Steven LaChance Blog

Every time I look at Donald Trump or even hear his voice, it tests my moral compass.

I’ve always believed that we shouldn’t hate another human being. I’m certainly not going to borrow that tired Christian Nationalist line they love using against gay people like myself: “We don’t hate the person. We hate the sin.” Let’s be serious. That’s just the polite MAGA Jesus way of saying you hate someone while pretending you’re morally superior.

But here’s where things get uncomfortable for me. I don’t want to become the very thing I’ve spent my life opposing. I don’t want hatred to become part of who I am, even when we’re talking about Donald Trump.

And yet, I have to admit something that genuinely troubles me.

Will I celebrate the day Donald Trump eventually leaves this earth through natural causes? I hate admitting it, but yes. I probably will. I can imagine myself walking into the streets with a bottle of champagne, celebrating the fact that he is finally gone.

That’s a difficult admission for me because I remember when Osama bin Laden was killed. People poured into the streets celebrating his death. I didn’t join them. I despised that man and everything he represented, but I believed then, as I do now, that celebrating another human being’s death was morally wrong.

So what does it say about me that I feel differently about Donald Trump?

Perhaps it says something about just how profoundly I believe this man has damaged our country, our institutions, our relationships with one another, and our standing in the world. Perhaps it says something about watching cruelty become entertainment, dishonesty become acceptable, and hatred become a political identity.

But perhaps it also says something about what has happened to us.

I think somewhere along the way, we’ve lost our moral goalposts. We’ve become so accustomed to anger, division, and cruelty that things we once considered unthinkable have become perfectly acceptable. We’ve started measuring our own behavior against the behavior of people we despise rather than against the principles we claim to believe in.

And that’s dangerous.

I don’t support violence against anyone. I never have, and I never will. I don’t wish violence upon Donald Trump or anybody else. But when his time eventually comes, as it comes for all of us, I suspect I will feel an enormous sense of relief.

And yes, perhaps even joy.

That’s the part I’m struggling with. Because I know the difference between celebrating someone’s death and celebrating the end of the suffering you believe they caused. But I also know how easily we can convince ourselves that one is really the other.

And lately, I keep thinking about Charles Dickens and A Christmas Carol.

Remember when Ebenezer Scrooge stands beside the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come and witnesses what happens after his own death? People aren’t mourning him. Some are indifferent. Others are relieved. There are even people who benefit from his passing. Imagine the horror of discovering that the world might actually be a happier place without you in it.

Now imagine Donald Trump being given that same opportunity. Imagine him standing beside that ghost, watching people around the world celebrating his death. Imagine knowing that your departure from this earth might inspire champagne, dancing in the streets, and an enormous collective sigh of relief.

That’s an extraordinary thing to contemplate. How does someone live with the knowledge that so many people might celebrate their demise? Would it trouble him? Would he understand why? Or would he simply refuse to believe what he was seeing?

Of course, Dickens gave Scrooge something extraordinary. He gave him the opportunity to change the ending. Scrooge was allowed to see what his life had become and, more importantly, what it still could be.

That’s something we tend to forget about the story. It wasn’t really about death. It was about redemption.

And perhaps that’s why the comparison troubles me so much. Because somewhere beneath all my anger, I still believe people can change. I still believe redemption is possible. My faith requires me to leave room for that possibility, even when every instinct in my body wants to slam the door shut.

I still believe hatred is wrong. I still believe every human life has value. And I still believe those principles matter most when they’re difficult to uphold.

Donald Trump has made them extraordinarily difficult for me.

And perhaps that will be Donald Trump’s final act of hate toward all of us. That after everything we’ve endured, we will find ourselves celebrating the death of another human being.

Not because we’ve forgotten our principles, but because we’ve allowed one man to push us so far from them.

And that’s a very heavy thought to sit with.