I walked down Lake Shore Drive in the early hours after the election. The results weren't fully in yet, but the outcome was inevitable.
My heart pounded ferociously in my chest and my breath was short and staggered. Numbed by this awful moment in time, I stared off into the darkness of Chicago unable to process my thoughts and come to grip with this reality.
The best I could offer were tears of solace and solidarity for my friends who would live in fear for years to come. But my best wasn't even close to being good enough.
My mind was racing but I couldn't form sentences. My feelings changed without warning, unable to be put into words.
I was engulfed by the silence.
My opinions are simple: I don't care what you believe as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else. That simple thought is at the core of what I believe and how I act toward others.
So how was I supposed to live in a world fueled by hate? The only country I've ever known had turned its back on decency and love for our fellow citizens.
Then I wondered, how do the people I've known my whole life feel about this election? How is it affecting them?
And that's when it hit me. The people who claimed to be loving and compassionate and caring and religious and kind to all were no where to be found.
They weren't posting meaningful dialogue online. They weren't contributing to the conversation. And they weren't voicing their disgust for a person who was openly against everything they claimed to believe.
Throughout this election, I've been subjected to various forms of bullying by people on social media. Old high school classmates have called me a "spoiled brat" or a "fucktard". They've made assumptions about my character and the character of my friends. I've been attacked viciously by white supremacists on Twitter and had to listen to old white men at gigs angrily tell me why they support a misogynistic, tax evading, sexist demagogue.
Where were my "religious" friends when I needed defending? Where were my "religious" friends when Muslims, women, immigrants, the disabled, Veterans, Mexicans, and other groups were being marginalized? Where were they when their voice could have mattered the most?
They were no where to be found.
This isn't on me. The ones of us who spoke out and attended rallies are not to blame. We're not responsible for this setback to this country we love.
I'm sorry to my friends who are minorities. I'm sorry to my friends in the LGBTQ community. I'm sorry to the refugees and the women. I'm sorry to my wife and future children. I'm sorry to my friends with disabilities. I'm sorry to anyone with a religion other than the majority's. I'm sorry to the youth of America who will be bullied at school now because other children will have seen a person in power who bullies others, too.
I'm not religious. I don't go to church or send out "thoughts and prayers". I take action and make sure my voice is heard. I take a stand for what matters, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else.
As a white man, I'll be fine. I'll go about my life like nothing has changed and everything will work out. But I'm not fine.
I know everything will be okay, but things won't ever be the same.
I just wish the people who claim to have "values" - my family and friends who claim to be so "moral" and "good" - had done their part. I wish you had lived what you love to preach.
So to those people now, I say this:
I see you.
I see your "religion" and your "morality". But most of all, I see your hypocrisy.
Your silence has not gone unnoticed.
It's deafening.