My brother, the Trump supporter

My brother and I were together before we were even born.

{mosads}“Womb-mates,” my mother jokes — only 10 minutes separated his birth and mine. According to her, neither of us stopped crying until, going against hospital procedure, a nurse lifted my brother’s wrinkled pink body and laid him down in my incubator. We fell asleep drooling toothlessly onto each other, the newness of the bright cold world no longer frightening, because we were together.

For most of my life, I’ve felt this close to my twin. Despite the physical distance we later faced in college — he in Columbus, Baltimore for me — and the much greater distance of our current post-grad existence — Shanghai and D.C. — we continued to share a bond greater than siblinghood.

That is, until recently.

This year, that closeness, that deep understanding, has been thrown into chaos. I grapple now with the largest division we’ve ever faced: My brother supports Trump, and I support women.

Were my brother rightly horrified by Trump’s consistent degradation of women — not to mention African-Americans, Latinos, homosexuals, Muslims, but that’s not what this argument is about — and pinching his nose to vote because of some fervent belief in Trump’s economic or foreign policy, I shouldn’t be so outraged. I’d be perplexed, and I’d disagree, but if he at least recognized the vileness of Trump’s rhetoric and behavior I’d forgive him. But he doesn’t.

“People are making all this into a bigger deal than it is,” he says. Most recently, on Facebook he posted:

“If American women are so upset at Trump’s use of naughty words, then who the hell bought 80 million copies of 50 Shades of Grey? A lot of fake outrage #neverhillary #hillaryforhospice.”

When I saw it, I cried.

Before you write him off as just another white male misogynist, I’d like to tell you that my brother has always supported me.

I still remember dancing the namesake role in my ballet school’s production of ‘Snow White,” catching sight of him in the audience. As I turned the finale series of fouetté turns, I locked onto him after each rotation — blur, blur, brother; blur, blur, brother — and I saw as he started clapping, sparking the whole theater into applause.

Years later, when I delivered a speech at my college graduation, I could hear his laughter at my weak jokes, that familiar, one-of-a-kind HA, identifiable as his even from the back of the audience. I say all this to show that brother has never been threatened by at least this woman; to me never jealous, only proud.

I say all this to defend him against your judgement, because while I’m hurt and angry and confused, I am above all his sister, who loves him.

It’s baffling to me, then, that he can shrug his shoulders when Trump describes women as “fat pigs” and “disgusting animals.”

These aren’t things my brother would say, and they’re not things he’d ever allow to be said about me. But that’s not enough. I’m his sister, yes, but a woman first and foremost. In my brother’s absence that doesn’t change. What my brother doesn’t understand is when he allows these things to be said about other women, he allows them to be said about me.

In last night’s debate, Trump described his most recently uncovered bout of misogynistic language, describing sexual assault, as “locker room banter.” Does my own brother, my twin, say such things in locker rooms, in the company of men, when he thinks he’ll not be chastised? Would he allow it to be said by others? Brother, this language isn’t just “locker room banter” — it’s rape culture. It’s not just “naughty words,” it’s a threat — to women, to me, and to this country.

Hillary Clinton said last night, in response to her political opponent’s repulsive language: “This is who Donald Trump is.” And, indeed, we know who he is. He’s a repugnant misogynist, a sexual assaulter, and the Republican nominee for president of the United States of America.

We know who Donald Trump is. But brother, sweet brother, what I would like to know is this:

Who are you?

Chevlen is a writer and editor living in Washington, D.C.

The views expressed by Contributors are their own and are not the views of The Hill.