Definition:
Schadenfreude is the quiet satisfaction felt when someone finally faces the consequences of their own actions. It is not cruel. It is not apathy. It is the natural response to watching accountability unfold, especially when harm was inflicted without remorse.
In this moment, I find myself sitting with a certain stillness. For years, we have watched people vote not for the common good but for policies steeped in exclusion, cruelty, and resentment. And now that those choices land squarely on their own communities, they call it unfair.
What do you call it when the fire you lit reaches your front porch?
Voting as Vengeance
We have all heard the slogans. “Take our country back.” “Build the wall.” “Drain the swamp.” These were not rallying cries for better policy. They were emotional release valves. Many Americans were not voting for solutions. They were voting out of fear, spite, and superiority. They voted not for what they believed would make the country better, but for what they believed would make someone else’s life harder.
Let’s be honest. Entire demographics became political targets. Immigrants were criminalized. Muslims were vilified. LGBTQ+ rights were rolled back. Environmental protections were torched. Women’s autonomy was slashed. And through it all, these voters cheered. Not because it improved their lives, but because it harmed the “others.”
That is not governance. That is vengeance at the ballot box.
The Mirror Turns
Fast forward to today. Suddenly, you see headlines like:
“We supported Trump, but now we’re hurting.”
“Our fire academy was closed. We never thought it would affect us.”
“I’m rethinking my support for this administration.”
One such headline—“A Maryland town backed Trump’s cost-cutting pledge. Now it’s a target”—recently appeared on NPR. It detailed how the Trump administration’s budget cuts shuttered in-person classes at the National Fire Academy in Emmitsburg, Maryland. The town, which strongly supported Trump in past elections, is now grappling with the economic and institutional fallout of that very support.
It is worth paying attention to how the article opens:
“Frank Davis saw a lot of waste during his decades in the federal government. In November, he voted for Donald Trump to get rid of it. So far, Davis likes a lot of what he has seen.”
Let that sink in. He voted to eliminate “waste.” A vague word that often ends up meaning public programs, services, or protections that someone else depends on. Now that the cuts have landed on his doorstep, he is beginning to rethink what that vote truly meant.
Later in the article, Davis adds:
“The administration is reviewing the academy’s operations, and he is hopeful it will restore classes. If not, he says, he’ll see the administration somewhat differently.”
NPR, 2025
That is it. Not outrage, not accountability, just a soft, conditional willingness to reconsider. It is a textbook case of selective empathy. The story only changes when the pain becomes personal.
And this reckoning is not limited to small towns. A recent article in Time highlights how many Latino voters, particularly Venezuelan and Cuban Americans in places like Florida, are now expressing regret after supporting Trump in 2024. Hopes for anti-dictatorship policy quickly gave way to reality. Mass deportations. Revoked protected status. Broken promises. The pain is no longer abstract. It shows up in missed paychecks, separated families, and shuttered opportunities. The pattern is the same whether in Emmitsburg, Maryland, or Doral, Florida. Support rooted in emotional vengeance now yields real-world consequences.
TIME, 2025
Let People Live
We live in a country obsessed with control. Controlling how others live, who they love, how they pray, or where they come from. We do not need to understand everyone to respect their right to exist. If you do not understand the LGBTQ+ community, that is your limitation. But it does not give you the license to legislate away their humanity. If immigration makes you uncomfortable, confront that within yourself. It does not justify ripping apart families or criminalizing survival.
I may not agree with every policy. I may have my own beliefs and boundaries. But I do not denigrate people for who they are. I do not treat humanity like a threat.
I am politically homeless. I do not align with either major party. I am just a person who believes in consequences, in accountability, and in basic dignity. Yes, I believe in national security. Yes, I believe in law. But I also believe that if your definition of “crime” includes seeking a better life, breathing so-called “American air,” or working the jobs no one else wants, then your definition is broken. And the policies you support are punishing people for existing.
Accountability Is Not Cruelty
Some might say this stance lacks compassion. I would argue the opposite. Real compassion involves truth. And truth demands accountability.
Empathy is not a one-way street. You cannot build a political identity around denying the humanity of others, then beg for understanding when the same machine turns on you. You cannot be silent while injustice roars, only to cry out when that silence no longer protects you.
What we are witnessing is not karma. It is the predictable result of years of policies built on short-sighted tribalism.
And to be clear, it does not give me joy to see people suffer. But I will not pretend to be surprised. This was forecasted in every policy briefing, every protest, every warning call from marginalized communities. People knew this would happen. They just did not think it would happen to them.
Double Standards in Crisis
The same individuals who now demand grace were often the first to criminalize compassion when others were suffering. The same lawmakers who pushed for aggressive deportations are stunned to see businesses struggling without immigrant labor. The same voters who demonized teachers and gutted public education are watching their own kids face overcrowded classrooms and crumbling schools.
And perhaps most jarring. The response to January 6. Supporters stormed the Capitol, assaulted police officers, and threatened elected officials. They did it openly, with flags and selfies. When arrested, many expected pardons, and received them. Contrast that with the treatment of peaceful protestors demanding equity. Tear gas. Mass arrests. Surveillance.
Where was the outrage then?
The Real Cost
What frustrates me most is not just the hypocrisy. It is the damage done along the way. The families broken. The trust eroded. The systems crippled. These were not abstract policy debates. They were real lives, real futures, real communities destroyed in the crossfire of political theater.
And those of us who warned this was coming? We were mocked. Ignored. Accused of being dramatic. Yet here we are. Watching entire towns wrestle with the consequences of their own choices. Watching them cry foul as the walls they helped build close in around them.
A Final Reflection
This is not about revenge. This is about naming what is real.
I feel no obligation to water down my response when people who helped engineer the suffering of others now experience a fraction of that same suffering themselves. I am not celebrating misfortune. I am recognizing its origin. And sometimes, yes, that recognition carries a tinge of Schadenfreude.
Not because I enjoy the pain. But because I remember all the times we were told ours did not matter.
GANA 
Leave a comment