Empathy for the Devil

I constantly make efforts to empathize with others—though it may not seem like it.

When I attempt empathy for ‪Tяump‬ over the past 24 hours, I get to “This is an old man suffering, and possibly fearing the worst,” and I feel it. I do. It’s frightening.

As I proceed in my journey, I am impeded by obstacles like hateful words where there should have been comforting words, lies that cost thousands of lives, and a constant onslaught of selfish bullshit that leaves destroyed families in its wake. Children raped, parents grieving over lynched children, people suffering long-term damage from a virus that could have been stopped…

I cannot wish him well. I have tried. Truly. As a yellow person with a brown child, two girls, and a job that involves helping some of the most vulnerable Americans, I am unable to reach that point.

I do not wish him dead, because I still have that shred of my Quaker upbringing. I DO wish him to experience a lot of what he has done to others.

And when he finally dies, I will celebrate. Because fuck him.

Hit me. I can take it.

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