In the wake of the election of Donald Trump, we drop in on conversations teens are having among themselves — from a cautiously optimistic college republican in Georgia, to a concerned circle of Latinos teens in DC, to passionate group of high school protesters in Berkeley.
I grew up in a middle-class, suburban county in New Jersey, but now I’m a twenty-something intern living in a low-income part of Washington, D.C. The realtor euphemism for such neighborhoods is “transitional,” a word that implies ongoing change. This is ironic because I feel that so many of the residents here feel as though things will never change, and will always stay the same. Since moving here, I’ve already become accustomed to the wail of sirens, the disconcerting, yet reassuring pulse of blue and red light through the heavy bars on my windows.
