What the hell do we tell our daughters?

Donald Trump has been elected president of the United States. Again. This time with a Senate behind him and fewer barriers in his way. It feels heavier. More ominous. The first text I read on the morning of Nov. 6 was from a friend asking, "what the hell do we tell our daughters?" I’m still working on an answer. While re-electing a twice-impeached, adjudicated sexual abuser convicted felon who openly admires Hitler isn’t exactly the norm—I’m still wrapping my mind around the fact that Dick Cheney and I are both upset about the same election result—Trump’s re-election reflects a troubling global trend: the return of anti-government governments. These campaigns—often built on three-word slogans—tap into people’s real feelings of disillusionment, and the honest belief they’ve been left behind, that the establishment is holding them back while others are allowed to skip to the front of the line. Even here in Canada, people feel it. For progressives—and yes, the word “progressive” can be alienating on its own—the first step is to go beyond dismissing people who disagree with us as “uninformed.” Their fear and hurt are real. So is their anger and frustration. Their sense of what the economy is doing and how it has performed is real to them, even if it isn’t supported by the facts on a spreadsheet. On top of all of that, we need to admit that our opponents are connecting with these voters better than we are. Rather than belittling them or writing them off as “misguided” or “uninformed,” if we truly want to represent them, we need to connect with these folks where they are. We need to really listen to them. This means not just talking at voters, but inviting them into the conversation. Even informal coffee chats can give people a direct voice, making politics feel less like a lecture and more like a dialogue. None of this means abandoning our values or watering down our message. And it doesn’t mean capitulating to false narratives. It means doing the hard work of connecting with people—working people —on their terms. It means recognizing that many of the people who voted for Trump, or others who agree with him, are doing so out of frustration and a sense that they have been betrayed by the system. People know that Trump lies. Many even know that what Conservative Leader Pierre Poilievre’s saying now doesn’t line up with what he’s done in the past. None of this surprises them anymore because they’ve lost faith in the system as a whole. And if you believe that every politician lies and the system is against you, backing that guy who speaks directly to you starts to make more sense. That doesn’t mean progressives should pack it up and go home. But it does mean that we need to stop blaming voters for our failures, and learn the lessons from the people who are beating us. If we want to win, our job has to be to offer Canadians a vision that addresses the genuine challenges they face, and we need to do it in a way that makes sense to them. Not with longwinded and high-minded policy, but with real plans to protect and create jobs, fix health care, and help people make ends meet and put a roof over their heads. Instead of perfecting our own slogans—although a campaign for “Better Slogans Now” might not hurt—we should be focusing on storytelling that reflects the struggles and successes of ordinary people. We have to rebuild that trust through hard work, honest engagement, genuine respect, and commitment to meeting people’s daily needs. So, what will I tell my daughter? I’ll tell her that I’m not giving up. That incredible people full of commitment and resolve are not giving up. I’ll remind her that, ultimately, hope is greater than fear, and that we can still shape the future we want—not by pushing people away, but by listening, understanding and finding common ground. It’s a long road, but it’s the only one that leads us all back to hope. And that makes it the only one worth taking. George Soule is a principal at Syntax Strategic, and is a former NDP director of communications. The Hill Times