This morning is a beautiful day.
The sun is shining; leaves are falling gently from the trees in my yard, glinting reds, yellows, oranges, and browns as they turn in the sunlight on their way to earth. Everyone in my house is asleep and it is still and peaceful.
Yesterday, the results of the 2020 election were called, four days after polls closed and a tense week of watching a map with changing colors of blue and red as results rolled in... and then more changing as results of mailed in ballots were also counted and added. There has been despondency in my house. There have been tears. There has been fear. And now there is some relief. Joe Biden has been declared the winner and will be 46th President of the United States.
Sigh.
But it’s not really over.
There will be court challenges, many of them decided by appointees of the previous administration, appointed because they are sympathetic to the previous administration. This was their plan all along. There are already protests in the streets. Someone will need to respond to and deal with civil unrest and there is little incentive for, or promise, that the incumbent administration will even call for peaceful transition. There is also a continuing pandemic with signs of worsening to consider. I fully expect there to be much more to this story.
And yet…
It’s a beautiful day.
This morning reminds me of a morning that is stuck in my memory from 12 years ago. Over the past 12 years, I’ve thought about this single moment often. I’ve wanted to write about it because it rolls around in my head like a stone that keeps getting more and more polished, but I’ve never found the appropriate moment to do so. And to be honest, I had mixed feelings about even “claiming” that moment by writing about it. It isn’t mine to claim.
The day after that historic day in 2008 when Barack Obama was elected as our nation’s 44th President, the first person of color to ever hold the office, I went to work. It had been rainy and dreary most of the week but that morning we all woke up to a beautiful, sunny, fall morning just like today. I got up, got the kids off to school, and went to my office. It’s an atypical office, filled with like-minded people and even when we disagree with one another, we have safe and honest political discussions (weird, right?), so we knew where each other stood on the election and how we all hoped it would turn out. We were all very happy about this historic moment. It was the first true example of what was always promised: anyone could be elected to the highest office in the country and all were considered equal regardless of race, creed, color, etc. Eventually, we all settled into our offices and went back to work.
I was heading through to the conference room as the bell to the front door rang and my colleague, a Black woman, got up to answer the door. It was the UPS delivery man, whom we all saw every day and exchanged pleasantries with, but really didn't know that well. A Black man. My colleague opened the door, they met eyes, and both of them stopped for a moment in the doorway and smiled broadly at each other.
“It’s a beautiful day,” she said.
“Yes. Yes it is,” he replied. They just looked at each other for a moment, frozen in the doorway, with volumes communicated yet unspoken. And then he stepped into the office to retrieve the packages and they both went on about their job duties.
That little moment between two strangers was based on hundreds of years of shared knowledge and experience. It was powerful, it was hopeful, it was beautiful… like the day… and at once I felt like I was getting to see and understand something that I - a person who walks through this world appearing to most who see me as a cisgendered, straight, white woman - seldom experience. I was grateful to witness that moment, a little uncomfortable because my presence felt like an intrusion on a private moment that wasn’t mine to share, and to be honest, maybe even a little envious that I didn’t share that moment with them. I wasn’t in the club and that was quite honestly fine; it wasn’t my club to be in.
I was 16 when Walter Mondale chose Geraldine Ferraro as his running mate in the 1984 presidential campaign. It was technically historic. No woman had ever been even considered for that United States office before. But what I remember most about that year and that race was how she was talked about in my state and community: with facetious derision, comments about how she was “aggressive,” “serious,” “business like,” when in fact, those qualities are the very qualities that lead any person to seek a position like that and be successful. We just hadn’t ever seen a woman in that office before so it was easy to mark her as something unwonted and atypical. Years later, I would hear the same kinds of things about the first woman to run for President, Hillary Clinton, along with: “I don’t like her pant suits,” “her voice is harsh,” “I think she’s sketchy,” “she’s abrasive and unlikable,” as if those are qualities we concerned ourselves with in male candidates for the office prior to that point in time.
Maybe it was different in other areas of the country, but my experience was that no one took Geraldine Ferraro seriously and everyone believed Mondale would lose because he chose a woman as his running mate, not in spite of the fact. She was a detriment to his chances rather than an asset. I didn’t really understand politics then; maybe there were other, more legitimate, reasons why Mondale lost that race, but Regan-Bush won it and ushered in a long period of favoring money over people and a sliding slope of divisive American politics, widening the divide between the country with each successive election. We wouldn’t see another woman even selected as any kind of serious presidential candidate for another 30 years. For me, as a woman in America, though historic, Geraldine Ferraro’s selection wasn’t that moment.
I love Uncle Joe. He was not my preferred choice as a candidate for a number of reasons, but I have followed his career and find him to be a fair and compassionate man. Not perfect, but one who at least tries to represent those he was elected to serve. He understands hardship and grief and he and I have that in common so I feel a great kinship to him. This election has been so focused on two Presidential candidates and the vast differences between them, that I’ve often forgotten to consider the importance of the Vice Presidential candidates and what this moment says about us (and U.S.).
So watching Vice-President Elect Kamala Harris’s acceptance speech this morning (I honestly was so exhausted from the week, I went to bed long before it aired last night) was poignant. It’s the first time I’ve felt like I might be in the club just a little bit. Kamala Harris is a person of color. I check the “Caucasian” box on census forms because there is no other box that describes me better, but I have a racial and religious background on both sides of my family that includes hate, discrimination, and persecution... one which complicates how I see myself in the world even if I recognize that it isn’t how others see me. I understand that there is privilege that goes along with that. Many of the things I know about myself to be true aren’t obvious or visible to others. But I am a woman and I have experienced misogyny (both outright and systemic), assault (both overt and subtle) and harassment (both accepted and illegal).
Kamala Harris said last night, “Every little girl watching tonight sees that this is a country of possibilities.” This is the first proof in action that that statement might be true and it is important and powerful. I’m so sad Geraldine Ferraro isn’t here now to see the way she started to pave. I now consider her courage and sacrifice in a way I never did when I was 16.
What does all this mean for our future as a nation?
Honestly, very little.
Just like in 2008, when we elected the first person of color as President of our country, that act alone isn’t enough. As we have learned over the past 4 years, a lot of back sliding can happen in a short period of time and uncovering hidden and subtle systemic problems takes more than one result in one election. We still have a divided nation and the most disappointing thing for me this week, as it was 4 years ago, was watching how close this race was after witnessing what this country collectively witnessed from the candidate. There is still much work to do and we must all be a part of it. Character matters. We need to prove that as we move forward together.
Unless we all decide to make a collective effort (not just an ideological judgment) to move forward, make a fair place in the world for our children and future generations, include all people in our considerations for opportunity and fairness, treat others with respect... we will definitely just end up here again. One presidential candidate can’t do it. One vice presidential candidate can’t do it. WE must do it.
For me, this election, like Van Jones said, was a referendum on the idea that character matters. Honesty matters. Respect matters. It is so much easier to be a parent today knowing that. But it isn’t enough. Not enough of the country spoke up to say it. And I am most disappointed in all the people who basically said, “I saw the thousands of lies told, I saw the disrespect to other human beings, I saw the refusal to call out and denounce racism, I saw the attempts to thwart the democratic process and suppress voter will, I saw the sowing seeds of fear, I saw the hypocrisy… and you know what? I’m okay with that.” Because this is their team just like their college football team is their team and they will always root for it no matter how much it sucks. Then they went and cast their votes for more of the same. Like they had to support their team regardless of what that said about the team and themselves.
It’s not over.
It won’t be over for a long time.
But today, for the first time in a long time, I feel hope.... and it's a beautiful day.
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