I’ve been thinking about how to respond to the election in this space and, for well over a week now, that’s all I’ve settled on. I haven’t been entirely quiet (see Twitter), but I’ve devoted most of my writing time to composing one of the more painful entries in a journal I plan on giving to my daughter. It isn’t pretty.
She’s seven, and although my wife and I did our best to not discuss the magnitude of what could (and ultimately did) happen she got plenty of it from school. She was worried. That night I sent her to bed before it became clear that our next president would be a racist, xenophobic, misogynistic hate-spewing reality tee vee star. The next morning, as I’m getting her ready for school, she finally asked me who won. I told her. She asked me only one question, “what will happen to us?” And I lied, “Nothing, baby. All you need to know is that we’re going to take care of you no matter what.” Because I’m a coward and I needed her to believe it was going to be okay.
It’s not. Yeah, I am going to take care of her. It’s my first responsibility. But now it’ll have to happen in a much darker, more dangerous world. Hope will have to come in whatever form it may. We’ll get through this together, like we always do.
So I’m struggling to do what I can. Donating when and where I can. Peter Frase has a list here for who you can help, through time or money or both. Solidarity matters. Pressure your public officials. Resist. Repudiate. Keep it up until 2018 and vote. Then keep going. That’s all I’ve got—for now.