It’s Monday, the day after Easter, a time meant for renewal and reflection. Yet, as I sit here, I’m consumed by a different kind of reckoning—one that stems from the choices made in November 2024. Imagine believing that the handful of former presidents who spent their Easter Sunday in quiet worship are the villains, while the man who spent the day golfing, fresh off a glitzy, corporate-backed Easter egg hunt at the White House, is somehow the beacon of virtue. A man who, let’s not mince words, likely pocketed a hefty cut from that event while overseeing the detention of innocent people in horrific overseas prisons—places that make your skin crawl just thinking about them—without a single conviction to their names. And yet, some dare to call him the Christian in this story.

Let’s talk about that man. Convicted of 34 felonies, his business guilty of 17 more. Indicted on 91 counts across four jurisdictions, including dozens tied to the Espionage Act. This is the guy who tried to wield the full might of the executive branch to undo a legitimate election, who stoked the flames of an insurrection that left 150 police officers battered at the Capitol. And still, there are those who wrap him in the mantle of Christianity. It’s not faith driving this—it’s a toxic blend of white supremacist patriarchy, crony capitalism, and oligarchic greed. This man, a proven fraudster and rapist by court ruling, who owes New York over half a billion dollars, has convinced millions they’re special, forgotten, and that he’s their champion.

And they bought it. They swallowed his lies whole, not because of evidence, but because he gave them a free pass to be their worst selves. He handed them a megaphone for racism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, ableism—all while they clutch their Bibles and claim to follow a man who preached love for all. “Love thy neighbor,” they say, but only if that neighbor is white, straight, Republican, and checks the right box on Election Day.

I’m 56 years old, and I can say with absolute certainty: I will never forgive those who cast their votes for Donald Trump in 2024. Nor will I ever forget. Part of me wishes there were a mark, some indelible sign, to identify them forever—not out of spite, but for accountability. Because in five years, when the dust settles and the consequences of their choices are undeniable, they’ll try to slink away, pretending they never backed him. But we should remember. They’re proud now, aren’t they? Proud enough to wear a scarlet “T” on their hands, to boast of their role in dragging America back to a time they call “great”—a time of unchecked KKK power, lynchings, and systemic segregation. A time when women couldn’t hold a bank account or a home in their own name, when separate water fountains and lunch counters were the norm, when schools kept “us” and “them” apart.

I will never forgive, and I will never forget. They should carry the weight of their decision for the rest of their lives, visible to all, because when this era fades, they’ll still be here, blending back into society as if they didn’t cheer for this chaos. In five years, they’ll deny it—say they never voted for him, not once, not twice, not three times. But some will wear their loyalty louder, with garish tattoos of his face, claiming it’s the mark of an “alpha.” Tell me, how does idolizing another man’s image make you strong? How does crashing a dating app in Milwaukee prove your cause?

This isn’t about politics anymore—it’s about morality, about the soul of a nation. Those who chose this path in 2024 didn’t just vote; they endorsed a vision of America that thrives on division and hate. And for that, they’ll answer to history—and to us—forever.