My triumph in spite of Trump
Iarrived in Washington DC on the eve of an election that seemed sure to culminate in the US’s first female president. The polls looked promising and the prospect of another meaningful democratic victory bore a sense of endless possibility.
It was intoxicating. The idea that by the end of my fellowship I would be awarded a certificate by the US government, signed by Hillary Clinton, seemed second best to one signed by Barack Obama.
The scramble that followed — to convince the outgoing president to sign our certificates before vacating the White House — was a futile attempt to salvage our accolade. But we had to follow protocol, and protocol dictated that the sitting president sign off on all awards. That president: reality-TV personality Donald Trump.
Never mind that he was as credible as a Kardashian, the hateful rhetoric that defined his campaign for presidency — particularly against immigrants — and the widespread violence against people of colour that soon followed his victory made this a bitter pill to swallow.
As an African immigrant who looked Middle Eastern, I was already shaken by the incidents of police brutality that flooded my social media timelines. I was assured that I would be safe on campus but, like the president, things soon changed.
The discovery of a noose at a nearby university was the first sign, followed by another at a fraternity house on campus. Then a recent black graduate, who had served in the US army, was murdered by a fellow white student at the campus bus stop I used every day.
Everything changed. Power-crazed white people picked fights with random strangers in public. Anything progressive became an “alternative fact”. If you were not “red” or red in the face, you had a target on your back — and the gunman leading this hunt was citizen No 1.
On a mission to flex his new muscle, Trump began to make ludicrous changes to foreign policy. Along with his announcement of a “Muslim ban” and plans to proceed with construction of his infamous wall, news began to surface that he would cut funding to educational diplomatic programmes such as the Fulbright fellowship, of which some of the world’s greatest leaders are alumni.
Acquiring this prestigious fellowship was not child’s play; it took years of hard work and sacrifice, and here Trump was reducing it to a handout for poor third world countries.
We started to hear about delays in certificate delivery at other universities, which were forced to proceed with graduation ceremonies without the necessary documents. There was no guarantee that we would ever receive them. The White House could not commit to a deadline — and one didn’t have to think too hard as to why.
Sure, nobody could dismiss that we had completed our course as some kind of alternative fact.
I can’t imagine anyone being asked to present certified copies as proof, given the impressive track records participants already had. However, that someone so unqualified could simply decide to take away something so special, just because he felt like it, was deflating.
He signed, eventually, every last certificate awarded to representatives from every “s***hole” on the planet. His orange face probably turned red, having no choice but to endorse those whom he loathes.
His menacing signature, which looks ready to bite you and suck the blood out of your veins, is a reminder of what I was able to accomplish despite the hostility. It also reminds me that justice can and does prevail for those who dare fight for it.