Make a Movement, Not a Moment

It’s never been more important to come together and act

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I find myself wondering what more we could have done. It wasn’t about raising money. It wasn’t about tweeting out funny pics and links of him. It was about coming together and, instead of making it a moment, making it a movement. It was not a movement.

I didn’t vote for Hillary because she was a woman. I didn’t vote for Hillary because I simply adored her and she gave me a sense of pride like Obama did. No, I was one of those people who was sort of “meh” about the whole thing. She didn’t overwhelm me with excitement. But I believed she was incredibly qualified. I had faith in her and her belief system. I believed in her passion to protect the rights of women, of minorities, of those without a voice. And I was fucking terrified of the other guy.

As a New Yorker and the daughter of a corporate real estate attorney, I grew up hearing stories about Trump. Always around how no one would let their daughters or wives anywhere near him. From family. From friends. All either really disturbing or really funny — like laughing at a clown. Clowns can, of course, be horrifying. The thing that, even as a child, struck me as bizarre was the fact that HE never, ever seemed to be in on the joke. He was the joke. Everyone knew that he was a buffoon who wasn’t terribly bright. I remember as a teenager (before TMZ and the the DONALD on the ski slopes watching his wife and mistress fight. All caught on camera and shown on Entertainment Tonight. We were transfixed.

And that’s it. We have always been transfixed. He was a person who fueled the paparazzi culture as the rest of us stood around the TV, watching. This was before OJ. Before The Apprentice. This was the rise of The Donald. And we fanned the flames with our morbid fascination.

I knew all along he could win. But I didn’t believe he would win. I believed that even when things got dicey, America was smart enough. But then we all became a part of the Upside Down — the terrifying alternate reality in Netflix’s Stranger Things, a nostalgic ’80s horror show that gripped many of us this summer. Perhaps children of the ’80s were drawn to that old-school kind of fear — the shivering terror that the boogeyman could come and get us if we fell asleep. And then he did.

Let me be clear. While being a woman is pretty terrifying in this new world, I am in a more protected demographic in that, I’m white, I’m heterosexual, I’m American. And I’m financially stable. If I get pregnant, it will be a wanted pregnancy. I will probably benefit from Trump tax breaks. I won’t be accosted by strangers to speak English or go back to where I came from.

But we are all responsible to protect the rights of those who are vulnerable. It is our duty; not as Americans, but as humans. We have no idea what this new world order holds, but we must come together and do something. We have to make our voices heard. We must form a rational movement. We must step in when we see bad behavior in our offices, in our schools, on our streets, on our trains. We can’t passively sanction this disease that is spreading through society. Just because this president elect has shown that it is okay to treat others with zero respect does not mean that it is okay. It does not mean that we can allow it.

A moment is drama. A movement is democracy.

Talk to me about tech, pop culture, cheese or dogs.

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