Five days ago, Hillary Clinton lost the U.S. Presidential election. In the moment, it seemed hate and fear officially trumped unity and inclusiveness.
The morning after, a shroud of mourning had settled over an anxious campus. No one smiled in passing. Confused faces wrinkled in disbelief as they looked down at the bricks for some kind of explanation as to how in the world this could have happened, or how in the world we might carry on. Strangers shuffle down streets silenced by uncertainty.
In weeks building up to the election, a cloud of hate had condensed over the nation, raining down in little insidious acts of anti-semitic and racist graffiti on UVA buildings which supposedly house some of the more educated and promising young adults in the nation.
Now, more than ever, I feel the burden to prove myself as a woman again and to challenge the daily comfort of the white man who lives under the assurance that his country’s president shares the same color and the same concepts; confirming that he alone holds a monopoly on success and power. Politicians and celebrities plead that now, more than ever, women and minorities and all other groups threatened by Donald Trump must work hard to fix the injustices he will again wrought. How can I, crushed by defeat and frustration, possibly garner up the strength and motivation to fight another four years for the possible same heart-wrenching result? I feel like all the work the strong women in my life have put in just to make life easier for me has been in vain.
I paused. This frustration felt familiar. I had felt it in class when interrupted by a boy. I had felt it at a party when a boy I did not know and did not want to know would grab my waist. I had a felt it when my boss pulled me away from my competently working the register to instead fold shirts in the back because “it’s an easy woman’s job.” I have felt it in having to change clothes three times before Mass out of fear of gossip about my family’s morals. I have felt it when I’m stuck without a blue book for a test in the morning because the night before I had no one to walk with me past the Corner.
It hit me. Hillary’s loss isn’t some huge defeat marking the limit of woman’s fight for equality. It’s simply one of the many setbacks women and minorities already face existing in a white male dominated world on a day-to-day basis. In that moment I realized– today is not the day we garner up the strength to start working damn hard. The strength is already there. The day I and so many others started working damn hard was the day I was born– born into a world that would both consciously and subconsciously try to predestine me into a position predisposed to the power of the white male.
In order to achieve the same results in life, women and minorities have put in extra effort in order to try to pull themselves up to the status of white men in society. The post-election recovery would not be any different from previous struggles. I’ve been through this, I thought. Along with the centuries of women and minorities who have gone before me. Today is an incredible pivotal moment in the dynamic relationship between demographics and power. And I’m not alone.
At a moment when everyone’s heads drop down, the next place to look is up and forward in a shared vision where we share equal rights. Now, post-election, we recognize that we have the opportunity to collectivize each of our own individual struggles each of us have endured our whole lives into a powerhouse of change, a vehicle of progress, a vote for human decency.
Stronger together. Hillary has said it all along. Beyond stronger together, we are even stronger in the face of opposition. Opposition now stares us directly in the face with a scowl and a bad haircut. But this is a good thing– the country and the world sees this visual representation of the country’s opposition to equality. And previous bystanders are becoming active allies. Now we have the chance to transform each of our individual struggles into a lifelong journey not only for our own sake but for the sake of a country and future generations who will continue the fight for friendship across factions.
The day I and millions of marginalized others started working damn hard was the day we were born, and, as Hillary Clinton has put it, “I’m not stopping now.” And neither are you. Let’s get to work, together.