The parallels are uncanny.
When he was in power, it was a dark time. A climate of fear, hatred, and division ruled the land. He was heartless and cruel, sneering at those he thought weak, uncaring how many died from his misdeeds. Any of his allies who dared disagree with him faced ruin. Many of us fought against him, but it often seemed that nothing could stop him from ruling the world.
When his reign finally came to an end, there was rejoicing in the streets. It was a late fall day, and after the news went out, clusters of people huddled excitedly in driveways and on roadsides, grinning even at strangers, unable to contain their jubilation. People felt they could breathe again.
And yet, some say he’s not truly gone. His power has diminished, but he’s still out there somewhere, gathering his forces. Those who supported him are mustering to bring him back. Because of this, fear still lurks in the hearts of many: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might one day rise again.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (or even seen)
One of the ways I’ve coped with the last couple years is listening to the entire Harry Potter series on Audible. I’d read it multiple times before, and it once comforted me through a long hospital stay. So in early 2020, when it occurred to me to listen to it again, I felt a delicious thrill. Soon I had conjured up the first book on my phone, and off I went.
During the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, a golden warmth spread through my veins, as though I’d just drunk a goblet of Felix Felicis potion. For the next several days, I felt happier than I’d felt in months.
The books made the world more bearable. Trump had just been impeached (for the first time), and it was easy to see him as Voldemort. Many of us had called him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named after he was elected. Like most witches and wizards, we were loath to say our villain’s name. To this day, at least in writing, a few of my friends still call him 45, or Drumpf, or tRump.
Right after the 2016 election, Ron and I were so upset that we banished Trump’s likeness and name from our house. I installed an extension on Google Chrome that replaced every mention of “President Trump” with “Someone With Tiny Hands,” so that a recent news headline might read, for example, “Criminal inquiry into Someone With Tiny Hands’ Georgia election interference gathers steam.”
I also got the extension that changed all Trump photos to pictures of adorable kittens, not unlike the kittens adorning the walls of Dolores Umbridge’s office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. If we ever got a magazine or newspaper with Trump’s face on the cover, we flipped it over. We just couldn’t stand him.
And I write a blog about civil discourse!
“Call him Voldemort, Harry.”
There’ve always been disrespectful epithets for presidents—Dubya for George W. Bush comes to mind. And of course, Trump himself is the Dark Lord of disrespect, belittling all his opponents with names like Sleepy Joe and Little Marco.
But in living memory at least, there’s never been such a visceral, widespread reaction to a name. It’s a reaction so strong that for years, millions of Americans couldn’t stomach the simple word “Trump,” or, especially, phrases like “President Donald J. Trump.”
By the time I listened to Harry Potter, though, I’d stopped using epithets for Trump. So had most people I knew. We’d finally gotten used to his presidency, as much as it’s possible to get used to an abusive, traumatizing situation.
But now, listening to Harry Potter in 2020, it belatedly occurred to me that all our epithets had never made much sense for Trump. Not if we were Harry Potter fans.
Because author J.K. Rowling’s whole point was that refusing to say someone’s name only fuels their power.
In the books, just a few people choose to call Voldemort Voldemort. But they’re our heroes—people like Harry himself, the formidable Albus Dumbledore, and the brave Professor Lupin. Dumbledore coaches Harry on why he should use Voldemort’s name:
“Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.”
It wasn’t exactly fear that had made me recoil from Trump’s name when he was elected. It was disgust—at him, at the millions who’d voted for him, and at the fact that such a vile human being could tarnish the office of president. Every mention of him was a reminder of my country’s ignorance, bigotry, and ugliness. These reminders felt toxic, like something I needed to cleanse from my body.
But there are parallels to the wizarding world here too. By avoiding Trump’s name and likeness, we hovered in a state of semi-denial, refusing to fully accept that Trump was, in fact, the forty-fifth President of the United States.
What’s more, it was denial that those who had elected him were our fellow citizens and our kinfolk. That Trump’s election did represent who we were as a country. Or at least, part of who we were.
As long as we clung to our denial, it gave Trump a certain sway over our emotions. He won.
The other reason to call Trump Trump
Dumbledore doesn’t say it explicitly, but there’s another reason to use a person’s name, even if we revile them. That reason is humanization.
At the core of Harry Potter is the question of what it means to be human, or humanized. Voldemort himself is not fully human—he has a face like a snake’s, and in his efforts to conquer death, he has damaged his once-human soul beyond repair.
The books are also riddled, if you will, with other nonhuman creatures: centaurs, house-elves, werewolves, goblins. Again and again, Harry learns the importance of treating all these creatures with humanity and dignity. Harry’s friend Hermione fights to free the house-elves from enslavement. Dumbledore has taken the trouble to learn mermish, earning the respect of the merfolk. Harry befriends werewolves, half-giants, and elves alike.
In contrast, Voldemort and the Death Eaters treat nonhumans with disdain. This turns out to be one of their greatest weaknesses.
Harry’s strength lies in courage, and in love. He is innately kind and sympathetic, ever-ready to lend a hand to those who need it. He’s no saint—he struggles with rage and even hatred. But although he sometimes wants to kill his enemies, he hesitates to do so, using stunning spells rather than deadly curses even when they’re trying to kill him.
Harry doesn’t want to become a killer. He senses it would diminish his humanity. This is a key difference between him and Voldemort, who has no such scruples.
(Alas, the series itself is imperfect when it comes to humanization. If only Rowling had fully included LGBTQ+ characters, for instance, and refrained from fat-shaming! I still love the books, but I do recognize their flaws.)
Dehumanization leads to violence.
Brene Brown, the adored professor, researcher, podcaster, and probable Gryffindor, put out an excellent episode on accountability and dehumanization after the January 6th insurrection. She talks at length about how dehumanization leads to violence.
When we exclude a group of people from our circle of humanity, Brown says, it becomes okay to attack, enslave, or kill them. Dehumanization is so powerful that she advises us to always avoid doing it, even with someone abhorrent like President Trump.
I’ve been in so many interviews over the last couple of years where people have smugly said something like, “Oh my god, Trump is such a pig.” Or: “What do you think about the Cheeto in command?”
I said, “You know, I don’t use that language.”
They’re like, “Yeah, we know, it’s dehumanizing—but we’re talking about Trump.”
I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t use that language. I am not going to be a willing participant in this country devolving into a place where killing each other doesn’t matter. And that’s what we do when we use dehumanizing language.
So I would ask you to consider, or reconsider, participating in any conversations that dehumanize anyone.
And refusing to say Trump’s name isn’t only dehumanizing to him—it also degrades the 63 million people who voted him into office in 2016. If they elected someone who is less than human, what does that make them? And where will our dehumanization of them lead?
To retain your own humanity, humanize others.
Harry Potter’s contrast between good and evil shines a light for all of us, wizards and muggles alike. Being good isn’t only about defeating evildoers. It’s also about defeating our own internal demons—among them, our impulses to dehumanize.
Even in the face of violence and injustice, we must somehow retain our humanity. And as Harry learns, when we dehumanize others, we diminish ourselves in the process.
This gets back to what my friend Eileen said about Trump in 2018:
The moment I find myself feeling superior to someone is the moment that I cease to be able to learn from them.
It’s justified to be outraged at Trump, and angry with those who’ve supported him. But at some point, many of us have crossed over from outrage to dehumanization, deciding Trump and his supporters are fundamentally less than ourselves—less human, and less worthy of our humanity.
But we are still fellow humans. And fellow Americans. We’re inextricably joined.
Thinking this all out, I’ve decided to always say Trump’s name. It’s a way of facing the reality that he was elected (in 2016, not 2020!), and also of humanizing him. In the process, I humanize myself.
It’s what Dumbledore would do.
