Last night from behind the comfort of my phone screen I borrowed words from T.S. Elliot and tweeted out, “this is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends” — the perfect cocktail of awkward humour, utter disbelief, and most of all, fear.
I made my way to a bar, with people shoved in sardine-style and stood with my eyes pressed to the old television set. There was hardly any room to turn around, but then again, why would you want to when history was being made right in front of our eyes. Faces were gathered old and new and I felt a sense of camaraderie with total strangers each time a wobbly state outline was filled in cobalt blue. We watched tirelessly, even though most of the evening was stamped with the phrase “too early to call,” to which the entire choir of the bar would bellow: “THEN WHY ARE YOU TELLING US!?”
I felt inspired each time the numbers ticked passed those that belonged to power red. Or maybe I wanted to feel inspired. In the pit of my stomach though, I knew I’d be waking up in the middle of the night to bad news.
When Florida lit up bright red, I settled my tab, said goodbye, and started walking home. I could see it in faces as I turned each corner— people bemused with fear, furrowing their brows, glued to live broadcasts on their phones. I snuggled into bed and left the stream running until my phone buzzed me awake at 3am and bombarded me with reality.
This morning I woke up and the sky was still blue. The stoplights outside my window were still red. And the world had kept going.
You may think that, because we are not American, this doesn’t matter. That the fact that a man (who has condoned and perpetuated racism, sexism, islamophobia, transphobia, homophobia, misogyny and classist rhetoric) was selected over a woman (who, whether you would like to admit it or not, was more than qualified, had ample relevant experience and education, and a plan which included and catered to a diverse population) to lead and influence a major nation doesn’t matter. But unfortunately it does.
Because in those moments, people who are marginalized in society in some way (be it on the basis of class, gender, sexuality, race, socioeconomic status, education, gender identity, religion) could identify with that feeling of disappointment. That feeling when you know you’re the best candidate but come up short because of society’s preconceived notions regarding aspects of one’s identity. That feeling when you know something’s wrong, and you know most people are well aware of that, but simultaneously, you know nothing will be done. To have that message centered on a public stage for millions of viewers to consume, to be uninspired by, is an extremely devastating slap of reality. One where important communities are reduced into something that can be made invisible. One where it is easy to slump in our seats, overcome with despair and hopelessness. One where you may be afraid to be living in your own skin. One which we all woke up to this November morning, which turned out to be blue despite the Republican victory.
But do not let it silence you.
Take comfort in each other’s sadness. Embrace each other. Find peace within the anger (Embrace that too). Voice your concerns. Show your beliefs. Find compassion. Stand up together. Stand up for one another. Do not let these same played out voices silence people of colour, the LGBTQ community, women, children, or anyone of you. Speak, create, plan, take action, and write until your fingers are blue.
Do not let this somber November morning blow out every spark of passion and inspiration in you. But do not let it fan a fire of hate either.
This is an opportunity to learn. To grow. To support each other. And ensure that no one has the power to render us or any of our friends invisible again.