reality-show host and New York real-estate developer Donald Trump was
beginning to make noise about possibly running for the Republican presidential
nomination when Barack came up for reelection in 2012. Mostly, though, it
seemed he was just making noise in general, surfacing on cable shows to offer
yammering, inexpert critiques of Barack’s foreign policy decisions and openly
questioning whether he was an American citizen. The so-called birthers had tried
during the previous campaign to feed a conspiracy theory claiming that Barack’s
Hawaiian birth certificate was somehow a hoax and that he’d in fact been born in
Kenya. Trump was now actively working to revive the argument, making
increasingly outlandish claims on television, insisting that the 1961 Honolulu
newspaper announcements of Barack’s birth were fraudulent and that none of his
kindergarten classmates remembered him. All the while, in their quest for clicks
and ratings, news outlets—particularly the more conservative ones—were
gleefully pumping oxygen into his groundless claims.
The whole thing was crazy and mean-spirited, of course, its underlying
bigotry and xenophobia hardly concealed. But it was also dangerous, deliberately
meant to stir up the wingnuts and kooks. I feared the reaction. I was briefed from
time to time by the Secret Service on the more serious threats that came in and
understood that there were people capable of being stirred. I tried not to worry,
but sometimes I couldn’t help it. What if someone with an unstable mind loaded
a gun and drove to Washington? What if that person went looking for our girls?
Donald Trump, with his loud and reckless innuendos, was putting my family’s
safety at risk. And for this, I’d never forgive him.
We had little choice, though, but to push the fears away, continuing to trust
the structure set up to protect us and to simply live. The people who tried to
define us as “other” had been doing so for years already. We did everything we
could to rise above their lies and distortions, trusting that the way Barack and I
lived our lives would show people the truth about who we really were. I’d lived
with earnest and well-intentioned concerns for our safety since almost the day
Barack first decided to run for president. “We’re praying nobody hurts you,”
people used to say, clasping my hand at campaign events. I’d heard it from people
of all races, all backgrounds, all ages—a reminder of the goodness and generosity
that existed in our country. “We pray for you and your family every day.”
I kept their words with me. I felt the protection of those millions of decent
people who prayed for our safety. Barack and I both relied on our personal faith
as well. We went to church only rarely now, mostly because it had become such
a spectacle, involving reporters shouting questions as we walked in to worship.