Losing hold
OBAMA’S ELECTION IN 2008 was the first presidential race I was old enough to remember. Granted, I was nine years old at the time, but even through a child’s eyes I’ll never forget the countless fundraisers my mother hosted and her insistence that we volunteer at the campaign office. Like many other black households in America, the cultural and racial significance of his presidency – and what it could mean for black families like ours – was discussed at the dinner table every night. My best friend and her family held different views – I could tell from the contrasting signs fixed in our front lawns – but it didn’t matter then. We were nine, after all.
As we matured, I gravitated towards the left and she gravitated towards the right, but still we filed those differences away. Instead of engaging, we abstained from political discussions entirely. And while our lunchtime topics may have erred on the side of the superficial, I took comfort in knowing that at least they weren’t divisive.
Even Trump’s
