A Letter to My Family: Please Don't Vote for Trump

I didn’t want to write this letter.

While I’ve always known there are significant political differences in our family (you leaning conservative, and I leaning liberal), I have never presumed that we have to think the same way about government in order to still be family. I have always admired the virtues of traditional conservatism, especially the integrity of smaller government and fiscal restraint. I'm not sure I could have voted for Reagan, but I always admired Bob Dole and George H.W. Bush.

But times they are a-changin’, and political parties ain’t what they used to be. And this year, your preferred party nominated someone who doesn’t sound or act at all like a traditional conservative. Now, I hear through the grapevine—through Facebook, actually—that you are planning to vote for the GOP nominee, Donald Trump, for President. When I heard, it felt like a punch in my gut. I felt hurt—and angry. So I’ve decided to try and put my feelings into words. I don’t presume they’ll change your mind. I don’t presume my words have that much power. But if this letter starts a conversation between us… or if this letter simply helps me understand the reason for my visceral response (and through it, my own convictions), I think it will have been worth it.

So here goes…

Donald Trump strikes me as a human being with an ugly character. “Character” is an old-fashioned notion. Maybe it seems fuddy-duddy to talk about character. Fuddy-duddy or not, I believe that character is the most important means that we have of measuring another human being. And while "measuring" other people is a precarious endeavor, it's something we all must do when we are considering entering into a relationship in which trust is required. Whether it be a marriage covenant, an important business deal, or asking someone to serve as our president, we must be able to fairly evaluate a person's character. Our character has to do with our morals, our sense of what is right and good, what motivates us in life, how we think about and treat others—and maybe most importantly, what we do when no one else is looking. As I’ve gotten to see Donald Trump during this campaign, his character appears to me to be not only suspect, but deficient. He seems like a bad man. Like someone, if he were my son, about whom I would feel ashamed.

I’ll admit that I was predisposed to not liking Trump. Growing up in the ‘80s, one of my best friends loved him—he had a Trump poster on his bedroom wall with a head shot from “The Art of the Deal.” Even as a teenager, it was not hard to tell that Trump sought to embody the superficial excesses of the 80s: sex, coke, greed, and big hair. He was cozy with Playboy Magazine, he had a jet. His image was all about money. “Conspicuous consumption.” “I’m worthy, because I’m rich.”

This is a morally vacuous identity. You know I take the Bible seriously. And the Bible and the Christian tradition (to which I imperfectly conform my own life) are clear: the love of money is the root of all evil. It twists and distorts the human character. If you trust Luke in the story of the Rich Man and Lazarus, it's the path to hell.

Having money and making money are not bad in and of themselves. Many people admire Trump because they think his wealth is a result of his superb business skills--skills they believe will make him a good president. Some people who are wealthy are good business people, or effective managers (like a Mitt Romney). But Trump is a bad businessman. And it’s pretty clear that the reason why is that he’s a greedy, money-loving son of a bitch. Every good business person knows that the business world is not a zero-sum game. “Deal-making” is about compromise and building trust, seeking mutually-beneficial outcomes. Trump treats people like crap. He burns bridges, he abuses the people who work with and for him. He loves to screw his enemies. That’s not just bad morals—that’s bad business. It’s unprofitable over the long term. Any sense that Trump is a good businessman comes either from his own egotistical bragging or because he skillfully played the role of a successful businessman on a fictional television show. If he were, in truth, a great businessman, wouldn't other business leaders be lining up to support him? They are nowhere to be found. We are judged by our peers--Trump's peers have rendered their verdict.

Perhaps my feelings would be softened if Trump used his money for charitable purposes. “With great power comes great responsibility.” But people who have looked into Trump’s “charitable” foundation, his refusal to release his taxes and show what he gives to others, and the testimonies of people who know him, all suggest that the man doesn’t give a thing to others. I grew up learning that 10% was a starting point for what a good person gives away—if we could give more than that, we should. It’s entirely possible that I gave away more to charity last year than Trump.

This leads me to believe that Donald Trump is selfish. Selfishness is one of the hardest-to-forgive sins. As a father, I know that selfishness is where we begin as human beings—it’s what we expect from three year-olds on the playground. But when children grow into mature adults, we learn that we live in an interdependent world. “Do unto others, as you would have others do unto you” becomes a way of life. It shows we understand that we live only because of the generosity and kindness we receive from others. We give because we have first received. Generosity keeps the world going. Selflessness is the mark of a morally mature human being. Trump plays in a sandbox. He acts like the world revolves around him.

He’s not just selfish. He’s mean. Honest-to-God mean. I don’t want to dig up every mean thing he’s said (he’s said so many). Some people take joy in his mean remarks—it can feel satisfying when someone puts down a person that we don’t like, too (and honestly, that perverse joy could be a bit of what's motivating this letter). But at some level, saying mean things about people on a daily basis becomes a negative mark on a person’s character. Trump acts like a schoolyard bully—a person who picks on people who are different from himself. We all know why people pick on others: in order to make themselves feel good. They do it because they have looked inside themselves, at their own character, and find very little to feel good about. Trump likes to celebrate the "strong," and belittle the "weak." Not only is this antithetical to way Jesus teaches us to treat others, but it's a behavior that betrays the paradox it seeks to conceal: only the truly weak person makes fun of others' weaknesses. Trump clearly wrestles with profound personal insecurity. The meanness, the constant bragging, are compensations by someone who would rather not face the truth of his own soullessness.

Perhaps the hardest aspect of his character for me to deal with is how crudely he treats women. As a husband and the father of a daughter (and a son who is coming of age and learning to relate to women), I try my hardest to respect women—not just the women in my own family, but all women. The manner in which he treated Fox News journalist Megyn Kelly was vile, disgusting, matched only by the way he’s now treating Alicia Machado, a former beauty pageant winner. He behaves like a man who values women mostly for their sexual availability—but who loathes women who challenge him or show him up in any way, or would presume to be his equal.

I will touch only briefly on Trump's overt racism—that he excluded black people from renting apartments in properties he owned; that he led a modern-day witch hunt to wrongly convict innocent black teenagers of a violent crime in Central Park; that he speaks broadly of Mexicans as “rapists.” He harbors a deep dislike for and fear of people of color. Donald Trump represents the last gasp of white, male patriarchy--an insipid ideology that, frankly, needs to die.

It's not like me to be so judgmental about someone whom I've never met. I always prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps one day, I will meet Donald Trump, and he will change my mind. But the fact that Mr. Trump and I have never met face-to-face is also a mark on his character. See, I was Donald Trump's pastor for five years. I was an associate pastor at Marble Collegiate Church in New York, where Mr. Trump was a member. For five years, I was there every Sunday and every Wednesday for worship. Did he ever show up? Not once. Not one time.

I don’t know what you see when you look at Donald Trump. I’d love to know. When I look at Donald Trump, I see a small-minded, arrogant, loathsome man. I see a narcissist—someone who loves himself above all else. Life for Narcissus ends badly—because he loves only himself, he’s never able to find the joy in loving others, nor can his love ever be consummated. He commits suicide. Electing Donald Trump would be national suicide. If we become intoxicated by his “beauty”—and by this I mean his charisma, we fall in love with someone who is both unable to love us, and unable to serve anyone other than himself. Here is a man whose behavior over decades—public and private—consistently elevates self above others. That kind of person cannot be trusted with public service—he’s never served anyone. He won’t learn as president. If you believe, as I do, that the "greatest among us is the one who serves," this man is--to borrow his word--a "loser."

When we vote for a president, we are doing two things: 1) we are voting for a person to do a specific job (be the “chief executive” of our nation’s government); and 2) we are voting for someone whose life points us toward our nation’s noblest and most inspiring ideals. On the first count, Donald Trump is a woefully incompetent, willfully ignorant, failed businessman. On the second count, he is a person of deplorable character, whose personal life has never even aspired toward--let alone comes close to--our nation's highest ideals: affirming human equality before God, and promoting liberty and justice for all.

Please, don’t do it. Don't vote for Trump. I beg you. Thanksgiving has always been able to bring us together, despite our differences. Mima's gravy is good medicine. It better be strong this year.