This was not what I wanted to write about today. This election, this whirlwind of upsets and angers, was something I hoped would find its way into my distant memory after that night. I planned on next week’s SNL jokes about Trump’s failed campaign, more roasts from Seth Meyers and Stephen Colbert.
What I didn’t expect was to be up at 5:00 a.m. with calls and texts from people scared for their lives. Didn’t expect to sit on on a hill in the rain with friends who were terrified and wonder how the f*ck this happened. Didn’t expect people I hadn’t talked to in years to come to me for advice in the wake of a decision that not only threatens their own lives, but the lives of everyone they’ve ever loved. Didn’t expect having to explain to sexual assault victims that a man accused of so many rapes was just named President. Didn’t expect to wonder about the next terrorist attacks.
I didn’t expect election results that ended in people sharing numbers for crisis hotlines. With people begging loved ones to be safe when they left their houses the next day.
When it became clear that, if things continued, Trump would win the election, Van Jones came into the CNN spotlight:
“People have talked about a miracle. I’m hearing about a nightmare. It’s hard to be a parent tonight, for a lot of us. You tell your kids don’t be a bully. You tell your kids don’t be a bigot. You tell your kids do your homework and be prepared. And then you have this outcome and you have people putting children to bed tonight, and they’re afraid of breakfast. I have Muslim friends who are texting me tonight saying should I leave the country. I have families of immigrants that are terrified tonight... This was a white-lash… and that’s where the pain comes from.”
Seated in a cramped, stuffy college lounge, I watched the results start to fall into place. I looked around the room, noting how tense the air had suddenly become. We had the full mix of students: Jewish, black, Muslim, female, hispanic, Asian, gay, trans and everything in between. But suddenly we weren’t college students anymore. We’d transformed into targets.
When I cast my first ever vote in a United States presidential election, I was proud that it was for a woman. That pride doesn’t fade now because she didn’t win. But things are different than I thought they would be last week, there’s no doubt about that.
Hillary Clinton’s campaign was historic, no matter the results. The first female to be nominated as the candidate for a major party. The first candidate that so many young girls grew up recognizing. The first candidate that young girls could see some aspect of themselves in. Clinton showed young girls what they can achieve. As she said in her concession speech:
“To all the women, and especially, the young women who put their faith in this campaign and in me, I want you to know that nothing has made me prouder than to be your champion. To all the little girls who are watching this, never doubt that you are valuable, and powerful, and deserving of every chance and opportunity in the world to pursue and achieve your own dreams.”
Hillary Clinton created a world where it is possible for little girls to believe in their futures again. Even though she didn’t win, she sparked a movement that stretches far past her.
Clinton created a new kind of presidential candidate for our children to look up to. Sure, the presidential lineup is still left with only men, but Clinton carved a spot for women that wasn’t available to us before. It’s up to us now to keep teaching, keep cheering for our children and the dreams that Clinton inspired in so many of them. Keep teaching values of love, acceptance and peace. If we can raise a generation better than ourselves then we finally can say with confidence, Never Again. Never again to more than coat hanger abortions. Never again to bigotry, hatred, ignorance, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, rape culture, racism and so much more. In the words of Maya Angelou:
“Leaving behind nights of terror and fear, I rise.”
Rise, and teach our children to rise with us.
I used to say I wanted to be alive in the 1960s. I wanted to experience the rush of change in a world that was so incredibly divided. I wanted to join the protests, the rallies, the movements. I saw these incredible Pride Walks, feminist rallies, racial marches and anti-Vietnam protests, and I couldn’t help but feel a little intoxicated with its romanticism. People coming together, fighting the good fight, whatever it may be. It seemed like things were really changing then, whereas my own life felt so stagnant. I take this back. This election has not only tossed us back into the 1960s. It’s tossed us decades back but with more advanced weaponry than ever before. With more sensitive intelligence, more delicate world balances.
In this hour of fear and pain it’s time to band together. If we’re going back to the 1960s, we’re going to do it right this time. I know some of you are afraid to go outside in these next few days. It’s okay to take time today to feel this pain, to feel the injustice that just occurred in our country. In these coming days, weeks and months know that your mental and physical health are vital. Remind your loved ones (and yourself) that their heritages, ethnicities, races, sexual orientations, genders identities, cultures, beliefs and lives are valid. No matter what.
And when you’re ready, break out your 1960s protest songs, your tie-dye shirts and your poster boards. The next four years could be scary, but if we’ve learned anything in our history it’s that the American spirit is one that will fight for what we believe in, no matter what.
As we mourn this loss we must not fall stagnant in our actions. It’s times like these that call on us to talk, to create and to keep moving. Toni Morrison discusses just how important artists are in times of terror in her essay entitled, "No Place for Self-Pity, No Room for Fear":
“I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence. Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge — even wisdom. Like art.”
We cannot fall to this election. The blues, purples, blacks and reds staining our hearts hurt like hell, and it’s important to take the time to let ourselves find a new equilibrium. But, when you’re ready, crawl out of your bed. Wrap yourself in blankets, drink hot tea, play your favorite song, wipe your tears, wash your body and start a new day.
