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?

That Time I Sat Behind Bella Abzug and Her Fabulous Hat at the DNC Platform Committee Hearings

I slipped quietly into the back of the conference room at the Bond Court Hotel in Cleveland. A woman a few rows in front of me wore an enormous, beribboned hat. It was May 1992, and not many women, aside from fully turned-out church goers, wore hats during warm weather.

"Who is that?" I whispered to my companion.

"Bella Abzug," she replied, "Congresswoman from New York."

I was still learning. Learning the people, the issues, the talking points. I was a newly elected member of the executive board of the Greater Cleveland Chapter of the National Organization for Women and I was attending the platform committee hearings for the DNC. I was rapt, listening to Nancy Pelosi, Eleanor Holmes Norton, Madeline Albright and Jesse Jackson.

Most everyone has a moment, a moment when the political becomes personal and the only option is to join the fray because staying silent is no longer possible. My moment came during the Anita Hill/Clarence Thomas hearings. I was not yet married and newly moved to Chicago. As I unpacked boxes and organized our apartment, I listened to the hearings on NPR.

I heard Professor Hill calmly and clearly describe the behavior of Clarence Thomas, betraying no emotion. She spoke as women speak who have learned to erect walls around themselves in order to go about their daily business unscathed by the leers, jeers and fears of men. There was no doubt in my mind that she spoke the truth. She had no motive to lie; everything to lose and nothing to gain by giving this testimony.

I listened in disbelief as the Senators questioned her, disrespectfully and disdainfully. I learned what "gaslighting" meant that autumn. And I was pissed. I had recently finished my first full year of practicing law and during that year, I was subjected to plenty of nonsense from the men I worked for, the judges I worked with, and my adversaries. It was not as though I did not know this sort of thing happened. I was, however, shocked to see it happening so publicly, even proudly, by men who were supposed to uphold the Constitution and directed toward a woman who was smart and dignified and composed.

Enough was enough.

I registered to vote in Illinois that week. I located a local chapter of NOW. I voted for Carol Mosely Braun for Senate. And I studied for the Illinois bar exam.

When we moved back to Ohio a few months later, I swung into action. I joined Greater Cleveland NOW. I studied the issues. I spoke at local events. I spoke at legislative hearings at the Ohio Capitol. I wrote to my legislators. I marched, I rallied and I picketed. And I attended the Democratic National Committee platform hearings.

(That's me, right in the middle!)

Later that year, I met Hillary Clinton. She was campaigning for her husband and when I heard her speak, all I thought was, "I want to vote for her!" I asked her, as I shook her hand, when she would be running for President. She smiled and laughed, and said "Not any time soon."

Last night, with my daughters by my side, I watched her win the Democratic nomination for President of the United States. I doubt they understand why I had tears in my eyes, and maybe that's a good thing. Maybe that means something: to them, it's not such a big deal that a woman was nominated for President of the United States of America. 

But it is to me. 

It is to me.