Moving toward resistance: the power of old women

Has it been just 10 days since our political frames were upended and Donald Trump became President-Elect? As with all disasters, it seems like I've been living with this knowledge so much longer. Like many of my friends and people around the world, I'm still somewhere along the continuum of grief*: denial, anger, bargaining, sadness/depression, and finally, acceptance. I supported Clinton, campaigned for her, and until her upset loss Nov. 8, expected her to win.

For the first few days after the election, the first three grief stages were dominant for me. Denial lasted only until late election eve, when Hillary Clinton's loss became a mathematical certainty. Anger followed--at everyone who voted for this ignorant, vulgar and dangerous man or who didn't vote at all. Bargaining didn't last long. I applaud those who are circulating petitions that the Electoral College be abolished or its members agree to vote for the popular vote winner (Clinton), and I would like to hope along with those who predicted DT would soon be impeached, yet I can't pin my hopes on either of those unlikely outcomes. So that leaves sadness, trying to move into acceptance, which of course is the precondition of resistance.

So why is grieving the word that fits our condition so well? I've certainly seen my candidates lose before, and I don't remember grieving. It was more like stumbling, picking myself up, dusting off my pants, and moving on. My string of losing candidates started with Nixon defeating Humphrey in my first election as a voter in 1968. A winner--a brief Democratic respite--emerged in the late 70s with Jimmy Carter, and then came a decade of Ronald Reagan, followed by Bush Sr.. We drew a winning ticket with Bill Clinton in the 90s, and then...George Bush Jr. for 8 years. Finally, Barack Obama won in 2008--the best win of all. I was in Japan then, and I remember calling my US election office to make sure my absentee ballot was on its way. A portrait of Obama hung in my office at school, the familiar one with the word "hope" printed underneath.

2016. The unthinkable arrived last week, which, when we parse out all of the factors, seems almost inevitable. The world turns, the backlash phenomenon reappears, and we are immersed in a media environment where truth and lies blur. "Post-Truth" was just named the Oxford Dictionaries' Word of the Year. (Click here for a discussion of that.) In earlier times, I recall recovering from defeat more quickly. One reason might be that for a big chunk of time, I put less faith than I do today in the electoral process as a source of change. Also, I was or felt young, with decades ahead to help turn the world around.

Like so many of my friends who are now old, I see my past as so much longer than my future. The likely damage from a Trump administration is frightening to contemplate. How much can be undone during my time on Earth? How much energy will I and my aging friends have to be part of the struggle? It was in that sad spirit that I drove to the monthly meeting of OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change), an event I join when I can. For the most part we're a support group, focusing less on marching and more on helping each other get through this thing called aging. We have potlucks, collect money for worthy groups, host visitors. Our most political effort recently has focused on activities helping us acknowledge and learn from differing communication and leadership styles. This Saturday we had set aside for a post-election discussion. "What would come of it?" I wondered as I walked in the door of the Northglenn Community Center.  This image below, which I found by googling "powerful old women, images", epitomizes my feeling about that day. I think it fits the tone of Saturday afternoon. We weren't smiling a lot, the two dozen or so of us who attended, but we took our places, looking into the future. And as this woman's hands show, we all brought a history of work in other times and places.

As our discussion began, our work on communication styles--as well as our long experience in different kinds of groups--paid off. We had excellent facilitators, Katherine and Trish, who guided us through three parts of the discussion: how we are feeling, why that is so, and what we hope to do. We agreed to guidelines: short speaking turns to allow everyone time to speak, respect for differences. Not surprisingly, our feelings were similar, and the grieving metaphor was invoked by many. We acknowledged fears and uncertainty about the future. Gillian brought information about the safety pin solidarity movement.

There was music: a song by Holly Near, and a Peter Paul and Mary old standby, Mr. Bigot. Brang brought copies of a short Buddhist text, which includes this phrase: "Greed, hatred and ignorance cause suffering. Let them go. Love, generosity and wisdom bring the end of suffering. Foster them." At several points, we remembered that we've gotten through hard times before, that wisdom and experience are valuable tools.

Moving into talk about what we can do, we were ready to begin the long work of resistance. Numerous ideas came up. One is to monitor and follow up on the actions of all of our Colorado representatives and senators in the US Congress, contacting and working with national OLOC, reconnecting with those working (still!) on the ERA (Equal Rights Amendment), and focusing in a number of ways on issues we feel passionate about.

We left the community center that afternoon, still grieving but ready to carry on. For me, I felt much more powerful than I did earlier. We may not walk as fast as we once did or stay up into the wee hours, but our wisdom and experience count for a lot. And we plan to use those.

*The 5 stages of grief listed above were first identified by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in her 1969 book, On Death and Dying. For more discussion, click here.