I’m a white American woman who attends an Evangelical church — and I’m not buying what Trump is selling

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“He lies. He lies about the virus... tries to make it political,” my 12-year-old daughter said about President Trump.

I shivered.

“I hope he doesn’t get re-elected,” she continued. When I asked her why, she was clear: “Because he pulls families apart.”

That was before Trump contracted Covid. Before he endangered men and women who work for him, perpetuating the spread of the virus, threatening all of the families who dedicate their lives supporting him in the Republican Party. That was before he pulled Christian Amy Coney Barrett up on a stage, unmasked, as if her faith, authority, and smile might manipulate opinions of Christian women like me. And it was long before he stood up in front of a crowd, as he did this morning, and implored those same suburban God-fearing women to “please like me” because “I saved your damn neighborhood, OK?”

I attend an Evangelical church, but more importantly, I am a witness to Trump’s actions, just as every person of every faith has become. For four years, I’ve watched his presidency damage my children’s concept of leadership and of America.  They’ve spent a large percentage of their young lives witnessing idolatry, sexism, name calling, bullying and untruths told by the President of the Free World. But more recently, they’ve seen lies about a global pandemic that’s killing hundreds of thousands of vulnerable people who have suffered grueling deaths. Trump disregards safety protocols and encourages others, like my kids, to do so as well. He shows a lack of respect for security staff, advisers, and other politicians. Meanwhile, we — adults, of all faiths — watch.

Though my daughter hadn’t heard about Trump’s Covid diagnosis or how her country’s President conducted himself in the first, possibly only, debate, she could have predicted his tactics. She wouldn’t be surprised by his willingness to attack his opponent’s son. She wouldn’t flinch at the American president refusing to condemn white supremacy. She has now spent a third of her life witnessing this kind of leadership. So it’s American, to her.

“Why else do you want him not to be president?” I asked my daughter a week ago.

She referred to how he treats the “Black Lives Matter People,’’ the ‘‘refugees he hurts.” She mentioned the wall. Though my daughter rarely watches American TV or news, she even referred to Trump’s “sex stuff”.

“How do you know about that?” I asked. And how can I explain this to her? I thought.

“Everyone knows about that,” my daughter said, “even here.”

Though we have lived in Switzerland since just after the 2016 election, my daughter doesn’t remember politics before Trump. Here in Zürich, we attend a small Evangelical church where nationalities from around the world, including several refugee families, worship together. I’m not Evangelical, exactly. I’ve attended almost every type of Christian church, maintaining only two requirements in a faith community. First, I seek others who love God. Second, I seek people who try to love outside their circle, regardless of politics or faith.

How could I tell her about the American dream, now? I grew up in Grand Rapids, Michigan, the hometown of Gerald Ford. I was naive. I believed in the dream of equality, even during the 70s, even if racism was disturbingly evident to me in my white Christian community. Then, American ideals kept me dreaming of better things ahead. But my daughter hears about a president tear-gassing protesters beside the Capitol, calling Covid-19 the ‘‘China Plague.’’ This hurts her Chinese friends, her other Asian friends, and all her friends who have to cope with racism.

My daughter doesn’t know how liberty felt tangible in 2008, the year she was born. Then, we watched the first Black American president elected. She doesn’t remember the sound of people of color crying on TV, as I held her. We were witnessing America’s wounds, opened, preparing to heal. We were taking an enormous step toward a unified dream. My daughter doesn’t know that America now.

“Get rid of the ballots and you’ll have a peaceful — there won’t be a transfer, frankly,” Trump said recently, flip-flopping words while referring to the upcoming election. I tried to unscramble the implications. My children are at grave risk of four more years of this. Trump mocked Biden for wearing a mask. He hid his health records, his tax records, and now he hides the facts of his illness, of this global illness, while we watch. He does whatever he wants, to women, to families, to children.

And we witness.

Trump implied that he will not be “fired” like those in his TV show The Apprentice, people who have failed. He will not see himself as the man in need of enormous forgiveness, or as someone whose duty is to peacefully hand over the leadership of America come November 3rd.

Proverbs 14:25 says, “A truthful witness saves lives, but he who utters lies is treacherous.”

It’s time for every one of us to become truthful by voting for what we want our children to grow up witnessing in American leadership.

I asked my 15-year-old son what he thought of Trump. “Not a fan,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because he takes credit for saving us,” he said.

I wonder what God would say to that.