The preliminary election results are in; Trump leads Clinton, 288-215.
You only need 270 to win.
What the fuck.
Now, get this. I hate how underhandedly the DNC orchestrated her into being the Democratic nominee. I hate that Bernie was recognized by my generation as being the one guy with an ounce of integrity, the one fit to represent the Democrats in a bid for the White House. I hate that after he was cheated out of his chance, my next best hope, Gary Johnson, didn’t know what Aleppo was, let alone where, let alone the crisis that has been happening over the past few years.
I hate that Trump is the best we thought we could do tonight. I hate that as the rest of the free world moves toward gender and racial equality, my country just decided to take 15 steps back and remind me, yet again, that I am second class citizen and my body is not my own.
I hate that we, as a nation, failed to draw the parallels between a narcissistic demagogue and a fascist leader who promulgated the same fucking rhetoric in the 1930s.
I hate that I have to go in tomorrow and face down the living embodiments of all the ideals which have held me down and told me I wasn’t good enough or reminded me how my gender made me soft, emotional, incapable of doing the work I do. I hate that if I ask for space or respect or just to be left the fuck alone, they will either fault my generation or my sex; nevermind that this election was intensely personal to me.
Nevermind that I am a woman; how about my grandparents who were immigrants?
Or both of my grandfathers, who served in the Army and the Air Force? Or me, who still serves?
How about the man that raised me, who is Mexican?
How about my nephew, who is half-black?
Or that I’m a quarter filipino?
Or that I have two daughters, one of whom is already being ogled by disgusting old men? SHE’S FUCKING EIGHT.
Why? How could you do this, America? How could you elect a misogynist, a racist, an ignorant, classless, philandering, lying, failure of a man as our Commander-in-Chief? Even with the mirror to your nose you don’t see how ugly you are.
Maybe he is you. But he isn’t me. He will never represent me.