Over the weekend, America witnessed an act of political violence. It was a scary, sobering event, regardless of which side of the aisle you fall on. 

However, what surprised me most was how right-wing conservatives seemed surprised by this act of violence. Politicians on all sides are saying, “America isn’t a politically violent nation” and “That’s not who we want to become.”

The implication is that America has never been a politically violent nation. 

But political violence is as American as apple pie. Because the ruling class has turned minoritized identities into political identities, all violence against us is political violence. Given that history, America has been a politically violent nation from its inception.

Political violence is nothing new to the red, white, and blue.

When we understand the history, I can’t help but ask: Why do religious conservatives only call for an end to political violence when it occurs against a straight, white, cisgender man?

Where were they when Tamir Rice was murdered? Or George Floyd? Or Breonna Taylor? They were saying, “If he’d just been compliant” or “If they just looked less threatening,” they’d still be alive.

Where were they after the Pulse massacre? After Club Q? They were saying that if the clubgoers were “less flamboyant” and “less queer,” they’d still be alive.

In the scenarios above, the far-right suggests the minoritized dead are responsible for the violence against them. But when a straight, cisgender white man is the one shot at, he’s suddenly a blameless victim of a hate-filled crime. 

As tragic as the Republican rally shooting was, it was not the first act of political violence this or of any of Donald Trump’s election cycles. It won’t be the last. By this point, it’s probably not even the most recent.

I’ve seen many on social media indicate how terrible life must be for Trump now that he has to fear for his life wherever he goes. They use that as an argument for progressives to be more empathetic to Trump, even as he continues to promote policies that seek to disenfranchise Americans’ rights.

While I would never wish that fear on anyone, it is remiss of those folks not to realize that it is a fear that is the daily reality of too many of their neighbors. 

Because extreme right-wing media has reduced my existence to a political talking point, I fear I may be the victim of violence any time I go into rural areas. When my wife and I take road trips where we know we will pass through communities with a higher population of anti-LGBTQ+ individuals, we plan our bathroom breaks in places with numerous witnesses.

When a stranger looks at me and my beard with disgust, I pray a silent prayer that their disdain for me stops with their eyes and doesn’t progress to their fists.  

While Trump will never experience the level of discrimination that I, other queer people, people of color, or too many others to name will, he now has the slightest taste of what daily life is like for the innumerable Americans his policies seek to oppress. 

I hope it tastes bitter in his mouth. I hope it tastes rancid enough to make him spit out the toxicity of his divisive policies in favor of those intended to better the lives of all Americans. I don’t wish this out of hatred, but from a deep desire that he experience what Paul did on the road to Damascus.

When Jesus appeared to him, Paul was struck with the realization that those he was hurting were his kin—not literally but in spirit—his countrymen, his neighbors, his siblings in God.

When he had that revelation, he could no longer oversee the systems that caused his neighbors harm. Paul became a better person after tragically losing his sight and then having it restored by the very people he vilified.

That is my prayer for Trump and all of us: that we remember our words and actions have consequences and that what we believe about one another can lead to lasting violence or incredible growth. We all have a responsibility to decry violence when we see it, but that does not make us immune from the consequences of how our words and actions contribute to that violence. 

Lord, help us be like Paul. Let the scales fall from our eyes so we can see our neighbors in the fullness from which you created them. 

Let us see the worth you embedded in their souls and protect that divine spark. Let us see all our neighbors as our kin and wish for them nothing but the best life has to offer.

Because that is the only way forward and I don’t want to be left behind.

Amen.