Rebellions are built on hope — Felicity Jones as Jyn Erso in Rogue One.

In an effort to distract my family (mostly my dad) from the first Christmas without my mom, I planned a movie outing on Christmas Day. It worked perfectly. For two-plus hours, we were mentally transported to a galaxy far, far away from the obviously huge and painful gap in our immediate family.

In an effort to get back to said immediate family today, I’ll make this post short.

When all seemed lost and the bad guys seemed invincible in the newest Star Wars movie, the good guys get together to plan their next move. The majority of the good guys believe the bad guys and their new Death Star are insurmountable. They have lost hope. But Jyn Erso tries to rally them in the face of all they’ve lost: “We have hope. Rebellions are built on hope,” she says, after being schooled in the good fight by Diego Luna’s character several scenes back.

I don’t need to make the connection for this crowd.

So take it easy this week. Prepare to do battle, as I said in Week 1 of this crazy new reality. Because come January, it’s on. We are the rebellion. We have a PhD in hope, thanks to Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, and Bernie Sanders. And we need to find the leaders who are behind them on the progressive bench.

Maybe we won’t have to go rogue to fight Donald Trump, Mike Pence, and their (very different) supporters. Maybe the majority of voters who voted for HRC won’t lose hope. Maybe all this energy can be sustained for four years with the rebellion we started plotting on November 9. Maybe.

Let’s hope so. If not, going rogue is always an option (maybe Jyn Erso just hijacked that term from Sarah Palin and her like-minded Republicans). Whether we are a small band of passionate progressives or a rebellion that includes the 65,844,610 who gave HRC the popular vote last month, it’s almost go time.

So drink your last sips of eggnog, enjoy your leftovers and family time. When you have a few quiet moments, make a list of your New Year’s rebellions. The Republic needs you.

 

There is more that unites us than divides us. — Mauricio Macri, president of Argentina

In previous election years, my Fox News-watching Dad and I kept the peace by giving each other space around elections. It (usually) was all playful banter during the primaries and conventions. We gracefully parted ways for a few weeks before Election Day, then carefully felt each other out afterward before resuming our sometimes friendly, sometimes harsh back-and-forth.

But 2016 was different. My mom died four months ago, throwing us together in one of the most intense life situation humans go through. We are joined in the common, gut-wrenching bond of grief, as it should be. There would be no parting of the ways in October. There could be no grace period in November.

Last week, I was in my hometown, just 30 minutes away, and stopped by somewhat unexpectedly to see Dad. He was sitting in his recliner with his blind and needy orange cat, watching something on his oversized flat-screen TV. I took the attached recliner to his left, where Mom always sat. We talked about some family stuff that needed to be dealt with and then started talking about how we miss Mom.

He was a tad weepy that day. I suspect he is more often than I realize because I don’t see him as much as I should. Part of that is distance. Part schedule. Part, honestly, is that I don’t know what to say to him anymore. I’ve read so many stories on Pantsuit Nation and its subsidiaries about family members and friends parting ways because the #imwithher supporter could no longer stomach the #makeamericagreatagain voter.

That is me. That is my dad. But this will not be our future.

For two hours, we laughed, tried not to cry (didn’t always succeed), told funny stories about Mom, shared when we missed her most. About an hour in, he said, “Would it upset you to watch some video of her?” That sounded delightful. He and Mom were passionate about travel (mostly Mom) and motorcycles (mostly Dad). They took many cross-country trips on their motorcycles, a few in the ’90s with another couple who had a penchant for video editing.

We were suddenly transported on that oversized flat-screen TV to 1992, when Mom was a few years younger than I am now. Dad fast forwarded past the lovely scenery to the mundane scenes at restaurants, tourist stops, campsites. To hear Mom’s voice after four months was like coming home to a place I thought I’d never see again. I was entranced. After a while, I started glancing at the clock, partly out of habit and partly because I did have stuff to do. But this was where I wanted and needed to be. So I sat still in Mom’s recliner for as long as Dad was willing to watch those videos with me.

This was a visceral reminder that there is more that unites us than divides us.

That said, there is much that divides us. I am preaching to the choir here when I say that the values of a man who thinks Donald Trump is the best thing for our country while truly believing Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton are its downfall are hurtful to say the least.

I think about our country’s political situation more than I think about parenting my kids at this moment. More than I sit in grief over my mom. That isn’t to say the latter aren’t infinitely more important. It is to say that at this moment in time, I — probably like you — am as passionate as I’ve ever been about politics and the progressive movement. Yet to be with my Dad in the way we both need means to be quiet about the million points of light and passion and shock and disdain bounding from my brain much of the day.

But for two hours, none of that mattered. Trump’s tweets didn’t matter. The Electoral College (which is No. 1 on my shit list today, by the way) didn’t matter. Tax returns, e-mails, Rex Tillerson, Pantsuit Nation, Wisconsin didn’t matter. Even Russia (!!!!) didn’t matter.

And it was OK.

Nothing changed in our political landscape in those two hours. When I left, I’m sure he turned on Fox News and posted something idiotic to Facebook, which I’d have to call him on as soon as I saw it. When I got in my car, I checked Twitter and The New York Times to see if the Hamilton Electors were making any progress.

But for two hours, I was reminded that there is life outside of politics. There is death outside of the Clinton loss. There is love outside of Pantsuit Nation. That Trump voters are multi-faceted people … many of whom we love. That’s the messy truth, as Van Jones calls it. It is messy for every obvious reason. And it is truth.

I will sit with that messy truth throughout this holiday season. Because it sucks without my mom. And I will try to remember this messy truth when I hit the ground running to fight against everything my dad believes in come January.

And when I forget, I will watch this video again to remember a time when hope and unity felt possible. And I will remember this two hours with my dad as proof. Because when I want to hate a Trump supporter, I will know my perceived enemy most likely has some of my dad in him. And, I hope, when my dad wants to hate a Clinton supporter, he will remember that liberal has some of me in her.

Sure, our politics help define us. But we must remember (oh this is so hard!) that they are not the total equation.

 

 

 

 

“When the whole world is crazy, it doesn’t pay to be sane.” — Terry Goodkind, The Pillars of Creation

A friend and I were talking a couple of weeks about about our current political situation. I love this friend more than most people in the world. I have known her more than half my life and she is my people in every possible way.

And it is with love that I say she’s crazy as all get out. Has been since the failed Occupy Wall Street movement. She was all in for that. And when it fell apart, she checked out of the political process. This is someone who was once an intern at The New York Times. She’s an Ivy League-educated woman who has more passion in her one of her beautiful brown eyelashes than most people have in their entire soul. But she shut it down, at least the political part of it. She decided media and politicians weren’t trustworthy and disengaged.

When I visit or chat with her, I try my best to draw her in. And she indulges me for the time we are together. Then goes back into her no-news, no-politics black hole. This recent election result has drawn her out, though. So when we last chatted, we both lamented how “our side” was in danger of become the crazies. Crazy like: Benghazi, the Clintons have people killed, #pizzagate, Obama isn’t a US citizen, Rush Limbaugh, climate change is a hoax, evolution is a theory, trying to repeal Obamacare 60+ times. The hysterical, no-facts kind of crazy. Sure, it seems like everything is different and we have a right to be hysterical, but we’ve got to be fact-based hysterical. We have to #makeramericacareaboutfactsagain.

So I told her I was going to write a blog post called, “Don’t be a crazy bitch.” We laughed, promised to keep each other in check, and said I love you before our goodbyes.

This morning, I woke up that crazy bitch.

It’s just all too much: Saying the media lies. Saying the CIA lies. Rex Tillerson. Being too smart for daily intelligence briefings. The thank you tour. Twitter replacing the press conference. Twitter in general. Nominating someone to head the EPA who is suing the EPA. And on Friday, Russia.

I am now in a world in which I agree with Glenn Beck, Lindsey Graham, John McCain, and, as of today, Mitch McConnell and Fox News’ Shepherd Smith.

Russia is my tipping point. Not just that a foreign entity tried to influence our democracy. Not just that Russia tried to undermine faith our our election process. But that Russia possibly did this to influence our election process. And that @realDonaldTrump says the CIA’s allegations are “rediculous” (he later deleted the tweet). And that my family and friends who voted for him are silent. Crickets.

Their silence indicates one of two things to me:

1. That they want their side to be the winners so badly, they don’t care if Russia interfered with our election process to get the candidate it favored elected. (Translation: They would rather have Putin interfere in our government than have Hillary Clinton be our president.) Read those two sentences out loud. And picture your favorite Republican. Picture Ronald Reagan. What gives people?
2. They would not want a full investigation if the Russians hacked the RNC email and released incriminating evidence against it (not saying it wasn’t true, just incriminating) and Clinton had won. Again, picture your favorite Republican. Picture any Republican politician. Seriously, what gives?

This is the side of Benghazi and Obamacare and Obama is a Muslim. No. 2 just seems nonsensical with this crowd, right? As it should be! And this is where I worry about my crazy.

Now, I do not in any way believe we need a re-do on the election. I’ve listened to the experts and it just ain’t gonna happen. One can’t quantify the number of votes lost or gained because of this. I get that. I really do.

I have a degree in journalism/political science. I shun conspiracy theorists (and I was raised by one). I am a fact-based person who can almost always see two sides to every story — from abortion to drunken campus rape (I win over exactly zero friends in that debate) to term limits.

But this week, I’m embracing my crazy. I want the Electoral College to stop this man. My apologies to those of you who have been tirelessly carrying the Hamilton Electors banner. I thought you were crazy when I first heard about you. I thought you’d become the birthers of the Democratic party. But now I get it.

Is it fact-based hysteria? I can’t tell yet. I spent this morning watching CNN, Fox News, reading The New York Times, NPR, The Washington Post, and @realDonaldTrump tweets.

Here’s what the Hamilton Electors say our founding fathers intended when creating the Electoral Collage. That our incoming president must:

1. Be qualified.
2. Not be a “charismatic autocrat.”
3. Not be under the influence of foreign powers.

If Donald Trump doesn’t raise to the level of the emergency measures our founding fathers intended when they created the Electoral College, then what does? I’m still deciding what I think about the Electoral College. But if it’s here for THESE reasons and we don’t use it NOW, we might as well get rid of it. Have we ever checked even one of these three boxes? Much less potentially all three?

I don’t want to be the fringe. I am as liberal as you can get … but I’ve never been fringe.

Here’s how the Hamilton Electors say it can be done on December 19, when the Electoral College actually casts its votes. That’s one week from today. I plan to be crazy — but on the right side of factual — until that day. And then, in the incredibly likely scenario where Trump is still PEOTUS, I will go back to fighting for what I stand for that I believe he threatens. I will go back to my Pantsuit Nation meetings (I actually have one tonight) and my local politician’s community meetings and seeing what we can do in 2018 and 2020 and beyond. I will continue to want an answer to the non-partisan issue of whether Russia intervened in our election process. I will not go into a black hole of political knowledge, and I’ll try to keep my friend out of it, too.

Because crazy with facts and passion — in that order — is OK, I’ve learned today. We do not sound like the “show me the birth certificate” lunatics when we say “I want to know if Russia tried to get Trump elected.”

I have new respect for crazy today. Because, facts.

“I didn’t get to do this in the ’70s so I’m ready” — Megan, a 20something friend of a friend just after the election.

It’s hard to believe it’s only been a month, isn’t it?

One month ago today, I pulled my 16-year-old son out of school so he could watch me vote for the first woman president of the United States. I had a yummy roast in the crockpot, wine at the ready, laptop moved into the living room. I could hardly work for all the texting and CNN watching and history-making awesomeness. It was going to be the best day ever.

Until it was the worst day ever. The apocalypse, as a friend of mine calls it. We were pantsuit-loving lambs headed to slaughter.

One month later, I’m impatient with the wallowing. Yes, it’s awful. Yes, his appointments just keep bringing new fresh hell daily. Yes, HRC’s popular vote lead keeps increasing (at 2.7 million last I checked). Yes, we have a hair-width slice of the shadow of a glimmer of false hope as the recount takes place and a some of our Electoral College members bail on Trump.

Yes, the apocalypse.

Except for two things:

1. We have gotten off our asses and are engaged like never before.
2. We are having a serious and pervasive discussion about fake news.

And those might make Trump’s election worth it. (Ducking for cover as I write that.) Might, I said. Or, at least, are significant silver linings.

Let’s start with getting off our asses. I am 100% sure that if Clinton had been elected, most of us would be sitting back, fat and happy with our awesome history-making president. Maybe she would’ve inspired us to get a little more involved. But let’s face it, had our engagement really changed since she announced she was running? Had our engagement really changed during Obama’s eight years?

Things were laurel-resting good!

When the friend of a friend said she was ready for the fight (see quote above), it occurred to me I was, too. While I’m 20+ years her senior, I haven’t fought very hard for anything either. I was incredibly supportive of gay marriage and did what I could, sporting my artsy marriage equality necklace. But I haven’t taken to the streets — literally or figuratively — in a long time.

When my kids were young, my husband and I traveled to Austin to protest for sensible gun laws with the Million Mom March in Austin one time. And I returned to Austin several years ago to protest underfunding and over-testing in our public schools.

Like you, I have a list of progressive social issues I’m passionate about: gay rights, women’s rights, reasonable gun laws. But I took press and religious freedom for granted. I took women’s rights for granted. I assumed we were all headed for the right side of history in every possible way.

OK, so we SHOULD be able to do all of that.

But I didn’t know who my state legislator was until yesterday. I wish I exaggerated for effect. I was all about the big national (usually social) issues, but my political savvy crumbled the closer to home it got. And that is not acceptable. My state just passed a law that women who have abortions in a clinic or miscarriages in a hospital must pay for the fetal remains to be cremated or buried. Where was I when this shit was going down?

I was assuming, pre-apocalypse, that we were all headed for the right side of history.

Pantsuit Nation has almost 4 million members. I assume most of those members are finding their way to the state, regional, and local Pantsuit Nation offshoots like I am. And these groups and their members are organizing. We are a force today — a force that I truly believe would’ve faded back into our normal lives if Clinton were our president-elect.

Secondly, Oxford dictionary announced “post-truth” as the word of the year for 2016. We need that situation to be different in 2017.

And I am hopeful. #fakenews is a hastag — a thing … like not opening the door for the guy who says he’s here to check your cable when you didn’t have an appointment. That’s the kind of thing I want #fakenews to be. I’ve been pushing #makeamericacareaboutfactsagain and actually just found this image when I searched Twitter for it.

I’ve been sharing #makeamericacareaboutfactsagain with my Trump-supporting Dad for a while. Post-election, I started expanding its use to anyone who doesn’t check a source on Facebook — conservative or liberal. OccupyDemocrats, Breitbart … same same in my opinion right now.

Since it was reported that #fakenews was an issue in this election, everyone has joined on the bandwagon. Yay for critical thinking!

And with stories like this one from NPR, “Fake or real? How to self-check the news and get the facts,” coming out daily, it’s easy to do. Here are two more to help your truth-finding journey: “How to tell which news is fake” and the CRAPP test.

Nicholas Kristof of The New York Times hits it perfectly here: “Lies in the guise of news in the Trump era.” Let me tease out one fact from his post: Only 44% of Republicans understand that Obama was born in the United States. Oxford, I bow to your painful wisdom. Read the article. It explains that #fakenews is more than a conservative agenda; it’s now a money-making business.

As consumers, we can call out and not share #fakenews. But it’s going to take more. Facebook, Google, and Twitter started down the right path the week after the election. But it’s going to take even more. I love this from Jeff Jarvis: “A call for cooperation against fake news.” And this: “Stamping out fake news will take collaboration by platforms and publishers.” I agree. This is my industry. And I intend to hold it accountable. That #fakenews is a hashtag is, I hope, an indicator of good things to come.

So yes, the apocalypse. But with a bright side.

I wanted to toss my “I voted today” sticker from a month ago. But I didn’t. Instead, I have it right by my laptop on my desk. I see it every single day.

Because I’m with Megan. And #imwithher. I didn’t get to do this in the ’70s. I’m ready.

How about you?