Why I March

Yesterday, I went to the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. My first time there, the day before the inauguration of #notmypresident (this is the name I will use to refer to the 45th president) to see what it was like. People were preparing for the early evening concert kick off of the inaugural festivities.

What I saw profoundly saddened me.

There were mostly two kinds of #notmypresident supporters.

The first kind were the kind I wanted to yell at. The ones who, like me, have so much privilege. They were affluent white women and men. They were coiffed and with perfect make-up, beautiful clothing, and expensive sunglasses and boots. Their children had Uggs or were dressed in suits with elephant pins, very Michael Keaton. They had #notmypresident’s merch on their heads, necks, and lapels. They were holding flags boasting of an America that needed to be put right. They didn’t look at me as I didn’t have any outward showing merchandise. And if they did look at me, it was to look me up and down from head to toe and either look away before they got to my face OR they would make a snide comment to their companions, something like, “wow. That’s. . . That’s something.” And if one did look me in the eye, I would smile. An act almost never reciprocated except by much older white men. No, I am not making this up.

The second kind? Rural and blue collar. Rural, blue collar with southern accents. The kind I heard, when asking for the price of the t-shirts and scarves, say they couldn’t afford that. Or that they’d be back. And if they did have #notmypresident merch, it was camouflage. The kind who,when we looked each other in the eye, smiled back at me. The ones, when asked by reporters why the supported #notmypresident said, “because he’s going to bring jobs back.” And, “the media lied about the polls for the election, so I believe you are lying now about his approval ratings.” These were the people that would actually talk to the “other side” and answer questions honestly and with no trace of malice towards the asker about their president.

I also believe these are people that will lose with #notmypresident.

And mostly, there were little to no people of color, except for the people putting up the fences or working the security lines or police officer working for these concert attendees’ safety. Seriously.
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There was an African American man selling #notmypresident T-shirts, from a black garbage bag. I was walking alone and he was alone between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. As I walked towards him, I smiled, and he smiled back. I decided to get brave, and ask, “Do you support him?” I tried to use a truly curious tone as I was honestly truly curious.

He broke out into an even wider smile, but bowed his head and shrugged his shoulders forward. If I had to apply a word to his action, it would be “sheepish.” He looked sheepish. . . And here’s what he said next.

“Awww, I don’t know, man. I do know he gonna bring jobs back. That I know. All the rest of that politic stuff. . . Man, I don’t know.”

I smiled back at him and said, “thank you for talking to me.”

He smiled back and said, “thank you, ma’am”
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While I was standing at the corner, watching one of what would be many police escorts of black vans and Escalades or Semi trailers pulling concrete barriers, a youngish man with #notmypresident merch told me I could get a deal today. A one day only deal.

“No thank you.”

“It’s a special price, really, I’ll give you a special price.”

“No, I don’t think I’m going to buy any of it.”

“If you buy it, you can burn it.” His realization based, likely, on my tone of voice, one of slightly disguised disgust covered by mirth from such a thought.

“No, but thank you. Really.”

“Just so you know, some of the proceeds go to Breast Cancer research.”

I smile and shake my head a little, thinking he knows his audience, at least. “No, but I appreciate that.”

“You have a good day, ma’am.”

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I went to the American History Museum.

At lunch, I sat across from a young white woman with her laptop open, slouched very low in her seat. The laptop had stickers screaming, “Question Authority” and “Feminist.” If you looked closely, you could see a sticker featuring Hillary Clinton among many other stickers of our today’s youth. But she, herself, looked sad and perhaps a bit nervous. She spent the lunch picking at her food, writing phrases in her book that I am almost certain came from the surrounding #notmypresident supporters. At the end of lunch, I handed her a You Are Beautiful sticker (https://you-are-beautiful.com/) and said, “In solidarity.” It was the first time I saw her smile. I then said, “it’s hard being here today, huh?” She vigorously nodded and then said in a very hushed voice, “are you marching Saturday?” I nodded my head. She smiled again, dipped her head and said, even more quietly, “I’ll see you there.”

And it did feel tenuous at the museum. Strained. There were many families there supporting #notmypresident. Many privileged white kids scoffing at the museum articles. I even heard one very beautiful young girl, while flipping her hair, walking through the civil rights war exhibit, “wow, look at all of these guns. Cool.” Did I mention she didn’t even stop to look at any of the artifacts or read any of the descriptions. And her tone wasn’t sarcasm. Guns are cool. No matter that thousands lost their lives so she could come through this museum free of charge. This may feel judgmental, and it is. I feel sad she doesn’t care. I feel sad no one taught her to care.

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I feel sad I didn’t know to care about politics and history and my country and fellow Americans until now.

I recently watched this video of a young man, much younger than me, rapping about how he’s angry people are angry at him for not caring or being lazy. That it’s unfair that people are angry at him because no one taught him his human rights (I think he even says, “did you know we had that?”). No one taught him how his government actually works. No one taught him how to do his taxes, or what voting meant. And I thought back to my own education.

I grew up in an white middle class mid-western town. I was lucky because it was a college town. A very liberal college town, in a state that usually went blue due to Madison and Milwaukee. I learned how to do my taxes before I graduated, you couldn’t graduate until you knew how to balance a checkbook or do your taxes and for that I am grateful.

But I also remember I had only one civics class. Our teacher was a bullish wrestling coach. And I loved his class. We learned about history through songs like American Pie. But honestly, I don’t feel enough focus on our government process. Though, to be fair, when I was in Forensics, I didn’t do the debate team, I did storytelling. And in my family, back then, I was told, “Voting is a very personal decision, we don’t talk about it.”

And so I didn’t learn. And the first year I voted (which wasn’t the first time I could I am saddened to report), I voted for a Bush. And I did that because the only thing I knew was what was around me. And by that point I was living in a rural community. It was before the internet was really a thing and the people I lived around were Republicans who kept telling me Clinton had ruined our country. I did no research, I read no newspapers, and I only watched coverage of an impeachment that felt more like a circus than government, so of course I voted that way.

Luckily, I started to meet more people. The internet started to be a thing. I read newspapers, had conversations, asked questions, watched proper news reporting. And I voted again.

And I became informed. I voted for and saw the first African American president and equal rights for all to marry the person they want to marry.

In the last year, my best friend became an American citizen, I volunteered and helped set up an office for the democratic party in a depressed area of Pennsylvania and I voted for, who I thought would become the first woman President.

I did those things because I have learned that being informed and involved is how you protect your rights and the rights of others. Despite the fact that many think there aren’t problems in government preventing equality in relation to race, gender, sexual orientation, religion and other marginalized groups, there are. Big problems.

And that is why I will march tomorrow, with my sisters; we will not be ignored.

Campaigning is exhausting

And writing about it in real time is pretty hard, too.

cleaning

I have two more days started, but there is that whole recall and editing thing. But after 6-8 hours of calling, cleaning, data entry, organizing and arting, I'm too exhausted to keep up every day, so I'll write and write and write and then edit and edit and edit and then post as I go along. Thank you for hanging in with me.

my notes for calling

And we're not even there the whole day.  The office Organizers are working from 10am to way past 11pm or later and last night, one of them did laundry until 3am. . . . while a bat was flying around his head. In fact, they are working 7 days a week.  They had to ask their office head managers to postpone a voter registration training on Sunday from 10am to 3:30pm because they are so tired and need one day where they can sleep in.

Calling

 And they are ON . . .  ALL . . . DAY. Talking and teaching and explaining and calm and patient. It's amazing to watch.  Most of them have quit their jobs and taken pay cuts to make sure Hillary gets elected. They believe and they are here for the long haul.

using my organizing and handwriting skills

Mischa came from Colorado Springs, Andre from Florida and Brian from Philadelphia. They each believe in this campaign and they have given up places they knew to help this campaign. These are the real heroes.

I have been getting wonderful comments and kudos for doing this, but really, I'm just a volunteer that will go home in a week while these three dedicated people will stay here.  They'll stick out the heat and the hang ups and the people yelling at them. They'll listen top how Obama wants to be king. They'll listen to people that tell them Hillary is trying to take away their guns.  They'll listen to people that will say, "two years ago, he [Obama] went on TV and said he was king and is trying to get rid of the constitution. He's trying to abolish the amendments because he wants to be King Obama. He's trying to get rid of the second amendment and when that goes, the first amendment will go, too." They'll try to ask where they heard this information.  They'll try to explain amendments can't be abolished with out the senate and the congress agreeing. They'll finally say, "thank you for your time. Please know, I, as a democrat, do not want to take your rights away. Please know, I, as a democrat, want to get you paid medical leave when you are injured. Please know, I, as a democrat, want to help you. Thank you, and have a good evening" hoping they have made a small impression.

Mischa and Andre are in this pic, but I'll get something better

Every night, when we leave, Mischa gets up and says, "cuddles!!! cuddles!!! I need to give you cuddles!" And she then she hugs us. How can you not love that?

So, I'm exhausted, but I can only imagine what it's like for them.  They are my heroes. And I hope they are yours, too. Soon. . . soon, I'll get you pictures. . . and more words about what I've learned.


(p.s. all credit for photos go to Ciara McGrath) If you want to start from the beginning, here is my caucus post and my backstory about why I'm doing this.

I'm going to PA to campaign!!

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.