I'm Speaking

Four years ago Quinn had just started kindergarten; I was a few months into my new job as Academic Director. In early November Sam was in Colorado at the training camp. Voting day was sunny and warm. I was elated all day, waiting for Quinn to finish school so she could come with me when I voted. I ran into Senator Patrick Leahy at the bakery while I waited, and had a chance to talk with him. I told him about Quinn; he was confident and optimistic as I was, as I explained that I wanted her to be part of that history-making moment: the first woman President of the United States! A woman who had worked hard her entire life, who was exceptionally well educated, prepared and qualified. There was no way she would lose. 

She was running against a tv personality, a real estate guy, a bully and a buffoon. He was someone who was handed his wealth, and yet who still lied and cheated his way through life. His oversized ego was so ridiculous he made a caricature of himself. He was someone who mocked people, called them names, demeaned and threatened people. He was someone who bragged about doing so. There was a recording of him talking about women who would say nothing if he “grabbed them by the pussy,” allowing themselves to be assaulted, seemingly happy to let it happen, because he was “famous.” That recording was made public before the election.

That people like him exist is not a surprise, and not even that much of a problem, when they are just people you can avoid. But to see someone like him put into the highest position of authority in our entire country, voted in by nearly half the population, was an experience so demoralizing and disorienting it is hard to explain. And to accept that he actually lost the popular vote, losing to the qualified female candidate by millions, is unreconcilable. And then there is the unfathomable circumstance of your own father voting for him, your father who raised you to believe that you mattered, that you should always speak up, and never let anyone put you down, and that you could believe anything is possible if you are willing to work for it.

I looked forward to Hillary’s historic presidency with anticipation. I was hungry for the confidence-inspiring presence of a woman in the White House as I worked to build confidence in my own small leadership role, and also as I worked to build the confidence of my growing daughter. It meant so much to imagine her moving through her elementary school years with the image of a strong and articulate woman doing what many would consider the most important job in the world. 

That, of course, is not what happened. 

Two days ago, on Saturday morning, our local Development Review Board showed up to inspect our lot in order to consider whether or not they’d grant us a variance on town zoning policy so we could build our garage ten feet closer to the road than the seventy feet required. They were supposed to have come up two weeks prior but never showed. This time, they did and as Sam and I tried to explain why we wanted to put the building where we did—the most logical place in all of our 5.8 acres, they walked around offering alternatives: well, you could put it here (in the middle of the front yard), or you could put it here (halfway into our stone-bordered flower bed), or you could put it here (hanging off the edge of the driveway over open air). Hell, you could even put it here! (fully blocking the entire front of our house). One of the three men, in particular, was full of ideas. He seemed hellbent on being right. He was loud, dismissive and rude. I’ve played this game before and so tried to tread lightly on his oversized ego…I tried to offer some rationale for our plan but, in the middle of a sentence, he interrupted me. Talking over me as if I hadn’t been speaking at all. But I had been, I had been speaking. 

Not interrupting others was one of the two most basic rules of civility I was taught growing up (that and not talking with your mouth full). It is a rule I was held accountable for until it was ingrained in me, and it is one I cannot excuse in others.

As the discussion of our permit went on, the buffoon got louder, and more insistent. It was clear that the debate was no longer about the placement of our garage, it was about him winning. It was also clear that his power was meant as a threat. He had control; we did not. It took all of my self-control to avoid calling out his obnoxious behavior and telling him off. But I kept my composure, even when the next time I was speaking he interrupted again, blowing raspberries like a child over something I said. Everything stopped in that moment… "Did you just blow raspberries at me?" I was incredulous, and he seemed unabashed. 

It was incredible, and at the same time, it was predictable. It was a small vignette of what our country has become in the past four years: a place where loud wins, where reason and rational thinking counts for nothing, where it’s okay to insult, threaten, and demean people. It is a place where women are meant to be silent and accept the treatment dealt to them. Women, and people of color, and LGBTQ people, and basically anyone who is not part of the yelling, unthinking, throbbing mass.

When Hillary was running for President, other democrats were campaigning for her. Quinn and I listened to a speech by Michelle Obama. In response to the angry, ugly politics of the buffoon, she implored people, “When they go low, we go high.” I’ve reminded myself, and others, of those words so many times—believing them to be good strategy, as well as an indicator of good character, and it has worked in my own leadership role dealing with difficult personalities in the past four years. But there is a fine line between taking the high ground and tolerating the low. When they go low, we go high…and yet, we should not take the high road so quietly that we are silenced. 

For the past four years we’ve watched ugly behavior surface, in small encounters, like in my driveway, and in large, on the international stage. We’ve watched racist acts of violence and murder go unchecked and even encouraged (good people on both sides; stand back and stand by). We’ve watched scientific facts be ignored, denied, and mocked (climate change and a global pandemic). We’ve watched criminals and morally corrupt people installed in positions of power once held by decent, intelligent, compassionate people.

In the grand scheme of vulnerabilities, we are somewhat protected as white people of privilege, living in a state where the impact of the climate crisis takes more subtle forms than the historic fires, floods and storms that threaten many people’s daily existence, and where we have enjoyed a buffer of sanity in this pandemic, thanks to clear leadership in our state and neighbors generally willing to follow it. We have the luxury of living in a circumstance where we wouldn’t have to expect that our daughter would be taken from us just to punish us for daring to hope for a better life. And yet we have been living in the dark shadow of a man whose every gesture and decision belittles that same daughter (at best) and imperils her existence (at worst).

Given all of the unbelievable things we have had to bear witness to in the past four years, I approached this year’s election differently. I didn’t dare to hope. I couldn’t bring myself to think of anything other than four more years, to ensure that the fall after the election would be less precipitous this time. 

Quinn took this picture of me doing some stretching on election night, trying to calm my nerves, with our "therapy" dog still doing his job so well.

And yet, I have been watching the news and the events and the debates, trying to keep track of what further harm is and will be done. I watched him cover his inability to handle the rules and content of a debate by yelling and interrupting and insulting his opponent—a man who has been a civil servant his whole life, who has suffered so much personal loss that he has more genuine empathy than any politician I’ve ever seen, a man who is decent and hardworking, well educated, well prepared, and highly qualified. And in the midst of personal attacks on the man’s life, and his children, one of them deceased, Joe Biden stayed as high as anyone could be expected to, while also naming, directly, what is going on and what is at stake: the character of this entire country.

Running with him was Kamala. A woman who embodies it all: intelligence, confidence, joy, compassion, laughter and light, power and clarity. In her own debate with the current Vice President, when he spoke to her in that too-familiar patronizing voice, that aren’t you cute but why don’t you shut up voice, and then he interrupted her…she stopped what she was saying. She turned to him. “I’m speaking,” she said, and when he kept on, she said it again: “Mr. Vice President, I’m speaking.” There was no apology, no “I’m sorry, but,” just the fact: "I'm speaking." And eventually he shut up.

It was Sam’s voice that was ultimately heard in our driveway by the DRB. Not by the buffoon, but by the other two men. "What happens when my 85 yr old father has a medical emergency and the ambulance can’t get to the door?” he asked. And with that I saw a lightbulb go one for one of the men. He was reasonable from the start, not necessarily seeing things as we did initially, but willing to actually listen. Our arguments for logic, logistical and financial pragmatism, aesthetics that would protect our investment, and personal choice largely fell flat, but the threatened patriarch argument got some attention. And in the end, the buffoon was out voted, two to one, and we got our building permit with a variance. It was a small victory to start the day.

And as the day went on, the energy of the universe continued to change. It was four days after the election, and votes were still being counted in some states, and yet by late morning it was finally clear that Joe Biden had enough votes (both popular and electoral college) to win the presidency! The nightmare of the past four years would be ending. 

On top of that, Kamala Harris would be the first woman elected to a job in the White House, the second highest office in the nation. A black woman, of South Asian decent, the child of immigrants, she is historic in so many ways. And while I will never forgive the loss of four years of inspiration, of role modeling, and of possibilities imagined, for my daughter and all the daughters, the four years of progress that did not happen, I am willing to begin again, as women always have, and start forward from here. 

“To the little girls watching,” Kamala said, in her victory speech, “Dream with ambition. Lead with conviction. And see yourself in a way that others may not—simply because they’ve never seen it before. Know we will applaud you every step of the way.”

Perhaps there is some value in having the struggle come first before the victory. Quinn has not been cowed into submission by the toxic climate of our society during her elementary school years. If anything she has been emboldened by it. She listens to everything going on around her, and speaks up against every injustice she perceives. Her voice is unignorable; she is powerful medicine and continues to learn how to use her powers for good. With middle school on the horizon, I'm glad she's a fighter. 

I'm speaking. For Quinn, and through her, I'm speaking.