No Place for Difference

In the wake of this election, I find myself grappling with a deep, visceral sorrow—an aching disillusionment that gnaws at the heart of what I thought America aspired to be. This was not just another election. It felt like a test, a reckoning with our own beliefs, our own fears, and our willingness to uphold the values we so often claim to cherish: fairness, integrity, and an unwavering commitment to democracy. And as I watched the results unfold, as I saw one candidate—a leader who embodied these principles of democracy, of integrity, of unity—set aside for another who seemed to reject them at every turn, I was left bewildered. Bewildered and, perhaps more painfully, disheartened.

The candidate chosen by so many voters represented all that we were told to denounce. Here was a figure marred by lies, ethical breaches, and a history of disdain for the rule of law—a leader who exploited the very ideals he claimed to defend. And standing opposite was someone who championed democracy and inclusion, who lifted up the values that have held us together for centuries, who dared to believe that America could be a place for everyone. This choice seemed so obvious, so clear, and yet it was rejected. And in that rejection, I couldn’t help but feel that what was being cast aside was more than just a candidate. It was a vision of America as a nation that belongs to all its people, in all their beautiful diversity.

And so, I am left wondering: where did this rejection, this rage, this grievance come from? What fears and grievances lay hidden beneath the surface, guiding so many to choose exclusion over inclusion, comfort over progress? Was it fear—that someone who didn’t look like the traditional leader could again stand at the nation’s helm? Or perhaps it was the notion that we had “checked that box” of diversity, having once elected a leader of color, and could now return to a narrow image of who gets to lead. Or maybe it was the idea that only men—“strong, masculine” men—are fit to lead this country, and that women belong in the home, not in the Oval Office.

Was it her inclusiveness, her willingness to embrace people whose identities, perspectives, and orientations differ from the mainstream? Did this willingness to stand with “the other” trigger the fear that America was moving too far from a narrow vision of what it means to be American? Or perhaps it was even the fact that she was the daughter of immigrants, of Indian and African descent, that reminded some of an America they had not signed up for—a complex, ever-evolving America that reflects a broader swath of humanity than ever before.

In voting booths across the country, was it this unease with difference, with change, that guided their hands? Was it a vote for a world that minimizes “the other” and embraces only those who belong to an “in-crowd,” to a narrow view of who gets to lead, who gets to belong, who is worthy? This choice feels like a rejection of the American promise that this nation is for everyone. And as I wrestle with that reality, a profound sadness settles in—not only for the loss of a candidate but for what it says about our collective willingness to build an America that truly holds a place for all.

This decision feels like a testament to a mindset that is still gripped by fear—a mindset that claims to value merit but only when it reinforces a narrow view of leadership and worth. For years, we have held up meritocracy as the principle guiding who gets to lead, as if competence and character were the measures by which we would choose our leaders. And yet, when confronted with a candidate whose record embodied those very virtues, we rejected her in favor of someone whose entire career has been marred by dishonesty, divisiveness, and self-interest. This election, more than any other, has made it painfully clear that “merit” is often a guise for comfort, for keeping power in the hands of the familiar, of those who look, act, and think like the traditional leaders we have always known.

Those who rail against diversity, equity, and inclusion—labeling it as “identity politics” or a distraction from “real” American values—seem, in this choice, to have engaged in the very identity-based thinking they claim to reject. They disregarded merit, dismissed integrity, and chose instead a symbol of sameness, of a bygone era where difference was something to be feared, not celebrated. Their strategy was one of exclusion, of a fervent adherence to identity politics that discounts the merits and potential of anyone who does not fit a narrow mold.

And so, I am left bewildered, questioning a society that claims to uphold meritocracy but seems, in practice, to fall back on the fear of difference. This choice reflects a collective decision not only about who will lead us but about the kind of country we want to be. Will we continue to reject difference, to retreat into old notions of who “belongs” in power, or will we finally recognize that true strength lies in diversity, in building a society that reflects the full, complex tapestry of its people?

Yet, even amid this deep hurt, I am reminded of those who came before us, who faced rejection and pain far greater than my own and yet continued to fight. I think of our ancestors who, despite being battered by hatred and exclusion, still clung to the hope that America could live up to its founding ideals. Their legacy is one of resilience, of a refusal to be broken, and it is that legacy that urges us to keep moving forward. They remind us that true change rarely comes in a single wave; it is built, painstakingly, across generations.

In this moment, as painful as it is, we are being called to carry forward their fight, to ensure that America remains a place where everyone has a place. We must keep pushing for a future where difference is not something to be minimized but something to be celebrated—a future where merit and inclusion are not hollow promises but principles we live by. We owe it to ourselves, to our ancestors, and to the generations yet to come to continue this fight, to build a nation where no one is excluded for being different, where each of us has a role in shaping the promise of this country.

Perhaps, in time, we will look back on this election as yet another test of our national soul, another challenge to rise above fear and reaffirm our commitment to building an America where there truly is a place for everyone. And though today may be marked by sorrow, I hold onto the belief that tomorrow, we can build a future where difference is not feared but cherished—a future that finally lives up to the ideals we hold so dear.

Effenus Henderson