Schadenfreude Doesn't Do Anyone Any Good
Carlos lives in Mesa, Arizona. His parents are undocumented but he was born in Tucson and is a citizen. He’s been a low-info Democrat for his whole life but this year he switched to low-info Republican. Like many of his friends, he voted for Trump, helping Señor T win Arizona’s 11 electoral votes by nearly 200,000 votes— 52.2% to 46.7%. Trump’s increase in Maricopa County was the biggest in the state— 5.7 points. How would you feel if Carlos’ parents are rounded up in a sudden late night sweep, sent to a camp in Texas and then deported to El Salvador, which they haven’t seen in nearly 40 years? Would you think, ‘good, Carlos deserves it?’ Do his parents? His neighbors? Some of the guys he knows at work?
Omar and Noor live in Dearborn, Michigan. Like Carlos, Noor was born in the U.S. Omar’s parents moved to Michigan from from Khan Yunis in 1969. Everyone is a U.S. citizen and no one had ever voted for a Republican before. Omar went to a meeting at a restaurant in Troy where Richard Grenell and Tiffany Trump’s husband, Michael Boulos, were hosting. Grenell talked about peace in the Middle East and how Trump succeeded in bringing the UAE, Bahrain, Sudan and Morocco (in return for the U.S. recognizing Moroccan sovereignty over Western Sahara) together with Israel through the Abraham Accords. None of these countries had ever fought with Israel and none are Israel’s neighbors and Omar knew that. Grenell said that “Gaza is on the waterfront and there's a lot of opportunity there for the Palestinian people, once Hamas is gone, for them to invest in Gaza. The Gaza Strip could be a resort of sorts with all the lakefront property... and to create this economic windfall of individuals to come and go, and to live and benefit from.” Omar's not an idiot, but he was furious at Biden and Hrris for what's happening in Gaza.
Omar and Noor— and most of the family— were fuming at Biden for arming the Israeli genocide against Palestine. They had decided to withhold their votes from all Democrats this year. But after meeting with Grenell and Boulos, Omar said he would vote from Trump. Noor was skeptical because of Trump’s Muslim ban and his bigotry but in the end she voted for him too, albeit more reluctantly than Omar had. They sure didn't expect to see Gorka back in the White House.
How would you feel when Omar gets a text from his cousin in Khan Yunis next year saying Omar’s aunt and their three children had been murdered by Israelis? Pretty horrible, right? But maybe not as hard to deal with as when Stephen Miller decides that Omar’s parents’ papers aren’t up to snuff and that they would be deported along with Omar and his older siblings. Noor could stay— for now. The birthright citizenship bill was still making its way through the courts. Would you feel that Omar and Noor deserve this travesty because of the way they voted? I feel terrible for Omar’s and Noor’s family, especially their 11 year old twin daughters who had never been outside of the U.S. and were panic-stricken about being sent to Palestine.
Mike lives in Erie, Pennsylvania, a small city that’s seen better days. His father was a machinist, and Mike followed in his footsteps, proud of his work at a local manufacturing plant that made parts for heavy machinery. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills, put his daughter through community college and helped keep the union strong.
When Trump announced his tariffs on imported steel and aluminum, Mike initially felt a flicker of hope. “Finally,” he thought, “someone’s looking out for American workers.” He voted for Trump in 2024, even though the union endorsed Harris and even after all those years of sticking with Democrats, believing the rhetoric about bringing jobs back.
But what happened next was more complicated. The tariffs caused prices to spike on raw materials, and the plant Mike worked at couldn’t absorb the costs. Orders dried up as customers turned to cheaper foreign suppliers. The company laid off a third of its workers. Mike barely survived the first round of cuts, but when demand didn’t recover, he wasn’t so lucky the second time.
Now, Mike spends his days searching for jobs that don’t exist, trying to stretch unemployment checks while his wife picks up extra shifts at the hospital. His daughter moved back home because she couldn’t find a job either— her dreams of becoming an engineer sidelined by the same economic downturn that destroyed Mike’s livelihood.
“How did this happen?” he wonders, flipping through cable news channels full of empty promises and blame games. He’s not the only one in his union feeling the pinch— many of his coworkers are in the same boat. Some blame Trump, others blame the Democrats, but the truth is, Mike doesn’t know who to trust anymore. All he knows is that his life feels like it’s falling apart, and the future looks bleaker than it ever has.
Lila lives in Keokuk County, Iowa, where her family has been farming soybeans and corn for generations. She’s never been especially political, but in 2016 she voted for Trump, hoping he’d bring some much-needed attention to struggling farmers. When the trade war with China heated up and tariffs went into effect, she started to feel uneasy. China was her farm’s largest export market, and almost overnight, her sales plummeted.
By 2026, things had gotten worse. Trump’s promises of bailouts for farmers like her had dried up, and the subsidies she received didn’t even begin to cover her losses. The family had to sell off a chunk of their land just to keep the farm afloat. She had voted for Trump again, believing his rhetoric about China and thinking the Democrats cared more about city folks than rural communities like hers.
Then came the droughts. Climate change— something Trump dismissed as a hoax— had made Iowa summers hotter and drier, and water became harder to come by. The farm’s yield was the worst it had ever been, and without enough income to cover her loans, the bank started making calls about foreclosing on the rest of the land.
Now, Lila feels like a fool and, worse, a failure. Her grandparents always told her the land was their legacy, but she’s afraid she’ll be the one to lose it all. “I thought he cared about people like us,” she says, staring at the parched earth where her crops used to grow. But her neighbors are divided: some still back Trump, blaming the Democrats for everything from the tariffs to the weather, while others have started to question if voting Republican was ever the right choice.
Angela lives in Waukesha, a suburban mom who’s been struggling to make ends meet. Her grocery bills are through the roof, gas prices keep climbing, and it seems like every month there’s another unexpected expense. All of her neighbors are Republicans but she’s always been a swing voter; this year, inflation pushed her toward Trump. He promised to cut costs, fix the economy, and bring back the “good old days” of prosperity. Angela felt like she had no choice— Biden’s presidency had been hard on her family, and she believed Trump’s promises to turn it all around.
Her 19-year-old daughter, Maddie, started college this year, studying pre-med at the University of Wisconsin. Maddie had always been careful, but accidents happen. When she found out she was pregnant, she panicked. Wisconsin had a near-total abortion ban, a law that went back into effect after Roe v. Wade was overturned. Maddie begged Angela to help her, but there wasn’t much Angela could do. The closest clinic that could provide care was almost 150 miles away in Illinois, and Angela didn’t have the money for the trip and the expenses— not with all the bills piling up.
Maddie tried to keep it a secret, but Angela noticed when her daughter started skipping classes and then dropped out of school, crying in her room, and withdrawing from her friends. By the time Angela realized the full weight of Maddie’s predicament, it was too late. Maddie’s dreams of becoming a doctor were slipping away, and Angela couldn’t stop blaming herself. “I voted for him because I thought he’d help families like ours,” Angela says, her voice heavy with regret. “But now I see what he’s really done to mine.”
Brian was born and raised in Naples, Florida (although he went to college in Miami). Now he’s a financial advisor who’s been in a committed relationship with his husband, Mark, who he met in Miami, for nearly 2 decades. Brian grew up in a conservative household and has always leaned right, but he hesitated about supporting Trump in the past. He hated the crude language, the open bigotry, and the MAGA attacks on LGBTQ rights. But he also hated paying high taxes, especially since he’d been wildly successful in his business.
When Trump promised to cut taxes even further in 2024, Brian decided to hold his nose and vote for him. “It’s just economics,” he told Mark. “He’s not coming after us. We’re not the culture war crowd.” Mark wasn’t so sure, but Brian insisted their financial future depended on Trump staying in office. Mark voted for Kamala and didn’t tell Brian.
The first sign of trouble came when Trump’s Supreme Court appointees handed down a ruling allowing businesses to deny services to LGBTQ people on “religious liberty” grounds. Suddenly, the wedding venue where Mark’s niece wanted to celebrate her big day refused to host the event. Then, the charter school Brian and Mark had hoped to send their adopted son to announced a new policy banning children from same-sex households.
Still, Brian told himself these were isolated incidents— “not that big a deal.” But when the federal government stripped away protections for LGBTQ workers and housing discrimination cases surged, Brian realized the danger wasn’t theoretical anymore. Then came the hate crime: their car, parked outside a dinner party with a rainbow pride bumper sticker, was vandalized with slurs, three of the tires slashed.
Brian doesn’t talk much about politics anymore. His wealth might have grown a bit under Trump, but so did the hostility and fear that now define his community. Mark hasn’t forgiven him, and their son keeps asking why other kids won’t play with him anymore. In his heart Brian knows the tax savings weren't worth it.
Chase is a freshman at the University of Georgia, majoring in business but mostly focused on fitting in. He’s always been the type to go with the flow, not much of a thinker when it comes to politics— or anything else, really. So when the guys at the frat he was rushing started talking about Trump, Chase figured he’d better follow suit. They laughed about “owning the libs,” loved Trump’s bravado, and claimed Biden’s policies were why beer prices had gone up. Chase didn’t see any harm in it. He registered to vote for the first time and, on Election Day, cast his ballot for Trump. “It’s just one vote,” he told himself. “What difference does it make?” He got his bid to the frat and didn’t think about politics again— until the calls from his grandparents started coming.
Grandma Sue and Grandpa Earl, who raised Chase after his mom passed away, had always helped him out and were paying his tuition and living expenses. But after Trump’s latest round of budget cuts gutted programs like Medicare and capped drug price negotiations, their prescription costs shot up. Sue’s diabetes medication alone was now more than their monthly grocery bill. Earl’s blood pressure pills were so expensive he started cutting them in half to make the supply last longer.
“We can’t send you that check this month, sweetheart,” Grandma Sue said apologetically over the phone. “We’re just trying to keep the lights on.”
Chase felt his stomach drop. Without their help, he couldn’t make tuition payments, and the frat fees were already overdue. When Earl collapsed one night and was rushed to the hospital, Chase finally realized the stakes of the vote he’d shrugged off.
Now, as Chase stares at the tuition bill he can’t pay, he feels a pang of guilt every time he walks past the frat house, where his brothers are laughing about some new meme. For the first time in his life, Chase wonders if maybe politics isn’t just a game— and if his grandparents are paying the price for his mistake.
Frank lives in Corning, Arkansas, a small town where everyone knows everyone else. Frank has never liked how much the world has changed. He hates seeing gay couples on TV, doesn’t trust immigrants (“They’re taking our jobs,” he tells anyone who will listen), and thinks the Black Lives Matter protests were a scam to stir up trouble. There aren’t any immigrants or Black families in Corning, but Frank still voted for Trump because he liked the way Trump “told it like it is.” This year, Trump earned Frank’s vote again.
Then came the new pandemic. It started overseas, like most of these things do, but it spread fast, hitting the U.S. harder than anyone expected. By the time vaccines were ready, RFK Jr.’s influence was undeniable. Under the Trump administration, vaccine mandates were blocked, and conspiracy theories flooded the airwaves. Frank wasn’t sure what to believe. His wife, Betty, wanted to vaccinate their two grandkids, but Frank insisted they wait. “It’s just the flu,” he told her. “No point risking it. You want them catching autism?”
A few weeks later, the youngest, Emma, started coughing. By the time Betty convinced Frank to take her to the hospital, it was too late. The pediatric ICU was full, and the staff was overwhelmed. Emma died within days, her little body unable to fight off the virus. Frank didn’t say much at the funeral, just stared at the ground while Betty sobbed into his shoulder. Now Frank spends his days alone on the front porch, wondering if it was his fault so many people at Emmy's school got sick. He knows deep down that he didn’t make the right call. “I didn’t trust them,” he mutters to himself, “but I thought I was protecting my family.” The irony isn’t lost on him: the man who hated everyone he didn’t know had brought tragedy to the people he loved most. Even if millions of MAGAts sicken and die because they refuse to get vaccinated... don't do a happy dance. It may be find to be rid of them, but they will spread the disease to normal people as well.
And what if this spreads to the U.S.— a Lysistrata-type sex strike. Male Trump voters deserve it… but what about the 42% of men who voted for Kamala? Tammy Kim lives in Seoul, and Americans are looking at their 4B movement— no marriage, no kids, no sex, no dating. “Trump’s reëlection,” she wrote, “has made women understandably fearful about their protection from discrimination, their ability to get an abortion, their physical safety. There’s also the more atmospheric awareness of just how many men did not mind that Trump, despite uniformly denying any wrong-doing, is a credibly accused rapist who has routinely denigrated women— across a number of key states, fifty-five per cent of men voted for Trump, compared with forty-five per cent of women. Or how many men support the ugly new meme “Your body, my choice.” And it now seems that Trump is attempting to fill his cabinet with men suspected of sexual misconduct.