Voldemort J. Trump: He Who Must Not Be Named – The American Spectator | US News & PoliticsThe American Spectator

MMy hair was still dripping from a quick shower as I made my way down the steps to make sure I didn’t miss Donald Trump’s entrance at the Butler, Pennsylvania, rally on July 13. My husband, eagerly perched on the ottoman, was completely absorbed in the live feed from Right Side Broadcasting. As we cheered along to patriotic anthems and recounted the electric fun we had at Trump’s big rally in Butler in 2020, we excitedly pointed to all of our friends parading across the screen as the cameras panned around.

There was Emily and Joel (names changed here). It had been exactly two weeks since we shut down the dance floor at their wedding. There was also Laura and her future sister-in-law, Claire. Laura had delayed her first clinical rotation in physical therapy to go to her first Trump rally. There were my former sorority sisters and their families. Wow, I had no idea they had jumped on the Trump train! And then there were Vince, Sue, and Mark, friends we had made at CPAC and the Pennsylvania Leadership Conference; they would never miss this rally. (READ MORE: Joe Biden’s Bloodless Coup Won’t Work Well for Democrats)

As we watched our screen, my husband and I laughed at Trump’s speech and mannerisms, perpetually baffled by how critics could resist his entertainment value. But just then, the gunshots rang out. Our stomachs knotted as quickly as former President Trump’s. I begged my normally unflappable but hysterical husband to turn off the television. He insisted that it was his duty to see this through. I couldn’t bear to watch what was happening — not just because of Trump, but because of the friends we knew were there and perhaps others we thought were there, too.

We finally came to our senses and prayed for Trump’s recovery, for the first responders, and for the safety of everyone at the rally, our hands still shaking. Later that night, we were haunted by the “what if” the shooter hadn’t missed. And we still wondered if our friends were okay. Remember, it wasn’t until the next day that we started hearing the names of those shot. If my husband and I were this shaken by the live feed, imagine the trauma for every witness or those sitting next to Corey Comperatore, David Dutch, and James Copenhaver.

Then came the following week.

Public office is political. But not when it comes to Trump.

Getting ready for a work week on Sunday night was a strange experience. There was no denying that the energy of the country had changed instantly. A monumental event had occurred on a weekend. Social media had exploded with “The Photo” of Trump’s miraculous vitality. No doubt the office would be abuzz by Monday morning. After all, at my office, Pennsylvania is our home state and many of my colleagues are from the city or county of Butler.

I arrived at the office Monday morning, ready to “fight, fight, fight,” in my most patriotic business attire. I was ready to defend the dignity of Corey Comperatore and the fundamental morality that even those who defend the Second Amendment do not deserve to die by gun, contrary to the cesspool of social media commentary. (READ MORE: Dear University: Biden Didn’t Save Us From ‘Trumpian Chaos’)

And yet, the only thing more shocking than the assassination attempt itself was the silence that followed in the office. Five business days passed without any communication about the story that had unfolded in our backyard. I sensed that people were intentionally avoiding asking how my weekend was, and I caught one manager stumbling as he moved from asking “How was…” to asking “What are you doing this coming weekend?”

My office is a very liberal place. I vented my frustration to a conservative colleague who never joined the movement, and he lamented that I was the only person in his professional network who had mentioned the assassination attempt. This silence might be more forgivable if companies had not made a habit of becoming political pundits. CEOs across the country did their best CNN anchor impressions to condemn the actions of January 6. So I expect at least someone to acknowledge an assassination attempt on former President Trump and the death of a heroic community member less than an hour north on Highway 79.

After all, my colleagues and employer never shy away from politics. LinkedIn is clogged with photos from Pride every June. My colleagues rave about their superior compassion. We now have an official day off on Juneteenth, but not on Good Friday.

I can’t say we’ve resumed business as usual. In fact, we’ve never taken a break. Business has continued as if Donald Trump hadn’t been nearly assassinated and a husband, father, firefighter and hero hadn’t been killed.

And it wasn’t just in my waking work environment. Even my 95-year-old grandmother told me that in her nursing home, “it’s like nothing happened.”

It seems that Donald J. Trump is not named. At least not in the dramatic assassination attempt he was the victim of.

Why is Donald Trump the real Voldemort? As if his name alone is so dirty and powerful that it cannot be pronounced?

This silence is offensive. It is offensive to Corey Comperatore’s family and to all those who suffered the trauma of the shooting. This silence minimizes the harm and attacks the victims. The victims are the tens of thousands of protesters who expected a night of patriotism and fun but survived an assassination attempt. (READ MORE: Before the Bullet: Were Scammers Victims of America’s Mental Health Crisis?)

His name is not Voldemort J. Trump. His name is Donald J. Trump. His fans are not monsters, they are humans.

The spirituality of the world became palpable on July 13, 2024. It is felt that the battle is not between flesh and blood, but between the leaders and authorities of the spiritual world. Many political issues are no longer a question of Republicans versus Democrats. They are a question of goodness versus wickedness. Yet I find constant comfort in Allie Beth Stuckey’s axiom: “God’s eternal plan of redemption always works out smoothly.”

Columnist Gerard Baker urges Christians not to hyper-spiritualize Trump’s survival as a “message from God,” but it’s hard not to see this near miss as a moment of divine providence and perhaps the world’s most-watched miracle.

God is not done with you and me. God is not done with Donald J. Trump. God is certainly not done with America. Let us fight, fight, fight together.

Emma Peel is an alumna of Grove City College and works in the financial services industry. Ms. Peel enjoys hiking, cooking, and entertaining friends and family. When corporate America gets too much for her, she finds refuge in reading and writing about conservative virtues. You can find her writing at Checkpoint.org.