Op-Ed: Disclaimer:
The views and opinions expressed in this op-ed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Baller Alert. This piece is intended to share a personal perspective and spark thoughtful conversation.
As a Black woman who grew up in a close-knit, predominantly Black neighborhood and graduated from an HBCU, I never imagined I’d be ending friendships over politics. But then again, I never imagined someone I considered a friend would be praising Donald Trump and tagging Charlie Kirk like it was normal.
On my private Instagram account, I follow about 200 people. It’s a small circle, mostly made up of people I grew up with or came to know after moving to a red state. Some of the new faces were Latino, some even close friends. I always assumed they were aligned with my political views—especially since I was unapologetically vocal. I posted memes, endorsed candidates, and proudly let everyone know I was casting my vote for Kamala Harris. She’s brilliant, an HBCU alum like me, and qualified.
During Trump’s campaign, his divisive rhetoric was impossible to ignore. I never doubted that the people around me would also see through it—especially those who knew the direct harm his policies caused to people of color, immigrants, women, and marginalized communities. I assumed we were all on the same page.
I was wrong.
After Trump won his second term, I noticed something that made my stomach turn. I was casually scrolling through stories and posts, and there it was: one of my associates wearing a MAGA hat. Not only that, she had tagged Charlie Kirk.
Let’s pause for a moment. Charlie Kirk is the founder of Turning Point USA, a far-right organization that has built its brand on race-baiting, anti-Black rhetoric, and downplaying systemic racism. This is a man who once tweeted that he would refuse to board a plane if the pilot were Black, and has repeatedly mocked diversity, equity, and inclusion efforts. He’s also known for making inflammatory statements against immigrants and defending white supremacist talking points under the guise of “free speech.”
Seeing her tag him was a gut punch.
I screenshot the post and sent it to mutual friends, asking, “Did y’all know she was like this?” It wasn’t just a difference in political preference—it felt like betrayal. Here was a second-generation immigrant, whose parents came to this country illegally, aligning herself with a man and a movement that’s openly hostile to people like her… and like me.
I couldn’t understand it. Trump literally built a large part of his platform around mass deportations and anti-immigrant policies. So how could someone whose very existence in this country was shaped by that struggle support him?
I haven’t spoken to her since. And I don’t plan to.
It hurt. Not just because she voted for Trump, but because she supported everything he and his allies stand for—things that directly hurt people like me. And it made me question: if you can vote for someone who disrespects Black women, demonizes immigrants, and defends white supremacists, then you never really valued me in the first place.
This wasn’t just about politics. It was about values. About identity. About the simple fact that support for Trump isn’t harmless disagreement—it’s endorsement of harm.
Friendship, to me, is rooted in shared respect. And once that’s gone, so is the friendship.
