Brooke Warner

When my son, born in 2010, was six years old, he saw a tall Black man in a suit walking down the street. He turned to me and asked, “Was that the President of the United States?” This was my intimate moment of witnessing progress in action. Barack Obama was our president, and to my son, any sophisticated-looking Black man could be the president. Now we’re on the cusp of another potentially momentous time in our history. Kids in the future will look at women, at Black women, and Southeast Asian women, and see in these women the possibility to ascend to the highest office in the land. Girls will grow up knowing that it’s possible for them to reach for their greatest ambitions because Kamala Harris will have taken it all the way to the end zone. We live in a country whose constitution tells us that “all men are created equal,” and under an originalist Supreme Court majority that’s rolling back women’s rights one case at a time. Yes, there are women working against women’s rights and women’s freedoms, but they are the exceptions. Our collective belief in this woman, Kamala Harris, is a symbol in our belief that the girls of this nation—all girls—can become anything they want to be.

When I campaigned for Elizabeth Warren in 2019, all I heard from anyone was that she couldn’t win. The problem was, she couldn’t win because no one would rally around her. In the early speculative days of Kamala Harris’s rise, people started to say the same thing. She’s a woman. She’s Black. She can’t win. Plus, she was unpopular, it seemed. She laughed too much. She was awkward. But then, in a matter of days, something shifted. It was like she’d been shot out of a rocket—and there was newfound energy and enthusiasm all around her. The party rallied. The media decided it liked her very much. People changed their tune. I don’t like how we behaved toward Harris in the beforetimes, but this is a good reminder to all of us to stay the course. Harris hasn’t changed, the perception of her has. That Americans believe in do-overs and second chances speaks to our resilience, and maybe proves that we’re not as fixed in our beliefs as it sometimes seems.

For months before Harris’s announcement, I’d been despairing over our choice of candidates. My partner tried with varying degrees of success to encourage me to “joy hunt.” In other words, to find the joy in my everyday. Between global warming, gun violence, genocide, the meltdown of democracy, and the ripping away of personal freedoms, joy-hunting is hard. It’s boosted by hope arriving at your door. Feeling into the joy I’ve felt since Harris’s ascent, I’ve considered how much my despair was driven by stewing in my anger, meeting the hate from the other side with my own hate. The vibes have changed, though. “Weird” is not hateful; it’s just disarming. Our politics are dividing this nation, by design. Michelle Obama said, “When they go low, we go high.” Hatred is an unsustainable state of being. We’re watching what happens when joy wins.

We’re living through a time where everyone is on the defensive for their personal choices and beliefs. If I were to swallow the messaging coming my way, I would believe that Republicans hate me, that middle America thinks I’m an abomination. I’m a progressive lesbian mother living in Berkeley, California, after all. If I let myself believe it, I’m the enemy of all Trump voters. And yet, I’ve found when I talk to people who don’t share my beliefs, or even who don’t believe in my life choices, we can find common ground. People are not as angry as our media would have us believe. We have to be careful not to globalize and internalize the divides. I’m not saying they’re not there, but we’re less divided than our systems and our media would have us believe. When we lean into our differences and treat each other with dignity, we elevate the greatest strength this nation has, which is how we honor our diversity and differences.

As a mother, my biggest existential fears stem from the world we’re leaving to our kids. I’m terrified that my son could become a victim of gun violence. I’m worried about global warming and what the future will look like. I’m sick over what will happen to this next generation of girls who will have no agency over their bodies and their futures unless we stop this assault against women’s rights. We’re living through a backlash, but we have the power to effect change. We have to vote. We have to take actions that show our investment in outcomes. In this country, our leaders pass unpopular laws. Here, the popular vote does not carry the day. Every vote does not matter. We’ve wedged ourselves into a dangerous position in which the next election is likely to be contested, and key players are in place to ensure particular outcomes, even if they’re undemocratic. We have to show up for what matters. The voice and will of the people is the bedrock of this country. Don’t for a second believe that whatever happens is a foregone conclusion. Everything is at stake, and our futures depend on our insistence on free and fair elections.