I am no stranger to political loss. I ran a decent campaign for state representative in 2012, but my opponent, a well-funded Republican, beat me handily (58% to 42%). But today’s loss is different. This morning, we all woke up to a world that is not the same place it was yesterday. I have to wonder whether this feeling of grief and horror is how my elders felt on November 22, 1963. Something important, that was once beautiful though imperfect, is broken, perhaps irreparably.
I do not want to point fingers, to wail and moan about the coming years, to wring my hands with worry. I want to get past my feelings of anger and hostility, my disgust with an electorate so ill-educated and short-sighted that it has elected a person monumentally unfit for the highest office in the land. I want to put aside my fear for my children, my guilt for not doing enough to prevent this.
Maybe I’ll get there tomorrow, or the next day.
Not today.
Today, all I can see is an America that is sick and dying. Today, I can only see that democracy is not the best form of government when a populace persists in selfish, xenophobic, and inhumane beliefs. Most painful of all, today I have to admit that the country I loved (despite my criticisms of it through the years) is a fiction, a mere chimera.
Today, I mourn for everyone who will be touched by this tragedy, and they will number in the millions. And to my readers across the sea and above and below the border, today I apologize for my country.
Today, I am ashamed to be an American.
Tomorrow, the resistance begins. Who will lead it? What form will it take? We will find out the answers to those questions when the shock and disbelief wear off, when the sharp edge of grief subsides. And until then, we can console ourselves with the knowledge that we will not give up fighting for what’s good, and decent, and right. Because that’s how Americans–true Americans, those who are not motivated by greed and fear–act.
Here, then, is my battle cry: I will not give up.
The Tabard Inn 