I can’t exactly call this a book review. The only review-like thing I can really honestly say is that Jennifer Palmieri’s book, Dear Madam President: An Open Letter to the Women Who Will Run the World, is exactly what I needed after the year and a half we have been through since the results of the 2016 election.

I was drawn to the book after hearing an article or podcast (potentially NPR?) mention it – specifically her chapter on “Nod Less, Cry More”. I was intrigued. But there was so much more in here than just sage, post-election advice. It speaks hard truths about moving forward, while also being encouraging about the future. But she also makes a point here that many of us have defining moments around.

Frankly, I am surprised to find myself advising you and other women on how we can reach equality with men. I spent most of my life thinking we were already there. We are not. (172)

We all have a moment where we realize that we are not equal to men – whether that be in the midst of a discussion of personal safety practices or being ignored at work only to have your idea finally pushed through after it’s been reiterated by a man. Progress is still being made on this front, and we have to continue to press forward. However, the fact that we thought we were already equal – I feel like this is a wake up call to us. The 2016 election was the slap in the face we may have needed to get our boots back on the ground again.

Another point Palmieri makes is about defeat:

Defeated is when you fail to look your opponent in the face and call them out on their hate or lies. Defeated is when you cower when attacked. Defeated is when you give up the fight. Worse, defeated is when you give up hope. […] Hillary may have lost this election, but she refused to be defeated. (142)

This whole chapter, “Undefeated”, made me think back to those couple of months post-election. I, like many of my generation, had actually been a fairly strong Bernie Sanders supporter. This (unlike many people I knew) was not because I didn’t trust Hillary. My views just aligned more strongly with Bernie than with Hillary. (This had also been true in 2008 and 2012 when I voted for Barack Obama.) When it was clear that Hillary would be the Democratic nominee, I put my support behind her. Much to my chagrin, I had some very outspoken friends on Facebook with other ideas. Whether it was to give Bernie a write-in vote or to vote for Jill Stein, it didn’t matter. I watched this swing wildly all over the place. While I still had hope for a Hillary win – and somewhat naively was convinced that the alternative was not in anyway possible – the absolute insistence by many people I knew to not vote for Hillary had me very concerned.

The night of the election, I watched the numbers role in. The two states I cared about most came in pretty quick – Vermont and Massachusetts both went for Hillary. From there, it was just a matter of watching the states numbers and doing the math. When I fell asleep, it was leaning toward Trump, but I still held out hope for those after work voters.

Around 3am I woke up out of nowhere. I had fallen asleep in the La-Z-Boy chair in front of our still fairly new television. (We still hadn’t mounted it on the wall.) The television is still on, but there’s no map on the screen. Just George Stephanopoulos, face somewhat strained like even he can’t fully believe what he’s saying, announcing that Trump is the President-Elect. And all I can think is, “No”. No, no, no, no, no.

The next day felt like defeat. Boston was quiet. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a penetrating quiet as that morning. A few people were crying on the train into work. Working a front facing job in a Revolutionary War museum, we had to carry on. I remember having conversations about how to approach the day, to keep an eye out for each other, and what to do if we were confronted. We are often faced with people comparing things that happened in and around Boston in the 18th century with events of today. Fortunately, on that day, no one even attempted those comparisons with any of us. We did what we could for each other. One of my coworkers printed out Maya Angelou’s Still I Rise and taped it to the wall. It’s still there.

That should have been a sign. Still I Rise. This was not defeat. This was mourning. We would not be cowed by this loss. We would keep going. We would keep fighting. We would take hope where we could. The support and space provided by everyone at my job, and later that evening, at my church, was exactly what was needed that Wednesday. It gave me a place to move forward from.

Dear Madam President has also given me an opportunity to move forward yet again. A review of Palmieri’s open letter said that it was a great follow up to Hillary Clinton’s What Happened. I’ll admit. I didn’t read What Happened because for all the distance, it still felt too raw. But having read Dear Madam President, I think I am finally in a place where I could read What Happened, analyze it, and move forward. So, as the fictional President Bartlet would say:

What’s next?

One Reply to “Dear Madam President: A Response”

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