Surviving Trump: Can Black And White Women Still Be Friends In The Era Of Trump?

It’s one of those quotes that, even in hindsight, makes me pause, cringe, and shake my head—because otherwise, I’d cry. A close friend once said, “Yes, Miriam. I think a racist can run the country fairly and objectively.” And she meant it. You think you’ve heard everything from a friend—every insecurity, every unpopular opinion, every karaoke song they should never sing again. Then, years in, you hit a political minefield and realize, there are still parts of each other you never saw coming.

As I heard those words, I found myself asking the question no one talks about in friendships between white women and women of color: Are we really friends?

Can we be friends if you actively vote for my demise? Can a multiracial friendship survive the misogyny, racism, and xenophobia of the Trump administration? Can we remain close after you heard of the rape allegations, the guilty verdict on 34 felony counts, the two impeachments, and countless racist dog whistles—and voted for him anyway? It’s an internal struggle I can trace back to the Barack Obama years, when a close friend described the former president as “uppity.” I explained it away, telling myself, She couldn’t possibly mean that. But that word stayed lodged, like a pebble in a shoe, and over the years, those pebbles added up until it became impossible to walk. There are quiet fault lines in Black and white female friendships, cracks that ideology splinters further. These cracks widened into fissures as I watched a Confederate flag paraded around the Capitol steps, carried by people emboldened by a president many of my white friends supported. And after yet another election where white women overwhelmingly voted against their own self-interest, I can’t help but wonder: Has the friendship line been crossed?

The Weight of Silence

In 2016, 47% of white women voted for Trump. Ninety-nine percent of Black women were sad. Completely frustrated but hopeful? We told ourselves that maybe they didn’t fully understand what they were endorsing. But in 2020, when 52% of white women voted for him again, sadness turned to anger, then resolve. This isn’t just a national issue anymore—it’s a white woman problem.

You created this mess; you fix it.

Don’t blame Black men or youth voters. In this craven quest for privilege, a monster was created that’s now eating us all alive. And yet, as my friend, you expect me to forgive. To give you that benefit of the doubt that Black women always give their white girlfriends. Well, no. Not anymore. White women’s propensity to uphold the white patriarchy isn’t just disappointing—it’s dangerous. It leaves me questioning everything I thought I knew about these friendships. Watching it play out feels unsettling in ways that words barely capture.

Let’s not pretend this betrayal is new. Historically? White women have advanced their own interests at the expense of Black women, reinforcing systems of oppression while claiming solidarity. During the suffrage movement, white women actively aligned with white supremacy, prioritizing their own interests/enfranchisement over the universal right to vote—explicitly excluding Black women from the cause. And let us never forget the feminist movement; their focus on gender equality ignored the intersecting realities of race, leaving the rest of us out of the conversation. Entirely. These weren’t incidental oversights; they were deliberate choices that secured white women’s proximity to power while leaving Black women to fight battles on multiple fronts—alone. Each betrayal has been a reminder: when the fight for equality gets uncomfy, too often, white women recuse themselves.

Friendship, Accountability, Reciprocity

Women’s friendships are supposed to be different—deeper, richer, bound by fierce loyalty and unwavering support. My closest friendships have always been built on shared vulnerability and trust. But true friendship can’t survive without accountability. It demands reciprocity, especially now, when political choices are personal. When those values are betrayed, it chips away at trust, turning intimacy into a fragile facade held together by nostalgia and polite exchanges. How do these rifts happen? How can a friendship forged in fire suddenly feel like it’s built on sand? With some white friends, the gap between our experiences used to be easier to bridge. But now, the gap has become a gulf. And that gulf keeps getting wider and harder to cross. What I need in friendship now is empathy and accountability that transcends politics. A friend who understands that their vote isn’t just a ballot—it’s a statement about how they see me, my humanity, and our shared values. If accountability and mutual respect are missing, then what are we even holding onto? Without both, friendship becomes a social performance rather than a true connection. Black and white female friendships are deteriorating under the weight of politics. The cracks once ignored have widened with every election, every silence, every unspoken truth.

The Fragile Bonds of Cross-Racial Friendship

Cross-racial friendships broaden perspectives, reduce prejudice, and foster a more cohesive society. Studies show they deepen empathy, helping us challenge biases and see beyond stereotypes. But no number of books, marches, or movies can pierce the veil of privilege if white women aren’t willing to do the work. Black women continue to save democracy, even as we question if white women are tearing it down, piece by piece. The real issue isn’t about understanding anymore—it’s about accountability. Show me a white conservative woman who voted for Trump and then reached out to hear her Black friend’s fears and struggles. Go ahead. I’ll wait. Because the way they vote shows they are not worried about our feelings. They’re not losing sleep over how their votes undo the work we’ve spent generations building.

A Question of Survival

When silence becomes the default, the fractures in our friendship are no longer invisible. The wind whistles through those fissures, a reminder of what’s been left unsaid. With every divisive choice, the rifts widen. If friendship can’t withstand these challenges, it’s time to question what’s worth holding onto. Real friendship demands solidarity, not just when it’s easy but when it truly matters.

And when you vote for someone who dog-whistles to white supremacists, I have to wonder: would you rather see me dead than equal?

Miriam Thompson is a multidisciplinary storyteller and cultural critic whose work bridges the worlds of art, writing, and journalism. With a sharp eye for nuance and a commitment to exploring the untold stories of history and culture, she examines the forces that shape identity, power, and relationships. Grounded in her unique Black perspective, Miriam’s writing challenges conventional narratives, offering new insights into the complexities of human connection and societal norms. Her work reflects a deep belief in storytelling as a transformative tool for liberation and truth.

SEE ALSO:

Surviving Trump: The Tough Conversations Black America Need To Have

‘Thank You Madam Vice President’: Thousands Of Black Women Praise Kamala Harris In Open Letter