Let me put something out there right off the bat: I did not vote for Donald Trump. Nor did I vote for Hillary Clinton. I exercised my right for creativity with a write-in and voted for my former college professor who I honestly think would make a great leader. That was my protest—not assigning my vote to an ideology or a person I simply could not endorse just because those were the unfortunate options. You may argue that I threw my vote away, or that by default I allowed an egomaniac caricature of a man who has a low opinion of women and minorities to waltz into the White House and become President of the United States despite any job-related experience and with a seemingly sociopathic lack of empathy for those less fortunate, but I doubt my protest vote allowed that to happen. I sleep well at night, and I’m watching cautiously, much like many of you.
Are we clear on where I stand?
Perhaps it was because of my post on being a feminist with regards to sexuality and the backlash I received from Internet-trolls, who I’m not entirely sure understood exactly what I was saying, or maybe because I had several conversations with folks prior to the election about how I absolutely could not stand the thought of a Trump Presidency (our poor daughters!), but someone I am acquainted with on Facebook added me to the “secret” group Pantsuit Nation sometime after the election.
If you are unaware of what this group stands for, from my understanding, it is a proverbial safe place for Hillary supporters to share stories of hope & love, and also to commiserate over a lost generation of degenerate Americans who allowed a red-faced monster to become the leader of the soon-to-be not-so-free world.
I do enjoy reading some of the stories posted. I’m not going to bash anyone’s story of hope and love and all those feel-good things because I love hope and love and all those feel good things too. I love hearing stories of women who broke down doors & climbed walls, and of those who overcame odds to live a dream and share more love. These are all great things. Keep the positivity flowing, Hillary folks!
But I have a gripe, and I’m going to have to leave the group. My problem with Pantsuit Nation is not with the stories of “Love Trumps Hate,” although I kind of want to claw my eyeballs out when I see that phrase, but with the overarching feeling of victimization and self-pity woven throughout many of the posts, along with the lack of any real call-to-action. The group is like one big sob fest where everyone is sitting around the campfire passing the story stick and preemptively sharing anecdotes of how they overcame the imminent hate spewing from an administration that has yet to take office.
Pantsuit Nation, seriously stop whining. Put on your big girl pantsuits, and go back to work/school/whatever, and become someone & do something. The reason that Hillary Clinton had a chance to win the Presidency had nothing to do with a bunch of people posting photos of “love” on Facebook and then what? Trump was supposed to be like “OK, you win, your love beat me.” No, he won and she lost because a lot of people in this country channeled their (anger, hate, bigotry, racism, sexism, ignorance) passion into doing something to get the man elected. So guess what, YOU FAILED. You failed because of your mindset of “woe is me.” I guarantee the typical Trump supporter (which I am not—please refer to first paragraph) never once sat around with a mindset of impending defeat (remember the polls), residing himself (surely he is only a him) to four years of oppression by smothering love. God no, that guy is a fighter. And if you want to make sure you don’t have to raise your daughters in a nation of pussy-grabbing, Muslim-hating, gay-shaming, love-averse man whore monsters, then rise up sistah, and become an advocate. MOVE ON. Start a career in female-health advocacy, minority rights, fucking politics—I don’t care; start a blog—comment on my blog (only if you are telling me what you are actually doing aside from posting in Pantsuit Nation). I’m your biggest fan, seriously, as long as you do not spend one more second complaining about Trump, and you channel that love-energy into a side gig that fights the upcoming yet-to-be-proven-evil establishment. I respect a fighter.
Now, I hope you understand this tangent comes from a place of love (omg that word again). I’m a huge champion for women’s rights and empowerment. That is literally my thing. I was just as shocked and surprised about the outcome of the election as you were. However, I woke up on November 9th not with tears in my eyes, but with fight in my soul; a newfound excitement about how I can personally contribute to the causes and issues I find important in a constructive way that shows (holy crap) progress under a new administration. You, me, the average everyday lover has the power. It’s seriously so easy. But my dear, you have to fight. You can’t fight power with love—I know it sounds all pretty and shit, but it’s weak. You have to fight power with more powerful power. It’s physics… or politics, one of those.
So, while I do love a nice pantsuit, I’m going to have to leave the nation.
Because frankly, I have more power in a skirt.