I just discovered that #NotMyPresident is a thing. It comes from the protests around the country, protests that are not the normal thing after an election.
I used the phrase myself, in my first post after the news struck. Was that a moment of simultaneous thought spanning across time, or did someone borrow a phrase from me without my knowledge? I don’t really care (as long as someone doesn’t decide I plagiarized the phrase . . . nowadays, you never know).
I choose to believe that many people simultaneously reached into the creative energy that surrounds us, to express a profound truth. That energy is important, because we will only make it through the difficult times to come by using our creative powers to defy hate. I realized that last night, as I experienced the Pentatonix concert in Boston. The music carried me on an emotional journey of hope, of pain, of fear, of tears, of love. I am sure that, in that crowd of people, there would be many who are on the other side of the political spectrum from me . . . but in that place we were connected by music.
This video isn’t from last night, but when they sang this last night I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing as the echoes of people coming together in song echoed into the rafters.
That is the power of the arts. That is a power I can wield, even under the shadow of #NotMyPresident.
This person, elected by a flawed system which does not listen to the voice of the people (the popular vote) will only be the president of a specific type person. He defined it himself, by making fun of or insulting anyone who does not fit that type. Do I need to describe the specific type?
He is the president for anyone who is: a white male, traditionally-abled, cis-gendered, Christian. He might be president for females who have perfect thin bodies, and those women willing to give leadership to men and be treated like our only purpose on earth is to be sexual objects for men and incubators for future generations. You can probably add wealthy to the list, but many of his supporters haven’t realized that yet–they think he really cares about the middle class. (They will learn the hard way that they are wrong).
So he’s #NotMyPresident. I am white, cis-gendered, and don’t have a defined disability (unless you count the severe depression that this entire election process has pushed me into). That’s about it in terms of his list. I am also on his other list–the one that he will not claim but guides many of his choices (like getting support for the KKK). I am Jewish.
He is definitely not my daughter’s president. She is a Japanese/Korean/Jew who I am teaching has choices on this earth. He is not my husband’s president.
My daughter. She is the reason for this post. I am determined to blog more again, for her. I am starting a series on this blog called, “I Will Not Be Silent” because I am determined to use my words, my power, my energy to give voice against the oppression and fear that will only get worse as this man moves into power. If anyone wants to contribute a post, I welcome your input. Just send me an email (at firstname.lastname@example.org) and we can discuss details.
I’m taking a risk here, because my writing career is just getting started. But P.O.W.ER is about a world where women are not allowed to read or write, and men must fall into strict roles defined by a dictatorial leader in the name of the Lord. We aren’t far off from that now, in my opinion. So I will write political posts and speak out against the oppression that is to come, even if it means I never publish another book.
Of course, I have a non-fiction book coming out in January, one that celebrates my work with disABLED individuals and diverse college students. This person is not their president either.
My life does not allow space for a person like him. It will not allow space for people who support his message (of hate, of injustice, of fear).
Some might argue that I am shutting down dialogue and disagreement. I am not. I am open to anyone who can offer me a legitimate reason for supporting this man . . . one that is based on realistic proposals of how he will make life better for everyone, not just the people who fit his criteria.
Nobody has offered that to me yet.
So for now, I write, and claim with pride . . . he is #NotMyPresident.