The last time I posted here, my biggest fear was that Hillary Clinton would barely squeak out a win, crippling her ability to be as effective a president as she could be. I was steeling myself for a historic presidency that would be tainted by latent misogyny and Republican obstructionism.
Welp, at least we don’t need to worry about Republican obstructionism anymore?
Tuesday morning, I jumped out of bed early. I walked around the block to my neighborhood polling place. I had tears in my eyes as I thought the ballot I turned in would help make Hillary Clinton, one of my role models, the first female President of the United States.
Wednesday morning, I stayed in bed. I woke up hoping for a miracle. I broke down and wept in anguish as I watched Hillary Clinton, the most qualified candidate to run for the Oval Office, concede to the least qualified candidate in history. I had to hear one of my heroes tell me, the little girls of the country, and the first female president of the United States (wherever she may be), that we deserve every opportunity.
Welcome to the darkest timeline. Apparently that last statement is no longer obvious. Hillary Clinton needed to tell us that before she becomes a footnote of history.
I wish I could say that her grace and dignity should an example to us all. I can’t, though. I resent it. My country decided that an imperfect woman was an unacceptable choice when the other option was an incredibly flawed man. She lost because she was held to a higher standard while he was held to no standards of decency at all. To add insult to injury, she had to lose with grace.
(Am I boiling this down to a simple question of gender? Yes. But I’m just calling it as I see it from my admittedly limited perspective. It got Trump elected, so the least it can do for me is get some traffic to my blog.)
It’s Thursday morning now. I’m back on my morning commute, trying to ignore the fact that I definitely heard another rider say Viva Trump! I’m trying to get these thoughts down now because they are important. I can’t allow myself to forget this feeling of rejection.
As a straight cis woman of European descent, I am one chromosome away from being at the apex of privilege in America. I recognize this. So while I feel rejected by half of my country, at least no one wants to deport me, take away my right to marry, or stop and frisk me. My pussy might be up for grabs, but I guess I’m lucky that my reproductive rights are locked down by the copper IUD I got two years ago. It’ll last as long as any foreseeable Trump/Pence presidency, at least.
Not that the idea of waiting until I’m nearly 40 to have kids thrills me. My sister has to face the unbearable choice of raising her beautiful twin girls in a country that doesn’t believe in their infinite potential, or packing it up and going back to the country our parents left because America was supposed to be the land of opportunity.
I’m wondering if it’s better to leave or to stay and stick it out here. It felt like a no-brainer on Monday when Trump was unthinkable. There was no way it could happen, and if it did, there was no way I could tolerate it.
It did happen. It’s Day 2 of the darkest timeline. Now I have to figure out if I’m the kind of coward who can’t stick to her guns, or the type of coward that runs away when things get too hard.