This is Grief

Don’t get me wrong. I’m celebrating.

After refreshing the front page of the New York Times about 700 times a day, I wasn’t expecting any change when I refreshed it Saturday morning. When I saw the headline Biden Beats Trump, I cried. I felt an enormous weight come off my shoulders and a level of relief I can’t recall ever before feeling.

I let myself bask in the optimism for a bit. I’m letting myself celebrate on behalf of the Black women (to whom we owe this victory) who may feel a little safer in their home country today. I’m celebrating on behalf of the children in cages who may soon see better conditions and be reunited to their families. I celebrate knowing that for the next four years, I won’t have to cringe as I open the news in the mornings, wondering what horribly dangerous or offensive thing my President has said or done. I am so, incredibly relieved that Donald Trump is leaving office.

But even during the happy tears and the celebratory champagne and dancing, I felt a little knot deep in my stomach.

It’s called grief.

I woke up on Wednesday, November 4th, still unsure of the results, but knowing that the election would likely turn out to be victory for Biden, and I was heartsick. I was deeply sad, and it hit me as soon as I opened my eyes that morning. I couldn’t stop thinking about the tens of millions of people who chose more of the same. More racist dog-whistles, dangerous foreign policy, carelessness in the face of a pandemic, sexual assault allegations… more of Donald Trump. And I couldn’t stop thinking of all the people throughout the country who just got told, loud and clear, by those tens of millions of people that their lives don’t matter.

Kids will go to school with teachers who don’t believe they should have healthcare. Young adults will go to church with people who believe they don’t deserve basic rights. People walked into their offices Monday morning knowing that some of their co-workers chose tax breaks for themselves over safety for their friends and neighbors.

I can’t express the heartbreak when I see comments on social media that say something like, “Enjoy your taxes and gas prices going up.” It kills me that people would rather preserve their tax loopholes than preserve the validation of all human life. It kills me that people would rather save 50 cents a gallon than save an inhabitable world for their children and their children’s children.

I can’t express the frustration of seeing pithy calls for unity — a thinly veiled excuse for people like John Kasich to convince us that progressive policies are the enemy. They’re a way for Trump’s voters to avoid their guilt and shift blame. Writer Elizabeth Spiers put it well on Twitter: “We already empathize with Trump supporters on policy. We want them all to have healthcare, to make a living wage, to have a fair and equal justice system. We don’t have to empathize with them because they voted against those things and lost.”

So, I’m celebrating. But I’m grieving. I’m so relieved that Trump will leave office, but I’m burdened over the fact that the base that he empowered won’t go down without a fight. I’m deeply grieved for the Black Americans, Indigenous Americans, LGBTQ+ Americans, women in America, immigrants in America, and every other American who just heard a resounding confirmation from 70 million of their fellow countrymen that their lives, rights, and safety aren’t a concern. I will hold this grief and this optimism in tension with one another. The grief tells me that there’s so much work to do; the optimism tells me it’s work worth doing.