I’m pretty passionate that Donald Trump DOES NOT become the president of these United States. Yesterday (and today he
double downed on this comments)
he implied that the “second amendment people” could do something about Hillary Clinton so she couldn’t pick the next Supreme Court Judges. That “do something”? Yeah, he means shoot her. So - there you go, there is a candidate running for president that promotes killing his opponent.
I cannot abide that.
I cannot abide a country where the Commander in Chief asks, if we have nuclear weapons, “
why can’t we use them?”
I cannot abide living in a place where a man who can choose Supreme Court Justices thinks, if a woman is sexually harassed, she should, “
find another career, or find another company.”
I could continue to explain why I cannot abide having Donald Trump be my president, but I think those
three things are quite enough. Which is what brings me to a suggestion I made to Ciara, my best friend.
A couple of weeks ago, Ciara and I were sitting at her house chatting and watching the Democratic National Convention. I started to cry. Hard. I couldn’t believe I was watching a woman become the presidential nominee. It was amazing, historic, poignant and my emotional reaction was completely unexpected to me. I didn’t know it would mean so much to me. But it brought me back to my childhood when I remember my mom telling me I could be anything I wanted to be, but then growing up to realize that wasn’t entirely true. Not because I wasn’t qualified or able, but because of how our world works right now. It’s because of how the world of business, politics, art, you name it, was created, structured and run. Let’s face it, it’s been harder for women. It has. It’s been harder for ME because I’m a woman. So watching this woman become a nominee for the highest office in the United States was beautiful. All of this broke me open a little and put a crazy idea into my head.
Ciara and I had been planning to take a quick,”where ever the wind may blow us” sort of trip since I quit my job and she didn’t have to start teaching for several more weeks. We thought we’d just pick a last minute deal and go adventuring. And as we sat there talking about the historic nature of this presidential race, not only that Hillary Clinton was the first woman nominee, but also because Donald Trump is the scariest thing to happen to American Politics in my lifetime, I turned to Ciara and said, “what we if we went to a battleground state for our vacation, and campaigned for Hillary?” She was ON BOARD! You see, Ciara became a United States Citizen in February of this year and was has been excited to participate in the process. She was with me when we caucused (in fact, I may not have if not for her - I describe it in this post).
And thus our search for WHERE began. It was pretty clear the
battleground states are going to be Ohio, Florida, Pennsylvania and New Hampshire. I have never been to Pennsylvania so I called the
PADems and they told me Harrisburg (where is that???) needs the most help. Ciara was totally game and we booked tickets and a hotel.
Yesterday, I started out. . . And it was an portentous beginning.
The D line had just come to the bus stop and I was half way to the front door but I felt like it was waiting, so I trotted a little to get on more quickly. I’m sweating a little because I’ve just walked six blocks and I’m lugging my small suitcase. I get on the bus and rustle around my purse so I can grab my bus pass and it’s a bit awkward. I’m in wedges (don’t judge, they actually help my foot) and trying to use my bus pass and keep my luggage close to me. I wobble past the first few seats because there are people in them and where there aren’t people, there are bags. As I grabbed above me with my free hand, an older man, probably 55 or older, got out of his seat. As I passed the woman on the right, she said, “please don’t fall on me.”
“I won’t fall on you, I promise.” I wasn’t kidding but I did chuckle a little since I thought she was kidding. I was feeling pretty stable even though I wobbled down the aisle. I sat where the man, dressed in his business casual khakis and blue polo had just vacated. I look up to the man with silvery gray hair where he has moved to stand in the aisle, smile, and say, genuinely grateful, “thank you.”
He doesn’t respond at first and I feel a bit awkward, so I look away, but he did hear me, and he says, “of course,” and smiles back.
The woman I had passed in the first seat, who was also occupying a seat for her bag (which I remembered later, that I briefly thought about asking her to move since there wasn’t a lot of room), turns to me and says, “he likes you because you are white.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to inflame the situation but I also want to use it as an opportunity to connect with someone who has something to say. But shit, I just don’t know what to say.
It turns out, I don’t have to. The man who gave me his seat says, “I like her because she’s honest.” This just confuses me because I have done nothing to make this man think I’m an honest person. And the woman has taken exception to this statement. And I am wishing desperately that the man hadn’t said anything at all.
“My father IS dead. That isn’t a lie!” And she turns her attention back to me and says, “he likes you because you’re a prostitute.”
I close my eyes again, take a deep breath, shrug my shoulders and tilt my head to the left and look at her and smile. “I’ve been called worse. It’s ok.”
She notices my suitcase. “You going to a KKK rally?” Not gonna lie, this hurts me.
But. . . This. .. This is my opportunity to connect. “Actually, I’m flying to Pennsylvania to campaign against Trump.”
She stops for a second, but only a second. “AGAINST Trump? I’m surprised. I thought you’d be FOR Trump. He’s for abortion. Maybe you should have been aborted.”
I have this weird flicker in my stomach. I’m adopted, so this is a particularly low blow for me. But she doesn’t know it. I’m stunned and cannot think. And the bus stops and she gets off.
Three men move up from the middle of the bus towards the me. A black man sits right in front of me and says, “Please don’t feel bad. She’s like that every time I see her. It’s not you.” The other men, who are white, start saying that she is “troubled” and “I didn’t want to engage” or “she’s not right” and “you’re not special”, which I can’t say is a thing or not since I literally only met her for the ride between one bus stop and the next. And I also believe in her right to say the things she says.
It wasn’t the best start to my trip, but it reinforced my desire to vote for someone who would protect her right to say these things to me.
We get to Harrisburg many many hours later, taking a long walk down a very Shining-esque hallway to a room where only the door to the hallway closes. We aren’t tired since it’s only 9pm where we are from, but we are eager and lay down to get a good night’s rest. We hadn’t talked to anyone in the actual Hillary Clinton campaign office, only the PAdems office, so we have no idea what to expect. We’re both a little scared but totally excited.
I’m going to chronicle our journey to campaign in a battleground state every day. I hope you’ll join me and read along and let me know what you think.
