I haven't had a hangover on a Wednesday since the late 90s, when I spent too many Tuesday nights at the Euclid Tavern, one of three bars within walking distance of the CWRU campus and the only one that took my fake ID. This wasn't from pitchers of Bud Light chased with kamikaze shots, Camel Lights, and greasy food. I didn't gag at half-remembered behavior or the satanic smell of my bar clothes. No, this was the adult kind. I'd spent Tuesday night watching Super Tuesday returns painfully sober and despairing. Pundits marveled over Joe Biden's victories, calling it the most extraordinary 72 hours in American political history. They crowed over Biden's victory in Massachusetts where he hadn't held a public event in nearly a year, and had one field office and minimal ground infrastructure. They scrutinized the disparity in early and same-day votes. They pronounced Sanders' momentum halted. They condescended about Warren's third-place finish in her home state, wondering, with straight faces, how it all came to pass. One opined about "the power of relationships!" I thought, uh huh.
I woke up Wednesday feeling defeated and utterly hopeless. I was of no comfort to my best friend who works for the Sanders campaign in the Bay Area. I was furious at Party dealmaking that has nothing to do with policy or vision and everything to do with preserving entrenched power. I was furious at what was unknown, and may never be known. I felt the check of the judiciary's future, especially when it comes to women's rights, civil rights, and economic rights. The specter of a conservative court looms. Barring an extraordinary swing, we will be stuck with a Democratic man and a Republican man both at full pander, both with shaky records on these issues, both harnessing the rhetorical potency of going back. For some groups, the past isn't as decent or great.
The first time I visited the Vatican, I was struck by the immensity of the building: column footers taller and wider than the tallest and widest person, the impossible ceiling, the obdurate statues. The pressure of the institution's flagship was palpable to me, my small and individual person. As a Catholic, it felt familiar. Pilgrims dragged themselves across the stones out front, but I didn't so much as genuflect. As a person, I felt insignificant enough. As a woman, I resisted. I like to think I even raised a defiant chin. But pressure is what it's all about.
This week, I was reminded of that feeling. The political system succeeds in part because it's insurmountable. I feel the pressure to believe, and I do, briefly and intensely, but mostly I'm filled with doubt. Among the laity, the system's covertness is suspected, but ultimately unknowable. Its marketing is slick. There is a fathomless distance between it and its stated values. It preserves itself by crushing the vulnerable, only letting up for politically expedient seconds. If it really cared about them, life in this country would be different. Those so-called "unsettled questions" about a woman's right to control her own body, and our collective rights to debt-free healthcare and education, living wages, voting, and affordable and equitable housing would be fucking settled on the side of justice, not just for me and people like me, but for everyone. They wouldn't be left conveniently unsettled.
The system's courtiers say we don't need revolution. When they say it, revolution is exactly what we need. Revolutions address life-threatening inequalities. The experiences leading people to seek this kind of change are profound and, in many cases, generational. They cut across race, gender, and socioeconomic class. They unite. This kind of change doesn't enter quietly and sit with its hands folded and ankles crossed. The civil rights movement, the women's movement, the gay rights movement were sustained uprisings. Their victories were hard earned. And their momentum was sheared by power and money, which will always have an interest in inequality. A few questions were left conveniently unsettled.
At this moment, we can cede to Trump's fake populism, or we can engage an intersectional economic justice revolution that changes how the government
acquires (tax the rich!) and spends its money. That is, we fight for a change in our national values system. Yes, this means changing perceptions about the role of government, bringing us in line with other industrialized countries, where life expectancy isn't decreasing and education debt isn't destroying lives and people aren't foregoing healthcare because they can't afford it, even with insurance. It's a huge project, but that doesn't mean we can't start, and start decisively.
***
To an extent, all elections litigate the past. I think about this a lot, as the wife of an elected official. The time to consider your record---legacy, if you want to get lofty---is while you're building it. As I've told my husband, especially in difficult times, you show people who you are by what you do and who you stand up for, even if it means doing the lonely thing.
Biden's record is a liability. He says it shows collaboration and consensus. To me, it shows compromise in its worst definitions. He showed us who he was when he shamed Anita Hill. He showed us when he worked with lenders to weaken bankruptcy protections and with segregationists to abolish busing, fretting over "orderly" integration and his children growing up in a "racial jungle." He showed us by voting for wars and the expansion of the carceral state, all while being the nicest guy around. He showed us by supporting the Hyde Amendment banning federal funding for abortion, and supporting states' rights to overturn Roe vs. Wade. After his Tuesday victories, healthcare stocks soared.
His carefully worded statement may say, if I knew then what I
know now. But others knew better then, and advocated for better. The
question is, why didn't he? If he's serious about defeating Trump, he will tell us what he knows now and adopt modern, progressive stances that earn votes across a broad coalition.
Until then, we're looking at two old white guys rattling about returning to an America that was civil, decent, and great for people like them. Seems oddly fitting for this national moment.
