Inaugurate Thyself

At first I was just sick.

My stomach twisted in knots, my mind and heart disbelieving.

We had worked so hard. Phone calls, door knocks, voter registration. I stood at the polls from before they opened until well after they closed, feeling cautiously optimistic as we posted the tallies and locked up the voting machines.

And then the texts from my friends started coming:

"Did you see the news?"

"They called Pennsylvania for Trump."

"OMG!"

"How can this even be happening?!!!!!"

I turned on the radio as I drove through the darkness. The commentators on NPR were equally disbelieving. My stomach continued to churn. I've been disappointed with the outcome of other elections, but this was different. Very different.

It took no time at all for ugliness to erupt. Students in middle schools, elementary schools, and high schools taunted their classmates. Vandalism of Jewish synagogues, Muslim mosques and Black churches was reported. Bomb threats, attacks, and the visible presence of the KKK and White Nationalists became everyday news. Women were groped by young men shouting, "Grab 'em by the pussy!"

What had we become?

And that's when I realized, it wasn't the loss of the candidate I supported that was so upsetting, it was the notion that there were people who I knew for whom Trump's lies, racism, misogyny, and divisiveness were acceptable, and for some, even laudable.

When he mocked Serge Kovaleski, a disabled reporter, his supporters shrugged it off. Apparently it didn't bother them.

When he ridiculed the Khan family, who lost their son as he defended our country, his supporters were nonplussed. Was it because the Khans are immigrants? Is that why there was no outcry for this Gold Star family?

When he chose a running mate who has made it his mission take away the fundamental rights of LGBTQ people and women, his supporters cheered.

When he was shown on videotape admitting to assaulting women and using vulgar language to describe it, his supporters waved it away. As woman after woman came forward with accounts of his attacks, they denied the overwhelming evidence.

When he made repeated racist references to Hispanics, African Americans, and immigrants, his supporters didn't bat an eye.

When he supported an ex-KGB Russian prime minister over U.S. intelligence agencies, his supporters didn't even grumble.

For people who profess to be Christian, who say they are not racist, none of these things were deal breakers.

And that is the source of my dismay: that so many people could find Trump's utter lack of morals tolerable, and that the progress we seemed to have made toward tolerance and justice over the last eight years was apparently so fragile.

My Black friends were not so surprised. They see things I do not see. In my world of white privilege, I thought we had made more progress. I thought we were better than this.

But you know what? We are better than this.

As the days rolled on, it became clearer. Razor thin margins in 3 states had provided enough electoral votes to call the election for Trump, but Clinton was the clear winner of the popular vote, by almost 3 million votes. And there were a significant number of votes for other candidates.

I believe that we really are better than this. By more than 3 million people we are better than this.

I will march in Washington D.C. this weekend. I will make myself heard. I will advocate. I will call my legislators. I will support progressive candidates. I will continue to work for inclusion, for welcoming diversity, for racial justice. I will not accept that Trump's agenda is the agenda of the citizens of the United States of America, because it is not. I will not give up.

Instead, I will inaugurate myself:

"I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the office of Citizen of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."

Join me, won't you?

Ask. Listen. Call it out.

I've shed a lot of tears lately.

Mostly for the moms.

For the moms of beautiful black boys who have been lost; killed for reasons that can never be fully explained or understood.

For other moms; moms who are my friends, who worry about their own children, but especially their sons, in ways that are quite different than the ways I worry about my children. I worry about my girls' happiness, their friendships, the influence of drugs and alcohol. So do my friends, but they have other worries. They know that their babies will be subjected to scrutiny and judgments that they have not brought upon themselves by any action of their own, but simply because of who they are. Because of how they look. Because of the assumptions and fears of other people. People who don't even know them.

It has never occurred to me to teach my daughters how to act if they are accused of shoplifting or what to do if they are stopped by the police. Other moms do teach their children these things and it leaves me with a sick feeling in my stomach and an ache in my heart. I know their children: smart, funny, kind and sometimes a little sassy, just like my own children. But not blonde-haired and blue-eyed. So, in addition to teaching their children the things all parents must: rules and values, games and academics, they have to teach them how to defend against the indefensible.  While I can safely assume that if my children are accused of a crime, they will be treated fairly, my friends cannot. In the United States of America in 2014, they cannot assume that their children will be treated fairly by law enforcement if they are suspected of a crime, because they are black.  And that is what I must teach my children.

I've cried in frustration and horror because I can't imagine why men who swear oaths to serve and protect reach for their guns first, instead of their tasers or batons; why men who are heavily armed are so afraid and so filled with fury that one shot won't do - it must be six. How are police officer applicants screened? How were they trained? How are they held accountable? How did it come to this - that shooting an unarmed kid was the best choice among the range of possible actions? What is being done to ensure that this does not happen again?

I know that the officer from Ferguson who shot Michael Brown has his own story and a right to due process. I just can't get past the idea that there must have been another choice available to him besides executing a kid who had no weapon.

I have struggled with how to articulate my anger and sadness about the shooting of Michael Brown and the continuing turmoil in Ferguson. I know my feelings pale in comparison to the thoughts and feelings of people who are more directly affected in their daily lives by racism. And then I realized that I am directly affected by racism because its poison corrodes us all.  It tears apart our whole community. It makes us suspicious and distrustful of each other and of law enforcement. It undermines the entire premise of our country: that we are all equal and have equal voices and opportunities. Without that, what are we as a nation and a people?

It's very tempting to remain silent for fear of offending someone or of starting an argument. It is, after all, an unpleasant topic, injustice. We'd like to think we are past all that; we'd like to think that if it exists, it's only in isolated little pockets. It is only by talking about it that we can learn what is really happening on a daily basis to the people around us. And it is happening, make no mistake.

So what can we do?

Ask. Listen. Call it out when you see it.

Don't wait until another mom's child is lying dead in the street.