If You Voted for Donald Trump, You Owe America’s Children an Apology

by | Apr 13, 2026 | Opinions & Commentary

If You Voted for Donald Trump, You Owe America’s Children an Apology

by | Apr 13, 2026 | Opinions & Commentary

You’ve let this nation’s children down by thrusting them into an America that is far less secure, less compassionate, less decent, more fractured, and more violent than it was when he arrived.

Republished with permission from John Pavlovitz

You owe them an apology for making them grow up with a hateful, incompetent, petulant, predatory monster as their President.

For placing their safety in the hands of an impulsive toddler who trolls world leaders with nuclear annihilation and wields the military like a petrified coward.

For unleashing the fierce tide of bigotry they have to see in their classrooms, hallways, ball fields, and neighborhoods, because the man you chose has repeatedly practiced, encouraged, and legislated it.

You owe our daughters an apology for excusing his reprehensible words about women and his heinous crimes against them; for ignoring the evidence of his inhumanity, for placing a man with such clear disregard for women at the highest level of leadership in the country they call home.

You owe our sons an apology for propping up someone with a lifetime resume of filth and misogyny, and asking them to look up to that man as a leader; for rewarding the very sexist, ignorant, repugnant behavior decent parents implore their sons never to engage in or abide in those around him.

You’ve let this nation’s children down by thrusting them into an America that is far less secure, less compassionate, less decent, more fractured, and more violent than it was when he arrived, and because that truth alters children immersed in it.

You owe an apology to every child who has to spend their formative years in an America that is defined by:

  • fear of the other,
  • an epidemic of cruelty,
  • a poverty of decency,
  • a deadly allergy to facts,
  • a Christianity of coercion and malice,
  • and a defiant resistance to diversity.

You owe an apology to terrified Latino children, who’ve watched their parents bludgeoned and bloodied by thugs, for no other reason than the color of their skin.

You owe an apology to children who will have to attend underfunded schools with empty bellies, because your messiah of misery is without empathy.

You owe an apology to queer children, Muslim children, black children, and disabled children, whose lives have been made more turbulent and painful than they have to be, because their president lacks decency.

You owe an apology to children who will be fearful and feel less-than because of the color of their skin, or their place of birth, or their sense of self, or the faith of their family.

And you owe an apology to the world’s children:

  • To those in Gaza, Ukraine, Iran, Lebanon, Venezuela, and Cuba, whose childhoods, homelands, families, and bodies have been disfigured and destroyed by the mindless cruelty of the man you chose to lead.
  • To children whose chances for a peaceful existence are threatened by one horrible narcissist whom you gave carte blanche to do whatever his poisoned heart desired.
  • My children.
  • Your children.
  • The children of this country and of the planet.

They all have lost because you were irresponsible with one of the greatest responsibilities you’ve ever had in their lifetime, and now they have to live with the terrible fallout—and you owe them all an apology.

I’m well aware of what your likely response to all this will be. I don’t imagine an apology will be forthcoming, so I’ll apologize to them on your behalf.

Then, I’ll spend every day living that apology.

I’ll remind my children, your children, and all children, that there are lots of adults who still believe that people are inherently valuable and stunningly beautiful; that not all adults fear brown people and gay people and foreigners and immigrants.

I’ll remind them that there are still people committed to the truth and to equality, and the richness found in diversity.

I’ll do my best to make them feel safe and hopeful here, even on the days that I don’t.

I’ll even teach them to forgive people who fail and hurt them, because I know how difficult that is right now.

And I’ll remind them that even when bad people are rewarded, doing the right thing is still the thing most worth doing.

I’ll teach them that when hatred seems the most treasured currency, love is still worth more than gold.

I’m just sorry that they have to live with or die because of someone who never deserved the lofty throne you handed him.

John Pavlovitz

John Pavlovitz

John Pavlovitz is a writer, pastor, and activist from Wake Forest, North Carolina. A 25-year veteran in the trenches of local church ministry, John is committed to equality, diversity, and justice—both inside and outside faith communities. When not actively working for a more compassionate planet, John enjoys spending time with his family, exercising, cooking, and having time in nature. He is the author of A Bigger Table, Hope and Other Superpowers, Low, and Stuff That Needs to Be Said.

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