Today there are no words

On a day when there really are no words, the only thing I know to do is write. America, who are you? What have you done? At 2:30 a.m. I went to bed in Marrakech, fresh off a U.S. election streaming party and education event, feeling good and feeling guilty. Feeling good because I sensed that we were on the verge of making history; feeling good because the divisive, hate-filled election season was nearly behind us; feeling guilty because I couldn’t keep my eyes open to watch the anticipated coronation and celebration.

This morning I turned on my phone to see the face of our next president glaring at me. What have we done? I am in shock, and I am far away. Some will say that is exactly where they wish to be. They’ll talk of Canada and Mexico tightening border security today. The mass exodus that so many threatened will no longer be a joke. From afar I will monitor Facebook comments throughout the day as the United States wakes up and comes to terms with reality. The sadness I feel will wash over a nation as it has washed over me. Or, at least that is what I would like to think. Yet, we are the nation that voted for this change. Half of America is going to wake up satisfied and jubilant this morning.

Obama said the sun will rise this morning. Indeed, it has. I wonder if this is the sunrise he anticipated. From Morocco, the harsh light of the desert sun is shining an unfavorable light on the nation I call home. Tomorrow morning I will be faced with hundreds of students who basked in election enthusiasm with me last night, who took selfies with cutouts of the candidates, who tried hard to understand the electoral college, who watched the television as results started to come in, who sported red, white, and blue, and who put their faith in the capacity of the American people to love more than hate. Tomorrow morning, these kind, warm, welcoming, intelligent, curious students, who are also Muslims, will look to me with questioning eyes. Why, America? I will have no answers.