Saturday, 21 January 2017

On Raising a Daughter: We March

He said "grab them by the pussy", and he was still voted in.

Victims came forward with tears in their eyes and the memory of his hands on their bodies, and they were called liars. Opportunists. They still voted him in.

"You think this is the first misogynist in Washington?" They still voted him in.

He denounced differences, and they still voted him in.

I am afraid. I'm not going to pretend that I think I won't be affected by the fucking lunacy happening south of the border.

He stands there with his daughter, by all appearances his prized crown jewel, and I look at her holding her daughter's hand I think, "What the fuck?" Because I am not one of the few who can articulate in times of frustration. I will never be the clear rallying cry, because I would be the person at the microphone yelling, "What the fucking, fuckity, fuck? Like, what the serious fuck? Is this fucking real life? Fucking fuck! FUCK."

But there are clearer voices out there who have articulated why his election is a catastrophe. And no, that's not hyperbole. His election was a catastrophe. I understand the frustration of the people who look at their towns, their dying and dehydrated towns, and feel the powerlessness of their choices. Their only power is to try and vote in B instead of A. That's their only choice, they believe, to bring life back into their home.

And it breaks my heart, because for those few there are the many who grew stronger from his hate. The comments so vile towards other humans that it sickens me. Who are you? Who? Who are these venomous mercenaries who desire nothing more than to let someone know how MEANINGLESS they are. What a CUNT they are. How they desire HARM to come to the families and loved ones of people who disagree with them.

Who are they?

He is one of them.

A skin so thin you can see through him in a bright light.

And so we must continue to be a bright light.

I watch Louisa crawling over a foot stool, and then circling back to do it again and again and again and again. She is strong and determined at only eight months old.

She is the future.

Her sister, who dances and laughs and tells jokes and is starting to be afraid of the dark.

So I turn on the lights for her. Every light until she feels safe.

I will light the house for her.

I will be her lighthouse.

Her future matters. A woman's place matters.

So this little post is my linked arms with the feminists in Washington today who march for women, for immigrants, for clean water, for the marginalized. I send my donations, my cheers, and my tears.

A woman's place is everywhere, and we can see in the dark.

Feminists are marching.

They are watching.

We will be a bright light on this fallacy, because normalizing the malevolence is the same thing as turning out the light and hoping you'll stay safe in your darkened corner of the world.

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