The Aftermath: A Nation Is Speaking
“Then he would reflect that reality does not tend to coincide with forecasts about it.”
-Jorge Luis Borges, “The Secret Miracle”
I suppose it’s fitting that I’m publishing this on November 8th. Like many, I’ve had plenty of flashbacks to 2016 over the past week, waiting anxiously as I watched our slow, dramatic democratic process play out and hoped we wouldn’t see the same result from four years ago. Thankfully, we didn’t. And yet, I find myself grappling with similar feelings and asking some of the same haunting questions as I did before.
I have a gut feeling that I know some of the answers, and I desperately hope I’m wrong about what those answers are.
How can I write about such a life-changing election and the uncertainty of its aftermath? How can I do that in a way that completely encompasses all of the nuances of our voting process, all of my gripes with the way the country is run, every ridiculous tradition that feels as archaic as the Declaration of Independence itself?
I’m not a journalist. I’m not a politician or a pollster or a talking head of any kind. I’m a college graduate with a blog, a conscience, and a solid grip on the English language. That’s about it. Maybe that’s enough; we’ll see.
One of the lessons I’ve learned this year is that sometimes there are things that are best held close to my own heart, where no one else can judge or scrutinize or misinterpret. I’ve been spending a lot of time to myself — maybe even more than I’d like to — and watering my own garden, so to speak. I mention this as a way of explaining why it’s so difficult to summarize my reaction to this election; to do so would be to sum up my reaction to this entire year as well, and I could write an entire thesis on that. I won’t, but I could.
As difficult as this is to sufficiently write about, I’m comforted by the fact that all of my thoughts don’t have to be distilled into this one post. I’m still processing and digesting, and I’ll keep writing as I do so.
I will say that I’m relieved, I’m frustrated, I’m wary, I’m determined, I’m disappointed… and against my better judgment, I’m hopeful.
I can’t help but ask, though — does everything just go back to "normal" now? I remember feeling this way in June, in the midst of protests and long solidarity posts on Facebook, books about racial inequality skyrocketing to the NYT Bestseller list, companies embracing the “Black Lives Matter” motto for capitalist purposes when they wouldn’t have touched the phrase just a few years ago. I was glad it was happening, of course, but I could never quite shake the feeling that it was all going to die down at some point. As it turns out, that was exactly what happened. The books are gathering dust on shelves, the temporary profile pictures have changed from pitch black, the work of “reflecting and listening” has once again been neglected by many. That’s not particularly surprising, but that doesn’t make it less upsetting.
Is the same thing going to happen now?
When I see that the Democratic Party already seems hellbent on throwing its loyal, mostly vulnerable and marginalized base under the bus in favor of a demographic that clearly has no interest in “reaching across the aisle” or exhibiting anything like empathy or cordiality — it’s hard to remain hopeful. I fear the same costly mistakes will continue to be made in the coming years, and I’m honestly annoyed in advance. We’ve made it through the worst of things, but there’s still work to be done. I hope we recognize that.
I welcome the celebrations. There’s a sense of joy and tentative hope in the air, and it’s more than earned. People have been through so much under this godless, soulless regime, and they deserve to take a break from anger and hopelessness for a moment. No doubt, there will be the same sense of cheer and expectation in January for a country that has been as traumatized as ours has. And at the same time, we’re not done.
We must rest, but then we must do the work so that we can all live, and breathe, under a system that truly works for everyone.
-D.
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