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{Editor’s Note: “Stop covering politics,” some of our dear readers cry every time we post something relephant. Look: politics are life. Equal rights, empathy, fair economy, healthcare. We can’t ignore what’s happening, and you shouldn’t either. Disagree? We’re happy to share your experience here. ~ ed.}
If Trump Came to Your Zendo to Practice, Would You Let Him Sit?
Take a moment to imagine:
You’re at your local zendo. You’ve removed your shoes and bowed to the altar of the Buddha statue. The incense has been lit. But right before the bell is struck, the zendo door opens, and there stands Donald Trump.
The room contracts, and minds that were ready to settle down begin firing up.
The question—or better yet, the koan—arises: do we let him sit with us?
I think for many Buddhists the immediate, knee-jerk answer would be no. But this is exactly why I believe this koan has teeth. It puts us in a difficult position—similar to stepping off a hundred-foot pole—where either choice we make could be viewed, in the conventional sense, as the wrong one.
How can we say yes when this man has caused some people real suffering and real pain, and has created policies that may not be in line with the Buddhist intention of benefiting all beings? Yet how can we turn him away?
All beings have Buddha-nature, and with the right conditions, this can be realized. If we turn away from Trump, are we not also turning away from our own “Trump-like” qualities that exist within ourselves? What about our vow to save all beings? Don’t we chant, “Sentient beings are numberless; I vow to free them all?” I’ve never once heard any community chant, “…all beings but one.”
I ask this koan not to trigger people (although the squeeze of being triggered is a great place of practice) or to cause unnecessary drama in the community. To me, this question is not a joke.
I’ve honestly been struggling lately with the events of the world and how best to meet them as a practicing Buddhist.
Although the question mentions Donald Trump, it’s not actually about him. It could be anyone. Your weird neighbor. Linda in accounting. ICE officers. Liberals. Republicans. Your son-in-law.
I feel the deeper question of this koan is how we learn to be with things that make us uncomfortable or cause us pain.
How do we relate to people, situations, world events, or even thoughts and emotions that we disagree with or that bring us trouble? How are we supposed to act in a divided world full of controversy, propaganda, algorithm-driven social media posts/videos, violence, and hatred in a way that doesn’t blindly take sides, yet still responds to relieve suffering?
Let me bring you back to the moment this koan began forming in my mind.
Although I’m a practicing Buddhist, I have baptized all four of my kids. I did this at a church I became associated with through an amazing reverend I met in college while studying religion. The church is a beautiful Gothic-style building, and it is very inclusive. The Reverend pulls inspiration and teachings from many different traditions and makes the sermons as practical as possible, which is why I gravitated toward them.
During my youngest son’s baptism, however, the sermon shifted in the direction of who to vote for. As much as I admire the church and the Reverend—and regardless of my personal political views—bringing politics into the house of worship left a bad taste in my mouth.
While I understood the logic, something felt off.
How can a place claim to be inclusive and all-loving while also promoting only one political view? Surely not everyone in the church held the same political beliefs—or maybe they did? I obviously couldn’t know. But even if there was one person who didn’t agree politically, I wondered how they might have felt during that talk. I imagined someone feeling bad or wrong simply because they had a different view of politics.
Isn’t a church a place to deepen one’s relationship with God—a place to feel loved and accepted for exactly who they are—rather than a place for choosing who’s on our side?
Yet I also understand the other view: how can you not ask your community to vote for a party that promotes inclusivity, morality, and acceptance? How can you not stand up against injustices? Shouldn’t we come together and vote for someone who will cause the least amount of harm?
It’s a very difficult and sticky situation.
This predicament reminds me of the koan from the Gateless Gate, Case 5:
Kyogen said, “It’s like a man up in a tree, hanging from a branch with his mouth; his hands can’t grasp a bough, his feet won’t reach one. Under the tree there is another man who asks him the meaning of Bodhidharma’s coming from the West. If he doesn’t answer, he evades his duty. If he answers, he will lose his life. What should he do?”
Every time I see a controversial event happen on the news, I feel like this man hanging high up in the tree by my teeth. I wonder to myself, “How do I meet this?” If I respond in a way that’s not in line with a particular person’s narrative, it feels like I’ll be alienated. But if I don’t respond authentically, I feel like I lose myself. Don’t-know mind.
Should we go out and yell and scream in the streets?
Or should we meditate with our aggressors’ images on our altars?
Do we speak up and make noise, or peacefully walk across the country, showing an alternative to the madness instead?
What happens when we meet someone whose views are different from our own? Do we let them speak, or should we walk away?
From here, I began to notice that much of the support within the Buddhist community also seemed to fall in line with a certain political party. Again, I understand why, and I’m not saying this is wrong. But it begs the question: can the opposing party practice too?
I know many amazing human beings on both sides of the political fence. Do I just forget the human underneath the belief because I don’t agree with their choice? Is this what practice is about?
What if someone in your community voted differently than you or feels differently about certain events happening in the world? Could you learn to sit together? Could you disagree without hatred, aversion, or self-righteousness in your heart? Can you stand up against harm without causing more harm or demonizing the people on the “wrong” side?
How can we sit upright when the one we despise sits right there next to us?
In today’s world, it’s easy to solidify someone or some group into being just one thing—such as all bad or all evil. But if you’ve done even a little bit of sitting with yourself, it becomes quite clear that none of us are ever just one thing. We are a whole cluster of both wholesome and unwholesome qualities, constantly changing with the conditions of our lives.
From a Buddhist perspective, there’s nothing solid we can call “me” or “mine.” If that’s the case—at least from an absolute level—who are these others we want to get rid of? If the right hand poisons the left hand, the right hand will also die.
I think ultimately what this koan comes down to is this:
Can we practice during these times without turning Buddhism into a political identity?
Is our compassion selective?
Do we want liberation—or do we want to be right?
For me, practice doesn’t mean we don’t stand up to harm. It means we refuse to dehumanize the one causing it. If we cannot sit with the person we despise, then perhaps our meditation is fragile. If our compassion depends on agreement, maybe it isn’t true compassion. The real question isn’t whether Trump can sit in the zendo, it’s whether our heart is big enough to.
So when you’re sitting at the zendo and the door opens—will you bow?
~
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