Category: Presidential election

here we are again

sumacandmilkweed1 Comment
mid-October, morning moonset over Lake Michigan (film, Mamiya C220)

I wrote about my sadness, anger, frustration (I’m using gentle words, but I promise my feelings are much, much stronger) eight years ago. We had different information back then, but now I think we know what’s in store.

I am talking with others about our impending four years under the upcoming administration, and we try to make sense of why we are here again. I think I know at least one reason for the profound disconnect between the viewpoints of voters: the distrust in news sources, the rise of disinformation, the “news” as being reported by social media personalities rather than journalists (this is called opinion, folks, not news), and the dismantling of any sense of community that results from such divided reporting. This is why, when I and others admit to being bereft this week, we are met with blank stares by those who are celebrating. We are not seeing the same thing, we are not understanding each other — we will in no way arrive at a middle ground because of this.

Of course, it’s far more complex than that. I’m still processing, and I am committed to educating myself by reading and viewing information sources that have teeth, history, and a commitment to fact behind them. But I will not be tolerant of those who think that human rights are not at stake here, and that women and whole communities are not under siege. I will hear your viewpoint if you’ll hear mine, but I won’t let you get away with behaving like we should not all — ALL humans — have the same rights.

There, I’ve said that, and to my few readers, you know where I stand and can act accordingly.

With that in the open, I will also admit I’m wondering how to move on and still be a part of living, because that’s what we are all doing here on this planet, in whatever country we are in, in our homes and at work and carrying on in our everyday lives. We are all worried about our families, our friends, our partners. We still have bills to pay and living spaces to maintain and money worries and job frustrations and health concerns. We still laugh (we have to) and cry (also a must) and make art or music or love or soup or bread or whatever makes us feel some connection or comfort.

I want to continue seeing beauty where I can, and even if that sometimes feels frivolous, I believe more than ever that it’s important. There is suffering and heaviness, but there is also beauty and joy. We become inhuman when we ignore either one of these things.

sunset and beach grasses gone to seed, Lake Michigan (film, Mamiya C220)

Why yes, I’ve been drinking

sumacandmilkweed2 Comments

I ignored the inauguration today.

There, I said it. I admit it. I listened to classical music today while I worked. Arcangelo Corelli, Bach, Vivaldi. Light, cheerful stuff. Stuff that’s centuries old, from composers long gone, from a time of tenuous politics possibly not unlike today’s politics. Different actors, different times.

We had friends over for dinner and drank wine tonight, too much, talked a little about current events but not a whole lot. Touching on the things we worry about, our kids, their futures.

I’m torn between wanting to scream and shout and rally against what I see as a shocking turn of events for my country and ignoring what’s happening, retreating to my bubble. But… I have a job that doesn’t stop because I grieve for where we are and the future of the United States. I have an old dog who doesn’t care. I have bills to pay, old cars to maintain, emails to answer, clothes to clean and fold and put away, rooms in my house to unearth, meals to prepare, a life to lead. If there’s one thing I don’t do very well, it’s balance. How do other people do this? How do you register your shock, anger, disappointment and yet still manage a life, a job, hobbies, family?

I’m bad at this.

And yes, yes, yes, I’ve been drinking tonight. I don’t have to make sense.

Tomorrow I’ll attend one of the women’s marches because I feel a need to stand in solidarity. For me, for my daughter, for women who have a bigger stake in what’s to come. I’ll join voices and shout until I’m hoarse. But I still get to come home to a warm house, to food, to an assurance that too many people don’t have. It’s not fair and I know it.

And after tomorrow, I’ll hope. Hope that unqualified appointments surprise us. Hope that love and decency prevail. Hope that insults give way to understanding, and that divides shrink and become traversable. I’ll especially hope that people awaken to dealing with each other with a newfound sensitivity. I don’t know how these things will manifest, or how I will do my part, but I’ll commit. Wine-soaked as I am tonight, I commit to approaching it all with love and understanding. It’s a small start, anyway.

Still struggling

sumacandmilkweed7 Comments

Yesterday was hard. Today, I’ll admit, was even harder.

It’s not about my candidate not winning. I’ve voted for more than a few candidates that didn’t win. You buck up, you brush off, you settle in for a presidency you did not choose but that you think will at least not bring the country to civil war, and you wait for the next election. It’s politics.

But this election, this president elect… It’s very, very different. We have elected a man who behaves the way most of us tell our children never, ever to behave. A guy who makes fun of people, who divides us, who incites riots and fear and hate. A bully. A man who has no respect for women. And this is only the tip of the iceberg.

There were protests today. Today I saw friends post things their children overheard or endured at school. Today I saw photos of spray-painted swastikas in public places in our country, in the United States, in 2016. Photos of scrawled racial slurs on school lockers. Stories of kids crying as classmates chanted “build the wall.” When those who cast their votes for him were voting on Tuesday, is this what they wanted? I have to hope that most did not.

Yesterday and today I fielded texts from my college-student daughter who, like me, has spent the past 48 hours vacillating between sadness, fear, worry, anger, and an occasional glimmer of hope. I have run out of words to soothe the both of us. She lives in a liberal area and I can only hope for her safety. I tell her to hold her tongue, don’t argue with anyone right now. I want her to feel she can speak her mind, but it frightens me in this climate, and I’ve not done it myself for fear of backlash, of offending someone, of upsetting or wounding, of making someone mad. I don’t like conflict. I try to be nice, polite, easy-going, but I see that many times I’m not afforded the same courtesy.

When I was my daughter’s age I was an intern at a small magazine when the Persian Gulf war began. I remember vividly our minuscule staff crowded around a little television in the office the night war was declared as we tried to finish laying out the magazine. It was the first war I was experiencing and I couldn’t wrap my brain around what it meant. My dad talked me down from the ledge later that night by phone, with soothing words that reassured me my life wouldn’t change because these are the things a sensitive young person who has not seen war in her lifetime must hear. This is what I remember as I search for words to heal my daughter’s heart today. My dad has soothed me many times since then, and I still needed his soothing words yesterday, although they were less reassuring this time.

I don’t want things to change now, either. I don’t want my kids to be fearful, or attacked for their liberal views, or find themselves in harm’s way because they stand up for someone who is being wronged. I don’t want them to see their friends suffer injustices of the sort that I hoped were in this country’s past. I can hope for sensibility to take over, but I can’t promise it will. When we can’t tell our kids that everything will be alright, even when our kids are adults, well, it kind of sucks.

For me, for today and for moving forward, hope is the operative word. But I’m not leaving this transition and these next four years up to hope. I’m going to donate to the causes I know will need help under this administration. I’m going to offer my time to civil rights causes. I am going to get active and I’m going to get educated, because while the president elect is not my candidate, my muted voice helped to elect him. And I won’t be muted any longer.