Dear fellow American Citizens,

It feels as though i've spent about a milennia in contemplation about what I was going to write. How could I know what to write? What combination of letters, words, figurative language, origninal and clever points could I possibly muster to be worthwhile for anyone to read that also describe how I feel?

First- it was Narendra Modi winning the position of Prime Minister in India, along with the reelection of Prime Minister David Cameron- who's following resignation would come under circumstances that made things no better- the Brexit vote, which would go on to foreshadow a trend that gives rise to what has been a notion of impossibility for much of the press up until it happened- A Donald Trump Presidency, preceded by the defeat of me hero, Bernard Sanders, in the primary. These past two years have signaled loss after loss after loss for causes in many those parts of the world to which I have, for one reason or another, a personal connection through heritage and commonwealth. It raises the question as to weather or not this movement toward the right wing is due to a trend toward nationalism- one that has swept the globe from one end to the other which ironically travels across borders. Whether this narrative is true or false remains to be seen and requires careful study-but one thing is clear, we are in the midst of a monumental shift.

My involvement in the election was extensive- I was first what they call a "supervolunteer" on the Bernie Sanders campaign in Pennsylvania, and later on a fellow and Field Organizer at the political organization NextGen Climate. I followed the polls obsessively for half a year, evaluating trends, contemplating arguments, registering voters and just trying to absorb exactly what it was that made the American elector tick. I would often look to formal publications and political science research to contextualize what I was seeing (which was sensible, especially in light of the fact that qualitative evidence proved to be far more trustworthy than the quantitative evidence). Prior to my time with NextGen, while the Democratic primary was still in motion though near the ladder portion of the campaign, I proclaimed, publicly, "If Hillary Clinton is the Democratic Nominee, Donald Trump is the next President of the United States." An outlandish, preposterous idea it seemed to Clinton surrogates and advocates. "Of course Trump couldn't win, he's alienated too many people!" After all three Presidential debates, when Hillary supporters were boastful about what was becoming ever more apparent victory, I consistently was a drag on the upbeat mood with my lack of confidence. I was working to undo the prophecy I had made earlier, but as time went on something just wasn't feeling right. Despite how the debates may have been polling, my assertions were always that Donald Trump's points would no doubt get his people out to the polls- authoritarianism is a leading predictor of Trump support, and this in tandem with (and in part, maybe on offshoot of) the fact that the Republican party is intertwined with a deep sense of patriotism often to the point of fostering a nationalistic mindset would ensure people exercised their right to vote- a right people gave their lives to achieve and preserve. The question was, did Hillary's performance, and the Clinton campaign's performance, get the left out to vote? I had serious doubts about that, right up until the very end.

I went home the night before the election after three full days on canvassing, phone banking and debating. When I got in the house I threw my head toward the table with such velocity as to have had an assured concussion had I not prepared a cushioning for myself with my crossed arms. After hearing a thud next to my ear, I rose from the depths of slumber to eat the food my father had prepared for me at one in the morning out of concern that I hadn't eaten enough (so quintessentially him, and Bengali). The taste of home threw me into a state of contemplation about my childhood, when my concerns were with whether I would watch Peter Pan or the Jungle Book, if mother would notice that I spilled paint on the rug because I forgot to put newspaper down while doing my artwork, and cuddling up with my dog Brigadier for a night under the blanket forts I built. It occurred to me, at that time, that somewhere, there must have been a kid in the same state of mind who was a member of the other side. I contemplated the phenomenology of childhood and how, were we to return there, and meet one another, we would have nothing to be divided about. Though I only allowed this introspective moment of sentimentality to last a moment, it provided a clarity for me that I still haven't quite worked out the meaning of. Anyway, I finished my dinner, went and went to bed. I woke at 6:00 in the morning with an ominous feeling; something was just off. When we got in line at the polls, I saw my neighbors and fellow community folk- hard working, generous, and faithful people with love of family and country in line to vote with an adamant pride about them. I had always been in line to vote with my parents- and maybe it was because I was there, for the first time, to cast a ballot myself in a presidential election, but it just felt different this time. This election, in all its divisiveness, disdainful and even shameful manner, in many ways highlighted the tradition and resilience of voting among my neighbors. I wish you (the reader) could have been there and saw what I saw, felt what I felt, and maybe you did. But seeing these people I grew up around, in light of all that had happened, lining up to have their say gave me chills in a way that I cannot communicate to you. I knew they would be voting for Trump, and I had a good feeling that we were going to lose.

I am a Democrat, a proud liberal, and I voted for Hillary Clinton. But, when she called Trump supporters "deplorables," she was talking about the people I grew up with. People who I sat around the portable fire pit at haloween, people who had neighborhood Christmas parties and arranged firetrucks to come during the labor day parades. They are people who, some of them, I haven't gotten along with 100% of the time. However, they are people who I know would do anything for me if I needed them to- people who care about charity and the American dream.

After the results came in, and the election was called for Trump, I protested until 4:30 in the morning. Amidst the emotion, people chanting, kicking over trashcans while others sprinted to place them back upright, there was this wave of emotionless nihilism, people were looking at each other, laughing and saying "well, we are all going to die anyway, so the good news is that none of this really matters anyway." In the pitch black dark illuminated by the moon and the light of a thousand cellphones, I thought how how civilizations of the past went through similar cycles of politics. I thought to how even though the languages spoken in the chants, the points on the timeline, the surrounding architecture and names of the causes were different from ours, that this raw human energy and will to march and fight for progress was a phenomenological experience that we shared with people throughout generations- and reflecting on it put me in touch with them. After the crowds dispersed and the Pitt and Carlow students went back into their dormatories, I walked back in the wet and the cold night alone to the bus stop, went back to Duquesne, got into my room, and slept- knowing what I would be awaking to in the morning.

If it has seemed that I was all over the place in my writing-it is because my feelings have indeed been all over the place. This I do know, however: We cannot have this "elite" and condescending class of people ruling American politics or the Democratic (or Republican) parties anymore. To win an election, representing the status quo is a loss-sentence. But even more importantly- I know, being a biracial son of an interracial marriage with a father from Calcutta and a mother from rural New York, that what we have in common is more important than the differences used to divide us. I believe this with all my heart and always will.

Best regards,

Eric Sujit Chatterjee