Earlier this week, my roommates and I gathered around the dining table, as we occasionally manage to do, sharing a few moments of comfort and some sense of a safe haven. One of my roommates brought up a discussion she had in class about how we move forward after this tumultuous election, which, I can confidently say, elicited some sort of emotional reaction from most Americans. As part of a smaller discussion about how people anticipate their relationships evolving, she told us that nearly the entire class expressed they would no longer remain friends with someone who either didn’t vote or voted for Trump. While I take issue with this perspective, I believe that fostering a discussion on this topic could provide valuable insights for both me as a writer and you as a reader. Thus, I have undertaken the somewhat daunting task of writing this analytical opinion piece to explore the dangers of homogenizing those who voted differently, the ethical implications of a vote, and the blocking, name-calling, and alienation I’ve observed on this campus. I write to the Harris voters, the Trump voters who were not guided by hatred, those who didn’t vote, and those too young to vote, hoping to start conversation and spark micro-level change, even if it affects just one person.
Homogenizing all of Trump’s supporters as racists, homophobes, xenophobes, or another seemingly apt and condemnatory term carries significant risks, both analytically and practically– even though support for a platform often suggests some level of alignment with or tolerance of its major tenets. The common understanding among Harris voters is that if you vote for Trump, you are actively supporting all of who he is and what he stands for, which seems reasonable given the ways in which many Democratic voters approach their votes.
The first danger of homogenization I’d like to highlight is the alienation of potential allies across party lines. Labeling all Trump supporters in such a way can create resentment and defensive backlash among individuals who do not identify with Trump and only see value in his perceived policies. Simplifying what is an extremely diverse Trump voter base additionally prevents a deeper examination of the social, economic, and psychological factors that drove 76,430,989 of our neighbors and friends toward his movement over Harris’. Broadly labeling all Trump supporters as deplorables or intolerant or ignorant can reinforce negative stereotypes on both sides, leading some voters to more strongly identify with Trump in opposition to what they view as elitism or misunderstanding from critics.
However, it’s also true that supporting a candidate generally implies a degree of acceptance, if not active endorsement, of their platform as a whole. For many people, voting involves grappling with complex choices, weighing priorities, and often accepting uncomfortable trade-offs. By supporting Trump, voters implicitly support his policies, including those that are racially and socially divisive. Still, outright reducing this choice to a single monolithic reason overlooks the complicated calculus many people engage in when they vote.
The decision to vote for a candidate is complex and often involves trade-offs. For many voters, especially in a two-party system, it can be difficult to find a candidate who aligns with their views on every issue. In cases where someone votes for a candidate despite disagreeing with certain aspects of their platform, one could interpret that choice as a form of implicit tolerance or prioritization of other interests. This type of voting may suggest that, even if they do not support certain policies, the voter feels that other issues—such as economic policies, judicial appointments, or other personal priorities—are more pressing to them than the candidate’s stance on social issues. Such a choice does not mean that the voter actively endorses all parts of a platform, but rather that they are making a calculated decision to tolerate aspects they disagree with in order to support other goals. This complexity is at the core of ethical debates around voting. Some might argue that such a decision risks contributing to the normalization or toleration of harmful policies, while others would say it’s a pragmatic choice in a limited system.
Here’s how I feel about this discussion: Many of Trump’s voters intended to support policies they believe will benefit themselves or their communities, such as national security or conservative judicial appointments. However, by voting for Trump, you also contribute to the broader impact of his platform, which includes rhetoric and policies that are harmful to marginalized communities. My ethical concern here is that, regardless of individual intentions, a vote for Trump still supports a broader agenda with significant, negative, social consequences. Thus, even if the intention was not to endorse hate, the impact can perpetuate and legitimize policies that harm others.
This leads us naturally into the conversation around purposeful vs. unintentional ignorance, and for this to happen, I ask you to first try to pop our WashU bubble. Some Trump supporters may actively downplay or dismiss elements of his platform that are divisive or discriminatory, a choice sometimes labeled as purposeful ignorance. In these cases, voters are often aware of Trump’s positions on race, immigration, and LGBTQ+ issues but may rationalize them as secondary or irrelevant to their primary motivations. From an ethical perspective, this can be seen as a form of selective moral disengagement—choosing to overlook uncomfortable truths that conflict with personal or political priorities. And in all honesty, I have no ideal solution for this and some days I am not interested in teaching someone to not hate me for reasons I can’t control. That is also okay.
Alternatively, however, the truth is that some supporters may not fully recognize the broader implications of Trump’s rhetoric or policies. This could stem from a limited awareness of how these policies impact marginalized communities or a tendency to interpret critiques as exaggerated or politically motivated media narratives. While in conversation with peers over the last week, I have seen that WashU students in particular are finding it difficult to grapple with this type of ignorance in a non-accusatory way, and perhaps my best eye-opener was the statistics. Approximately half of American voters chose Trump, and no matter how upset you may be with a select, vocal bunch of the Trump supporters on your newsfeeds and Instagrams, it is extremely unreasonable to believe that approximately half of the people around you are proud racists. Every one of us likely loves at least one Trump supporter whether we know it or not. Unintentional ignorance stems often from cycles of isolation within ideological echo chambers or limited interaction with diverse perspectives, making it harder to see or empathize with the broader social consequences. This is not an endorsement or a get-out-of-jail free pass for the more privileged Trump voter, it is simply just a perspective to consider. In practice, the line between purposeful and unintentional ignorance can be blurred. Even those who are genuinely uninformed bear some responsibility to educate themselves, especially when a candidate’s positions involve widely publicized issues that impact the civil rights and wellbeing of others. Yet, individuals often feel compelled to prioritize their immediate concerns over unfamiliar or abstract ethical considerations, which complicates this responsibility. For the group of Trump voters who felt this way and who are not wishing to legislate hate, please keep reading–I have thoughts for you that I urge you to consider at the end.
Now, to address the series of posts I have seen blocking and name calling and starting fights with Republicans and Trump voters online. For democracy to function, it’s essential to engage in discourse that allows for persuasion and change. When the Democratic Party or its supporters dismiss individuals as ignorant or “too far gone,” it risks losing potential allies who might be persuaded by patient, informed, and empathetic communication. Voters rarely switch positions when they feel insulted or belittled. Instead, emphasizing shared values, even if modest, can create openings for gradual shifts in perspective. Listening doesn’t mean validating harmful views but rather recognizing the complex motivations that lead people to support certain candidates. Democrats ignored clear signals– like when the American people were very clearly angry about inflation. Democratic strategists, rather than addressing the concerns of voters struggling to make ends meet, focused on defending the status quo, insisting that the economy was fine and suggesting that public discontent stemmed from a lack of understanding.
When you’re personally affected by hate or discrimination, it’s hard not to see the effort of educating others as an additional emotional burden. Being expected to educate others on issues like racism or homophobia, particularly when those same individuals aren’t acknowledging their role in perpetuating harm, can feel like you’re sacrificing your well-being for the comfort of others. Further, racism, homophobia, and other forms of discrimination are often deeply embedded in historical and societal systems. Asking marginalized groups to be the ones to fix these issues, without systemic changes that address the root causes, can feel not only unfair but futile. However, the simple act of listening and sharing can, at times, provide unexpected breakthroughs. Even if it feels like you’re not getting through at first, engaging with others who hold hateful or ignorant views can plant seeds of doubt that grow over time. Sometimes, the most unexpected people can shift their views when they are met with consistent, calm, and compassionate engagement. This engagement benefits our collective in ways that are desperately needed right now.
Finally, to the Trump supporter who claims not to believe in hate: I want to trust that your vote for Trump stemmed from a belief that he would safeguard your interests. But voting is not where our civic responsibility ends; it also demands that we work toward the common good. It has emboldened fearful, hate-filled white supremacists, granting them both a platform and a dangerous sense of self-righteousness. If you cast your vote for Trump and do not consider yourself a racist, then there is a shared responsibility here—to confront and undo the permission that your vote to Trump has indirectly, through his rhetoric and proposed policies, given to Americans to harass other Americans.
Maya Santhanam ‘27 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. She is a staff writer and can be reached at m.j.santhanam@wustl.edu.