Hate Again

Hate Again

I hate Trump. I hate everything about him. I hate the people surrounding him. I despise, detest, and deplore these people. I hope they receive their proper comeuppance. I never thought I would feel this way about politicians in America, and therefore (some) Americans. I didn’t know the depths of my capacity for hatred. It isn’t a pleasant piece of knowledge—self-knowledge. I am a hater! I admit it. All you need is love, but all you feel is hate. Countless others feel the same way. How does one live with this degree of hate? How can it not corrupt one’s soul? It’s a daily battle. But, strangely enough, I was prepared for it—I had been schooled and tested in hate. Because I hate a lot of other people too—people I used to like, approve of, regard as friends. I won’t name them. They are mainly American, but not exclusively. I am steeped in hate and have been for over a decade. It isn’t fun. I had no idea that I was capable of this kind of hate or that people I trusted could elicit it. (This doesn’t mean I don’t like or love many other people, perhaps more so than before.) It gnaws at you, ruins your day, warps your suffering soul. As the saying goes, it sucks. You have to fight it, try to escape it, transcend it. But hate is not easily vanquished or even reduced. It is stubborn, persistent. I don’t expect to surmount it in this lifetime. Do you find this shocking? Because I do: I never imagined I would be subjected to this much hate. It makes a mockery of the Christian admonition to love universally. It’s just not possible, or even desirable. Every time I see Trump on TV (or his apologists) the hate wells up—the bitter, wrenching feeling of disgust, disapproval, disdain. The stupidity, cruelty, self-centeredness, lack of common decency, sheer nastiness—what else can you feel? So, to those out there nursing a similar set of feelings, you are not alone. I think we do well to own up to it, because otherwise it will consume us.