16 April, 2017
Dear Mr. President,

Sixteen years ago today my father died. He was not a perfect man. Like you, sir, his life was hobbled by conflicting demands, the inherent tension between private beliefs and public face, between single-minded intentions and professional obligations, between personal certainties and political realities, between what he felt was best and what others, his wife, his children, his associates, his nation, thought was best. He lived, as we all do sir, in a perpetual muddle.

While we grew closer in his final years, my father's inconsistencies troubled me greatly in my youth. When the beliefs my father espoused were not consistent with the behavior he modeled, I was disappointed. Why? Did I believe there existed a truer model, a purer example, a worthier recipient of paternal admiration? Perhaps, in my youth, I did. Perhaps it is that naive, unchecked inclination that seeds blinded loyalty of every ilk, political, religious and otherwise. Whatever the influences, polarized thinking, polarized judgment, does not lead any of us to glory or grace.

I did not vote for you, sir. But neither was I hypnotized by the 'progressive' echo chamber that attempts to divide our nation, the echo of the echo chamber into which 'conservatives' drum. In that nation: ignorance rules the other party; banks embed with the other party; lobbyists control the other party; war is mongered by the other party; disregard of immigrants and marginalization of women and acts of racial injustice are perpetrated only by the other party. It is a fictitious nation, a nation spun of Us vs Them. It is a nation that I have long since known does not exist.

In any case, you tried to position yourself above the fray, to brand yourself as different. You may have spoken as honestly as you were capable of speaking about your intentions, you may have honestly believed in your capacity to hold sway. Whatever your original inclination, "I alone can fix it" proves a tough bar to clear. And now, of course, regardless of the sincerity or truth of your intentions, you find yourself mired in the self-same swamp that all before you have grown stuck after their election, entangled in the very same host of unanticipated variables and unintended consequences that have inevitably plagued all presidencies regardless of their original design.

My father never amassed an empire, Mr. President. In fact, he held fast to a belief that money corrupts. He was perhaps compromised in other ways, his deference to academic hierarchy to name one, but I believe my father lived his principles to the best of his ability. Yet while he was plagued by his limitations, I believe it is only by honoring our limitations that we stand firmly on solid ground. the solid ground of what it is to be human, of what it is to be imperfect, of what it is to be, in the end, less than what we had hoped to be, but remarkably better people because of the humbling we are dealt along the way. The true common ground that burnishes character.

Like my father, I believe that money can corrupt. Money, and the arbitrary power it commands, can spawn fickle and fleeting markets, can weaken society's tether to genuine value. I need look no further than the speaking fees and book royalties exacted by notables exiting political office, fees that they and the systems that pay them apparently deem reasonable and deserved, to reinforce that perspective. But unlike my father, I do not covet any pedigree, academic, familial, political or monied. While these endowments may not prevent the cultivation of character, they in no way guarantee its development.

Were we to meet, Mr. President, the differences in our political and philosophical perspectives would surface far more readily than our shared beliefs. And so it seems with our national attitude these days; minimal access of, perhaps little trust in, our common ground. But no light is emitted from that cynicism. No possible compromise, no capitalizing on strength, no solution is generated from the mire of narrow-minded jaw-boning into which many of us on both sides of the political aisle, and many of us inhabiting those unaffiliated regions in-between, are allowing ourselves to sink. I have tried walking through that mire in the past. It leads nowhere.

Theodore Parker said it best: "The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice."

I believe in that arc, Mr. President. And I intend to nudge that arc toward justice, no matter how small my contribution, no matter how limited my influence. So today, sir, I write to you with an intention of respect; I write with an intention of compassion. In honor of my father, in honor of you, in honor of the fragile, imperfect and yet miraculous potential that comprises our collective humanity, I wish you peace and vision. As your 100th day in office approaches, Mr. President, may you discover and champion humankind's common ground. It is the only ground on which any of us, sir, are able to stand tall.

Linda J. Rohan, ARNP