The Weekend After

"There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." - Leonard Cohen

Like the world, I'm broken.  I'd like to say I am surprised by the U.S. election results but I can't.  I've known since I visited upstate New York that this is how it would turn out.  I saw the faces of those in the small towns I walked through who eyed me with suspicion, though never when I walked with my lily white husband.  I tried to tell myself I was imagining the looks, that the pick-up truck that nearly ran me over as I crossed with the green light on the main street of Watkins Glen and the driver who then jumped out of his truck to scream at me and only left when an older couple walked up beside me, had nothing to do with my worst imaginings, but I'm too old to bother denying my gut.  The towns are white, small and not particularly prosperous.  They are filled with Christian churches - no synagogues, no temples, no mosques.  And though I don't think people knew quite what they were looking at when they looked at me, they did see me as an "other".

Their lawns were littered with Trump/Pence signs and Mr. Trump's message was clear.  The signs that said Make America Great Again were written in code.  The message was really Make America Hate Again.  Make America Straight Again.  Make America White Again. And the people listened.  At one point I thought the scandals of Mr. Trump's sexually predatory behavior may put a stop to his victory.  After all, surely even white supremacists couldn't vote for a man who boasted about sexually assaulting women.  Even they have mothers, sisters, wives and daughters.  No woman could vote for that. But the scandal had soon passed.  Trump surrogates were soon pushing for the discussion to be moved from sexual assault to the real issues - incredulous as it made me feel that a presidential wannabe with a history of sexually assaulting women wasn't deemed to be a real issue.  It hurt.  You would be hard pressed to find a woman of a certain age who hasn't been sexually assaulted by the likes of a Donald Trump.  We've been grabbed and groped, spoken of in filthy terms and far, far worse.  We were trained to just put up and shut up like it was nothing.  But it's not nothing.  It is frightening, humiliating and scarring.  We pray that our daughters never have to deal with that.  We trust that our sons will never treat women that way and will stand up for us and for their sisters and wives and daughters.  Apparently not. 

I was twelve years old in 1967 - the year of the race riots in the U.S.  We stood on the Canadian side of the Detroit River and watched as Detroit burned, just a few short miles from where my American family lived.  We were afraid for them.  They are no longer there but they aren't far away.  I am afraid for them still, though they are very white people.  I am afraid for my family in Ohio who share my Middle-Eastern looks.  I'm afraid for my friends of colour.  I'm afraid for members of  LGBTQ communities.  I'm afraid for Muslims and other non-Christians.  I'm afraid. I want to say, it's going to be okay, but it's not.

So, as I did on the weekend before the election, I am making a plan for the weekend after the election.  I will not, cannot watch the news.  I've been putting the newspaper in the recycling bin without opening it.  I'm devoting myself and my time to acts of love.  This weekend I will finish the child's chair I'm painting for a friend's new granddaughter.  I will be stitching quilted hearts to leave in public places for strangers to find and take home.  Tomorrow I will be packing gift boxes to be distributed to needy children by the Toronto Star's Santa Claus Fund.

It is Remembrance Day in Canada.  At 11 o'clock this morning we will observe two minutes of silence to honour the brave men and women who served our country in times of war, defended our freedom, protected other citizens of the world and stood and still stand as peacekeepers.  I am proud to be Canadian, perhaps now more than ever.  Lest we forget.