On October 28, an old man sitting on a bench tossed “those f***s” at me as ashes dangled off his cigarette. My cheeks grew hot with a familiar shame. On October 31, wearing a backpack with pride flag straps, I bumped into a teenager, in Downtown Andover, and he spat out, “f*****.” The word cut through the autumn air like a scalpel. On November 1, less than a week before the presidential election, the All-School Meeting (ASM) speaker emphasized, “You are not your politics.” I sat in the pews, lightheaded and heavy-hearted. On November 5, nearing midnight, my friend in North Carolina called me, her hands smothering her face, sobbing, “I don’t know what I’ll do. They don’t want transgender people here, but I don’t know where I’ll go.” The following day, my All-Gender dorm wore mourning black on a pajama psych day. On November 7, in response to my Instagram story about relationships and how political beliefs now hold a direct relationship with identities, some texted “Grow up.” or “Looking at people differently because of politics is immature.” On November 8, at 2:00 a.m., I discovered a loved one of mine supported Donald Trump, information to which I replied with outrage and received the response, “It’s nothing personal. It’s just politics.”
The school is endorsing the popular argument that identity should be removed from political discussions through ASMs and the lack of direct addresses regarding the recent election results. The emphasis on neutrality in the new Civil Discourse Policy focused on the reputation of the school neglects to sufficiently recognize the impact of the election and suppression of political discussions can have on the student psyche. Taking such a perspective is unhealthy and oppressive to the groups of people whose rights were at stake in this election. Being able to consider politics from an “impersonal” stance is a privilege that not everyone can afford.
The school’s first mistake was the timing of the “You are not your politics” ASM by Jane Coaston, more so than the message itself. In the late 1960s, the second wave of the feminist movement challenged the idea of traditional political categorization. As a result of the movement, people finally accepted moral and trivial experiences of women’s daily lives, such as domestic life, childcare, abortion, and division of household labor, as results of oppressive political systems. Their rallying slogan — “the personal is political” — defied the idea that the problems of women were contained to those individuals, but rather issues that society had to wrangle against with policies. This concept of oppression standing relevant beyond the group that is strictly oppressed seems to have faded into history in our community. Andover students have had to form their own groups, often in commiseration, to find spaces to discuss their fears about how their identities are targeted by the platforms presented in this election. Just as students were encouraged by the school, larger discussions on how the elections may affect the rights of minority groups died down on campus or were limited to specific niches during a time in which students needed an outlet for healthy discourse to feel validated and supported. The people who are part of groups that will be affected the most by a change in the executive branch were framed to be unnecessarily argumentative or partial when they expressed opinions, justified with personal experiences and reasonable fears, about the election. The school may not have intended Coaston’s ASM to have such an impact, but in choosing a message like hers during a time like this, they implicitly allowed the removal of what may have been the last line of general support on campus for the students who were affected by this election the most. It is not my place to suggest what would have been the “correct” response; all I can offer is that the school’s response was nowhere near the best they could have done for me and my peers.
The school’s silence was poison to the student body. The lack of responses to the growing tension leading up to the election led to rampant hate speech on campus against many groups, especially the queer population. Although I acknowledge that this example is an oversimplification of the issue at hand, it allows me to abuse the shock factor of a notorious word: I was the target of the f-slur last year at Andover, on campus and downtown, zero times. However, in the two weeks preceding the election, my pink backpack, with pride flag straps, an old thing I had owned and worn for years, got me the f-slur treatment six times on campus. Six times more than the entirety of last year. My peers at Andover have told me how sexualizing jokes, homophobic comments, and blatant transphobia have been thrust their way as the suspense grew in the student body leading up to the election. Yet, the school did nothing. I am by no means accusing the school of turning a complacent blind eye to these issues, but rather, I am arguing that their inaction in addressing the election’s impacts on individuals allowed for these sentiments to fester on campus. The school sent out a list of spaces for meditation and calming activities after the election to cope with the results and the crash of anticipation, but escapism is a privilege that only the unaffected can take advantage of.
The school cannot give us radio silence for fear of controversy. We are teenagers going through a tumultuous time in our country’s history, confused and terrified by the polarization. Trembling at the potential loss of bodily autonomy and rights we took for granted, we were left in the dark to navigate a time of fear-mongering and hatred. One of the few clear messages received from the school was that we should remove our identities from politics. But do tell, how could I? It’s a privilege I never had.
