narrative played on people’s fears and insecurities, turning immigrants into scapegoats for issues that were far more complex.

This strategy became even more effective in the decades following, and now we’re seeing the result of that long-term manipulation. The same people who once taught me to embrace diversity and unity now champion a man whose policies directly harm marginalized communities. And they’re teaching the next generation to follow in those same footsteps. It’s a loss that feels impossible to reconcile.

The worst part is knowing how deeply this division is rooted in lies. The narratives about immigrants, the fear of the “other,” the dangerous rhetoric that paints people as criminals based on their skin color or where they were born—it’s all based on lies. We know the truth: immigrants are not the problem. They are part of the fabric of our economy, our communities, and our lives. But it doesn’t matter. The lies are louder, and the fear is more contagious than any truth we can offer.

It’s devastating to watch my small town fall prey to these lies, to see people who once stood with me in support of what’s right now turn a blind eye to the cruelty and hatred that Trump and his supporters spread. What happened to the town that used to feel like family? What happened to the values we once shared? How did we allow division and hate to seep into the place that raised us? It’s a loss that I’m not sure how to grieve, because it feels like the very essence of what it means to belong to this community has been erased.

But the truth is, we can’t afford to let the division win. It’s time to rebuild, to form new communities grounded in the values that once made us whole—empathy, kindness, and solidarity. It’s okay to grieve the loss of what we once had, but we cannot let that grief paralyze us. We must take responsibility for shaping the future, not just as individuals, but as neighbors, as people who still believe in the power of unity over hate. We must become more involved, more present, and more vocal in our neighborhoods, in our schools, and in our communities. We can no longer allow the destructive forces of division to determine our path forward. The time for healing and rebuilding is now—and it begins with us.

Pack and Prose