I keep repeating those words. For the first few days, I woke up calm and then saw his face.
I had a similar experience when I miscarried: I woke thinking I was still pregnant and then the hard truth hit me after the first moments of waking.
A few months ago, I wrote that he was a good sign, that binaries were unraveling. I was on an election panel in which I denounced sexism and racism. I was harassed with my daughter in the car. None of that mattered.
It seems like we have more work to do.
I left for Canada the day after election. I felt like I was abandoning my students, my child, my country. But I also could not have asked the National Women’s Studies Association to pick a better date to have many of the nation’s academic feminists to converge in Montreal.
My office mate and I had to do something. We began to write in a journal in Newark Airport, passing the journal back and forth. Then we realized we needed something more concrete. Raging Chicken Press published our Manifesto for the Majority a few days later after many rounds of revisions–and drinks.
My daughter is aware Donald Trump is now going to be president. She says he should change his name since he shouldn’t be as loud as a trumpet anymore (she assumes that is why his name is Trump). She brings up the “mean man” that harassed us often. Out of the blue she will bring it up, signaling to me that she thinks about that awful experience more than I would like to imagine. I finally was able to write about what I feel about mothering her, which found a home at Rag Queen Periodical.
I figure that Trump will take all of the air in the room for the next four years. I cannot imagine I will have time to write about much more than him and his policies. Perhaps I will be pleasantly surprised. But if history has anything to teach us, I highly doubt that surprise is coming.