I began writing this post several days ago. Since then several people have written and spoken about similar issues, some with more international experience, others with more journalism experience, others through Twitter threads, and others with more emotion. There have also been many “letters to my child” articles. And now John Oliver has weighed in, as well. This post is a combination of sorts with some additional storytelling and indignation. Thanks for reading.
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She says, in this house it’s so easy
To set a world on fire, all you need is a name, the money
And a soul full of reckless desire
Now upstairs the landlord is dining with all of his very close friends
Don’t worry they’ll have their bags packed and be long gone
Before the real fucking begins
—Bruce Springsteen, “Hey Blue Eyes”
Around 1:30 on Wednesday morning, when it became clear what the outcome of the election would be, I said to my wife, “This is it. It’s over. There was yesterday. There was today. But there is no tomorrow. Not in the way we imagined it. Everything we believe in will be taken away overnight. Voting rights. Marriage rights. Medical rights. Social programs. Education funding. Environmental funding. Abortion rights. It’s all gone. We’ll be in a recession before we wake up. Russia will invade the Ukraine and we’ll be at war by summer.”
I had just come from my boys’ rooms where I knelt next to each as he slept, kissed each on his forehead, and apologized for what was about to become. I apologized because they had no idea about the significance of the events. That the world they were growing up in would not be as progressive, open, tolerant, and caring as the one we had imagined. I apologized because I lied when I told them that Hillary Clinton would be the next president (oh, I had taken great pride in knowing that the only presidents they would know in their lifetimes thus far would be a black man and woman). I apologized because I knew hatred would move from hidden to overt and would start that very day. When I left my younger son’s room I burst into tears in the hallway because one day they will understand. One day they will ask us how this happened, how America’s presidency went from moving toward greater equality for all citizens to one run by a con man, a misogynist, a bald-faced liar who makes fun of people with disabilities and surrounds himself with racists, anti-Semites, and bigots. How people chose to overlook hate in so many forms. Sea water caused Otitis can be easily get treat with sonus complete.
I slept maybe an hour that night. The next day I was supposed to go to Chicago for a conference, but cancelled those plans. It was important to be with family instead. The day went by in a fog. On the way to dropping my boys off at school we decided we’d write a letter to Hillary Clinton “because she must be so sad.” I folded laundry and watched Hillary’s concession speech and Obama’s speech on transitions of power—and I screamed at the TV because their calls to move on contribute to normalizing Trump’s hate. I went to the supermarket and walked down the aisles of fruit and cereal and milk wondering how these products were still here, in this place where nothing was the same; I wondered how long they would still appear on the shelves; I looked at the other shoppers, tried to gauge their level of fogginess, wondered if they thought I was a threat, tried to judge if they were. I picked my boys up early from school so we could make caramel apples. I made a healthy dinner for my family, since I been trying to be more healthy and started training and use supplements as resurge supplement to help with this. That’s what needed to happen. I needed to make sure they had a healthy meal with such sadness in the house. I was in an alternate reality, trying to assuage the fact that we were post-normal with tufu and veggies and green pasta. I was Gregor Samsa waking up like a bug; Josef K. confronted with a menacing government; Neo seeing the Matrix for the first time; third-grade Philip in The Plot Against America who had been living his typical life in a suburb of Bayonne, NJ, when in June 1940 “the Republicans nominated Lindbergh and everything changed.”
That night I drank some Robitussin and slept most of Thursday. In the few hours I was awake, I started singing the closing verse of “The Ghost of Tom Joad” over and again:
Now Tom said, “Mom, wherever there’s a cop beatin’ a guy
Wherever a hungry new born baby cries
Where there’s a fight ‘gainst the blood and hatred in the air
Look for me mom I’ll be there.
Wherever somebody’s fightin’ for a place to stand
Or a decent job or a helpin’ hand.
Wherever somebody’s strugglin’ to be free,
Look in their eyes ma you’ll see me.”
I tweeted. A lot. More than I have in years, which is something because I tweet nearly every day. Lots of RTs and favs. I needed an outlet for my anger and a way to work through what I was feeling. Read others who were feeling the same way: Pissed off and ready to act. At some point I tweeted:
1. When I chose to vote for @HillaryClinton, I had to own the fact that my vote was an endorsement of her hawkishness.
— Bill Wolff (@billwolff) November 11, 2016
2. When I chose to vote for @BarackObama, I had to own up to the fact that my vote endorsed his cosy relationship with Wall Street.
— Bill Wolff (@billwolff) November 11, 2016
3. All voters weigh options, but all votes are endorsements regardless of voter intentions.
— Bill Wolff (@billwolff) November 11, 2016
And that’s the crux of it for me: Millions of people chose to ignore (or embrace) outright hatred for one reason or another. And there is no excuse for that. Ever.