DC began to sit Shiva yesterday.
By Tuesday, 260,000 of us cast our vote in the way of humanity; 11,000 voted for something else. The majority here and, as it turns out, actually across the country (but that’s not how the electoral college works) did not display poor sportsmanship yesterday; we mourned as we tried to stomach the words “President-Elect Trump.”
We offered a hand on the metro, huddled together in cubicles, and stood next to each other in break rooms. We wandered into churches and other safe spaces. We offered each other home-cooked meals, because that’s what you do when the people you love grieve. People cried, and no one asked why, because most times, tears do not need dried but rather the opportunity to be released. We helped answer logistical questions about IUDs, because free access to birth control could change more quickly than our readiness to have children will in the new year. And we listened, to the fears of those we know who legitimately fear that they will be sent from their home.
Because yesterday was not about a Democrat losing, and a Republican winning; Trump could have very well been a Democrat, and he wouldn’t have gotten my vote (or, I can say with certainty, the votes of most of this city). Because a vote for Hillary, in many cases, was not necessarily a vote for her policies but a vote for her humanity; it was a vote that said, “I will not stand with a man who will not stand with me.”
Me was a great many things to a great many people.
For me, Me is a woman.