One foreign student’s love letter to America

This week Donald Trump was elected as America’s 45th President. I didn’t find myself angry or even shocked — just afraid and confused. America, are you telling me to go back home? There are no sides or crafty spins in my question to you, only a genuine fear for my continued presence here.

{mosads}I didn’t come here to hurt anyone, to take anyone’s job, or to trample on any of the values that unite this country. I came here to study, and to learn more about a world that was broadcast into my home at the tip of Africa ever since I was a young child.

In my fifth grade at school I remember learning about the Mayflower that transported the first pilgrims to this New World. Since then I always believed America to be a beacon of renewal and opportunity. It sparked my desire to travel, to learn more about other people and cultures, and to put down a bit of my heart in every place I have lived. You asked me to celebrate your greatness and I did. But now I worry you don’t feel the same way.

I don’t look like you, for the most part. The darkness of my skin, the queerness of my sexuality, the green South African passport I carry, and the Muslim household that I was born into — all follow me around the world.

I have never let others abuse these things to dent my self-worth, even as I have sometimes felt unsafe, unwanted, and unheard. Now with an American president-elect who has vilified most, if not all, of these aspects of my identity, I wonder if I should leave, and to where. There are fewer and fewer places in the world where a majority aren’t against some aspect of who I am. I thought I was safe here, but it now feels like the list just got one shorter.

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Perhaps I am over-exaggerating. I hope so. But sentiment against other groups in society lays a tempting foundation for power, which in turn builds this up as culture, carves it into policy, and cements it with law.

The wall you eventually complete may keep people out, but it will also keep you apart. I was born in the year the Berlin Wall fell, and grew up in the dying days of Apartheid. I know of separation and its dark history of bringing deep sadness. I don’t wish this sadness on anyone — and certainly not on you.

I know that you have a tough time keeping the peace globally, as well as keeping yourselves safe. And when you misstep, as you sometimes do, you often bear the brunt of criticism as an open, liberal democracy.

My eyes also opened to the pain you must feel as student debt soars and the cost of healthcare bankrupts you. 

I share your disdain for convenient loopholes that exist to shield the rich from paying their fair share in tax, even as the gap continues to widen between them and many of you. 

I’ve broken bread with supporters of both presidential candidates — Democrats, Republicans, and independents — and been shocked to hear intolerance flow from both sides; between people and the establishment; between hinterland and coasts; and amongst all the different pluralities that make America strong and great. 

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And so you spoke. You elected Donald Trump and stunned a world that refused to heed Brexit and the signs of the times. I worry now that you may openly wear some of the labels of hate that sow divisions and devalue your own neighbors — sexism, homophobia, racism, xenophobia, Islamophobia. 

I don’t believe this the real America, though I know there are always some who do feel this way. Ultimately we all want happiness, success, love, safety, and security — and I do believe that the majority of you are proud of the many years America has spent fighting injustice. I saw that glimmer of hope when I heard Trump’s victory speech and its conciliatory, humbled tone. I hoped it was a sign of leadership to come in a very uncertain future — a hope for bringing us back together.  But it must begin with you, the people. 

As George Washington once wrote, “I had always hoped that this land might become a safe and agreeable asylum to the virtuous and persecuted part of mankind, to whatever nation they might belong.” 

I wonder now if this is America endures. I wonder if I am still welcome.

Bhorat is a political commentator, media and entertainment junkie, and technology futurist residing in Santa Monica, California. He was a Rhodes scholar in 2012. He has been published in openDemocracy (U.K.) and Business Day Live (South Africa). Follow him on Twitter @bhoraticle. 

The views expressed by contributors are their own and not the views of The Hill.