Happy New Year, Hillary.
By: Emily Pomeranz Keith
Tags: 2017, Hillary Clinton

Dear Hillary Clinton,

Everyone seems to have a strong opinion about what you should or should not be doing these days. I don’t. It is not my place to give advice to one of the most admired, informed, and accomplished humans on the planet.

You do not need anyone to tell you how to live. In fact, you show me how I should strive to live every day of my life: with love, kindness, and a bit of snarky sass that comes with being an intelligent woman in a world full of overconfident men. Instead of telling you to have a seat, be quiet, or take up knitting, I thought I would tell you about my year and how you remained a constant reminder of this country’s potential.

I woke up on January 1, 2017 still in a grieving period from the 2016 election. New Year’s Day is always one of my favorite days, but this one was difficult to maneuver. Everything was upside down. Barack Obama was still president, but we were just weeks away from the unthinkable. I was newly engaged and should have been on cloud nine, but I felt guilty for being so happy when I knew what the future would bring for this country.

For weeks, my emotions ranged from deep sadness to total anger to complete apathy. This wretched cycle was only subdued by the beginning stages of wedding planning and a Great British Baking Show marathon.

The night before Donald Trump’s inauguration, I walked home from work. Normally, I take the metro but on this particular evening I need to blow off some steam. I walked past parade stands, secret service barricades, and crowds of people donning formal wear and Make American Great Again hats.

This wasn’t right, I thought. He can’t be sworn in.

I was grasping for hope, trying to justify any reason why he wouldn’t make it to that podium. I was being foolish and disingenuous. He won. This is how our country works. A peaceful transition of power is what makes the United States a beacon of light to the rest of the world.

As I walked the streets of Capitol Hill to my house, I was stopped in my tracks by chalk drawings in Lincoln Park. Under the statue of civil rights activist Mary McLeod Bethune were touching words of hope written on the pavement. “Black Lives Matter” “Love is Love is Love” and “An Injustice Anywhere is a Threat to Justice Everywhere”. I felt a little better, and the knots in my stomach started to ease. I was not alone in my sadness. I kept walking and eventually stepped right over the words you bravely said on the world stage in 1995: “Women’s Rights are Human Rights.” In that moment of despair, you gave me exactly what I needed.

On the morning of the Women’s March, I shot out of bed, put on my pink hat and headed toward the Capitol. I am lucky enough to work for NARAL Pro-Choice America and we were putting on a breakfast for our supporters before the march. The first few weeks after the election were rough for us at NARAL, as you can imagine. A self-admitted sexual assaulter and misogynist won the presidency. Our worst fears were more tangible than ever. However, on the morning of January 21, 2017, something felt different. Our collective hope and determination overshadowed any lingering sadness from the previous day. I was ready to march for the kind of world you fought for your entire adult life.

The day was a joyous blur. I felt renewed, but not for reasons many people may think. The Women’s March was not the echo chamber I thought I needed. It broke me. Every idea of what I thought it means to be a feminist was challenged. What started out as an angry response to grabbing women by the pussy evolved into a rallying cry for complete and total justice. This was not about me.

If I am not protecting my transgender sisters or Muslim sisters, what am I doing? If I am not demanding clean drinking water in Flint or prison reform, what am I doing? If I am not doing everything I can to keep immigrant families together, what am I doing? If I am wearing the words “pro-choice” on my shirt but not fighting like hell for equal and affordable access to abortion care for low-income women then how can I call myself a feminist?

Realization after realization that day brought me clarity, but also confusion. How was I supposed to channel all of this into action? I was overwhelmed. After every glimmer of hope that came from the powerful words of different speakers, there was a slight wave of despair brought on by the reality of the world around us.

In the distance, another marcher held up a life-size cardboard cutout of you, Hillary. There you were, in your glorious white pantsuit, high above the sea of pink hats. In the midst of feeling helpless, guilty, and too insignificant to make a difference, I was reminded of your life’s trajectory. You spent your career fighting all sorts of injustices, big and small. You admitted when you made mistakes and tried harder. Instantly I felt calm, focused, and determined. Again, you appeared when I needed you most.

Over the next few months, two things became apparent. First, this administration was just as bad, if not worse, than we expected. From a Muslim ban to our withdrawal from the Paris climate agreement to an anti-choice Supreme Court Justice and everything in between, we were in deep trouble.

The second thing that became clear to me was the strong antipathy toward you and your supporters by so many people in the country. Trump voters continued to chant, “lock her up” and Republicans called for more baseless investigations. From some on the left, it was nothing but “I told you so” and needless finger pointing. I was livid.

Nevertheless, as always, you took it in stride and got to work. You supported amazing organizations doing good work across the country and used your platform to call out injustice as you saw it. Unlike the petulant child who sits in the Oval Office, you put out thoughtful words of encouragement. You did not have to do anything. You could have heeded the unsolicited words of advice from every political operative and journalist under the sun who said you should stay away from public life. However, that is not who you are. Even after a devastating loss, Hillary, you were compassionate, informed, and determined.

Fast forward to November 7. What a great day for the Democratic Party. Good candidates won up and down the ballot in red and blue states. While it’s easy to attribute these victories to a swinging political pendulum, I saw something different. The year that started with women marching in the streets for a better country ended with real results.

Women, specifically women of color, took charge and made a difference. Women organized our communities, ran for office, and went to the polls. We refused to see your loss as finite, Hillary. You helped women realize how powerful we can be as a force. Most importantly, we realized that if one woman fails or one group of women falls behind, it is our collective responsibility to correct the injustice and lift each other up.

Thank you, Hillary Clinton, for being there for me this year. Please don’t take up knitting, unless that’s what you want to do. Stay in public life, speak out, and continue to work hard as you have your entire life. Knowing the type of woman you are, I have a feeling you can do it all.

In love and kindness,

Emily