Not A Mandate: Resistance is required, not futile.

As we brace for another Trump White House, let's remember most Americans did not endorse his chaos

History has a way of teaching us through patterns. In 2008, pundits rushed to blame Black voters for marriage equality's failure in California—a narrative that persisted even after data proved it false. Today, we're witnessing a similar misdiagnosis, with the transgender community becoming the new scapegoat for electoral disappointments.

While Republicans did pour resources into anti-transgender advertising campaigns filled with inflammatory rhetoric and falsehoods, exit polls and post-election research tell a different story. These attacks, though reprehensible, weren't the decisive factor many claim them to be. The truth lies deeper, in a profound crisis of democratic participation and institutional trust.

During my time as an Air Force Academy cadet in the early 1980s, I learned a crucial lesson in Combat Survival Training: survival often demands accepting pain as the price of victory. Our SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape) instructor emphasized that people often perish not from lack of options, but from hesitation to accept necessary suffering—like choosing between a broken leg and certain death. The key to survival, he taught us, was mental preparation for the challenges ahead.

This lesson resonates powerfully as we approach another Trump presidency. The coming months will bring a barrage of destructive policies and inflammatory rhetoric. But we must not let fear paralyze us or cloud our judgment. Instead, we need to steel ourselves now for the resistance ahead, understanding that while the path forward will be difficult, it is far from hopeless.

The mathematics of the 2024 election tell a crucial story: this was no mandate for authoritarianism. With 86 million Americans abstaining from voting—exceeding both Trump's 76.6 million and Harris's 74 million votes—non-participation emerged as the election's dominant force. Trump actually received fewer votes than Biden did in 2020, and neither candidate secured a majority. Put simply, seven out of ten eligible voters either rejected Trump or refused to participate entirely.

What's particularly troubling is how we've normalized this democratic dysfunction. While other developed democracies consistently achieve turnout rates of 70-80%—with countries like Belgium, Sweden, and Denmark regularly exceeding 80%—the United States routinely ranks near the bottom of established democracies in voter participation. This should be a source of national shame and urgent concern, yet it's often dismissed as business as usual. Our acceptance of mass voter disengagement reflects a deeper crisis in our democratic culture.

Understanding these numbers is vital for several reasons. First, they expose the true crisis: not a surge in extremist support, but a dangerous disengagement from democratic participation. Second, they reveal unexpected opportunities for coalition-building among those seeking to protect basic rights, healthcare access, free speech, economic justice, and environmental sustainability.

The parallels between our present moment and the 1930s are striking. The New Deal emerged from similar conditions: extreme wealth inequality, economic collapse, and widespread distrust in institutions. Today's widening wealth gap, political dysfunction, and economic instability create comparable conditions for transformative change.

Trump's appeal isn't rooted primarily in policy positions, but in his promise of systematic disruption. For many Americans struggling with stagnant wages, unaffordable healthcare, and crumbling infrastructure, his role as a "human wrecking ball" represents their best hope for change. His message resonates with both real economic hardship and manufactured anxieties about American decline, skillfully blending legitimate grievances about inequality with fabricated fears about immigration and social change.

Democrats often respond to electoral defeats by retreating toward centrism, abandoning progressive principles in an attempt to appease opposition. This pattern now threatens transgender rights, much as it once compromised on civil rights, women's rights, and marriage equality. But history shows that such compromises fail when facing opponents whose goal is complete erasure rather than negotiation.

The real story of 2024 involves the intersection of widespread disillusionment, rampant disinformation, and the manipulation of both genuine economic distress and manufactured cultural grievances. While Democrats debate moderation versus progressivism, right-wing forces flood media channels with disinformation, offering bold—if destructive—visions of change that resonate with discouraged voters.

The years ahead will test our resolve, but they also offer unprecedented opportunities for transformation. What others might destroy, we can rebuild—stronger, fairer, and more inclusive than before. The key lies in preparing ourselves mentally for the challenge, understanding that resistance isn't futile—it's essential. And while the path forward involves pain, it leads toward a future worth fighting for.