Don’t just check the box.

It’s been a very feminist week. There was a massive, worldwide march of millions to stand up for women’s rights, and to stand in solidarity with other groups targeted by the new Trump administration (read: anyone who isn’t a wealthy, white, Christian male who doesn’t criticize Trump). People were out in full force to make themselves seen, to make themselves heard; people with their children, people all across the gender spectrum, people of all colors, groups of scientists, teachers, you name it. It was incredible. And still, some people were invisible.

Last Monday I saw the movie Hidden Figures, which told the story of three African American women “computers” working at NASA in the 1960s and the struggles they faced to advance their careers and be taken seriously. These women—Katherine G. Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson— were instrumental to the success of the space program, but because of two inherent qualities they possessed (their femaleness and their blackness), they had to fight so much harder to access opportunities that white men were handed, they were not given nearly as much credit as they deserved, and they have been overlooked by history. I never learned about these three women in school. If you had asked me before Monday to name a historic black NASA employee, I regrettably wouldn’t have been able to do so. This is partially my fault for not being proactive in learning about African American history beyond the snippets taught in my history classes, but it also shows the gaps that persist in the education system and our culture. People are omitted, because omitting women and people of color is a normalized action in our culture. Perhaps in my case, this is a symptom of having gone to suburban schools in a mostly white area. People of color, especially black people, were relatively uncommon, and since they weren’t visibly present, it was easy to forget to talk about their existence and contributions. Their history was largely masked to me.

Just as the three protagonists of Hidden Figures have been overlooked, so have the people who laid the groundwork for the Women’s March that occurred on January 21st, 2017. One of my favorite podcasts, Stuff Mom Never Told You (RIP, I don’t know where I will get my feminist fix without you), recently featured an episode on women’s marches and highlighted the fraught racial history of the feminist movement. While white feminists in the 19th and 20th centuries fought for the right to vote, they simultaneously marginalized and elected to exclude black women from the movement. Much later, in the 1990s, black women organized the Million Woman March in Philadelphia, with the intent of empowering black women and with goals including increasing access to education and healthcare for black communities. But I doubt most people marching in 2017 know much about this history. I certainly didn’t until I listened to that SMNTY episode. If feminism as a movement is going to succeed, it must be inclusive, and it must take this history and the current social climate into account. Yes, it feels great to march and send a message that we stand with each other and against the tyranny of the Trump administration, but it’s not enough to actually make a change.

So how do we make change happen? White feminists especially need to start by being aware that women of color have had, and continue to have, greater struggles to be taken seriously and claim their rights. Be aware of the people who came before us and did the work decades ago. Listen to what they have to say, and ask what you can do to help them. Stand beside them when they march for their rights, even if it doesn’t directly affect you, the way men joined the Women’s March in 2017. Keep their concerns in mind as you continue to fight for people’s human rights, hopefully by calling your representatives and getting involved. Use whatever privilege you have to elevate their voices. I will try to do my part by blogging about underrepresented groups and people to raise awareness, even if my impact is small. And of course, I’m open to suggestions, because I certainly don’t know everything, and to some extent I’m a product of my upbringing and all the biases and ignorance it came with.

This is all in the hope that one day we’ll fulfill our lofty goal of achieving equal opportunity for everyone, regardless of race, gender, class, orientation, or whichever method of pigeonholing people you choose. By overlooking women and people of color, even by passively excluding them just because we don’t think about them, we are missing out on the potential of all those people who never got the chance to apply their talents to the best of their abilities. We are shortchanging our society by keeping doors closed to underrepresented groups. Things have improved slowly over time, yes, but we are not living in a post-racial society. If anything, Obama’s presidency made an obvious demonstration of that. So as we move into the age of anti-Trump resistance and attempts to redefine the truth, let’s all make an effort to learn about the history of our movement(s), even if that history is unpleasant, and take it into account as we act to protect and expand civil rights. And as Caroline from SMNTY said, don’t just attend this one march, check the box to say you participated, and call it a day. Take action, keep fighting, and make an effort. This is our job.

Featured image: Women’s March in Oakland, January 21st, 2017. Picture courtesy of G. Mannell.

Dear President Obama

This week I wrote a letter to President Obama, which I will post below (the version I sent was shortened somewhat to accommodate the White House website’s 2500 character limit). I decided to focus on some of the positives of Obama’s presidency, because there’s no point in critiquing him in such a short letter sent days before his presidency ends. I do not agree with everything he’s done as President, but overall I think he has accomplished a great deal and doesn’t always get the credit he deserves. For example, he averted a crisis by working to halt and reverse the recession, keeping it from becoming a full-blown depression. But I think a lot of people don’t think of this as one of his huge accomplishments, because he caused something not to happen; it was almost an invisible achievement. Think of where we’d be if all the President and Congress had done was to say “tax cuts for everyone!” He managed to pass a healthcare bill, something which other Presidents and many Congresspeople had tried and failed to do for decades. Even if it doesn’t last past Trump’s first year, people will start to miss it when it’s gone, and those who took it for granted will realize how important it was. He normalized acceptance and support of LGBT rights at the executive level. He fought to protect women’s rights and the rights of undocumented immigrants. He rebuilt our country’s reputation around the world.

Most of all, he was incredibly competent. He stood for calm, measured rationality, even in the face of intense and often unfair (or straight up racist) criticism. He set an example for how a leader should act. These things and more will set him in stark contrast to his successor.

Here is the longer version of my letter:

Dear President Obama,
First, I wanted to thank you immensely for your eight years serving us as President. You were the first person I voted for (when I was 19 and voted for you in the 2008 primary), and you have been an enormous inspiration to me and so many other young people for years. You were a light in the storm, and I am so grateful that you set an example of hope, pragmatism, and competence when many of us were feeling jaded from eight years of Bush. When you won in 2008, I burst outside of my college apartment to see dozens of people dancing and cheering in the streets, elated at the historic significance of an African American being elected President and the potential we all saw in your goals. I have not been disappointed, and I believe that tens of millions of Americans would probably love to give you a third term (though it would be totally understandable if you felt done, with or without the 22nd amendment).
It would take too long to thank you for everything you’ve accomplished, but a few things that specifically affected me are the Affordable Care Act, which I benefited from in multiple ways (most importantly by [redacted because of personal medical information that I don’t feel like sharing publicly at this moment]), your steadfast support for women’s rights, and your support of scientific research and critical thought. I don’t think you get enough credit for everything you’ve done, and you certainly would have accomplished more if it weren’t for the Republicans throwing a temper tantrum for eight years. It means so much to me and other progressives to see you fighting for those causes and trying to bring about meaningful change, even if your efforts are blocked.
Perhaps what I will miss most, though, is having you as the figurehead for our country. You and your family are paragons of decency. What’s more, you truly value rationality and forming your opinions based on solid evidence. Those are two things that will be sorely lacking in the incoming administration, and it’s been shocking to watch so many people in our country sit by as Donald Trump and his ilk trample upon the core principles of our society. I’ll admit that it’s been very hard to maintain a sense of hope that we will somehow bounce back from this disaster. I was hopeful that if Hillary Clinton won we could address a number of progressive issues, but now those things seem so far off the table because we’re going to be doing damage control for however many years the Trump dumpster fire lasts, and then clawing our way back to where we were when you left office, that we’re not even close to joining the rest of the developed world on things like paid parental leave and affordable college. We’ve been set so far back that people are having to re-learn what a fact is. So I ask that you stay vocal during your “retirement”. We need you as the voice of reason and morality, as you’ve always been.
Best wishes to you, Michelle, Malia, and Sasha. And once more (genuinely): Thanks, Obama!

Featured image: election night, 2012.

Hope in the face of cynicism, cynicism in the face of hope.

It’s ironic that the presidency of Barack Obama, whose election was fueled by a surge of hope for the future and motivation to work towards progress, will end with many of his supporters feeling perched on the precipice of a cesspit of despair.

I don’t need to tell you that Obama’s successor is a sexist, racist troll. I don’t need to tell you that Trump is either too stupid or too callous to stop himself from recklessly tweeting about expanding our nuclear capabilities, or that he insists on ignoring the shared conclusion of multiple US intelligence agencies that Russia’s government orchestrated interference into the US election in order to help him win, trying to deflect the blame onto anyone but himself. His online presence, which is nearly the only way he makes public statements, is that of an out-of-touch armchair political commentator who can barely be bothered to form a real opinion, let alone inform himself of the facts about the issue. Which wouldn’t be a big deal, if he were merely a washed up reality TV star and shady businessman, and not about to become president of the United States.

He has a made a habit of blatantly ignoring the law, ignoring the facts, ignoring criticism and consequences. “How can he do this?” we all wonder. The answer is he just does it. He just proceeds, where someone else with an ounce of sanity and regard for decency would pause and apply restraint. He gets away with it, possibly because we’re all so shocked that he would even do it in the first place. He tramples on decades of precedent, from refusing to release his tax returns to ordering all US ambassadors appointed by President Obama to leave their posts by inauguration day, showing that he doesn’t care about how our society currently functions, and that he’s perfectly willing to act outside our established norms if he believes it benefits him.

In short, he is terrible. I could say so many other things about why he is terrible. But he isn’t the only problem. Republicans in Congress are all too willing to fall in line behind him to save their own skins from the wrath of his supporters, or because they think it will benefit them to get on his good side, regardless of whatever “deeply held” beliefs they have. The millions of people who voted for him (a minority, but enough that the flawed electoral system we use made him the winner) are either rabidly in support of him, or hope that whatever he accomplishes will align with their conflicting desires. They all ignore the horrendous things he’s said (and probably done), because they’ve decided that the prospect of bringing manufacturing jobs back, or building a giant wall, is more important than having a president who understands there’s a problem with sexually assaulting people. They are willing to ignore facts that are backed by solid, provable evidence, even evidence that shows him directly contradicting himself about important issues. They do this because they like the idea that he will fulfill whichever campaign promise it is that appeals to them. Even if he has presented no plan or evidence that he can/will fulfill those promises, it probably feels good to assume that, like some kind of cheeto-colored genie, he will deliver on everything they want.

This is why it is so hard to have hope right now.

One of the words commonly used in 2016 was “post-truth”. This is one of the most frightening things to emerge from the election, in my opinion: the idea that provable, observable facts don’t matter, and that all opinions are given equal weight regardless of what evidence exists to back them up. I fear that if we accept the idea of living in a “post-truth” world, we will never recover from it. Scientists and others who attempt to demonstrate with observable, testable evidence that what they say is reality will never be taken seriously, because the reality they’re trying to educate people about is unpleasant. We will exist in a society where the statement that people like the most, or that makes them the angriest, will be accepted as true simply because more people are emotional about it. As a scientist and a progressive, I’m not only despondent, I’m afraid. I feel as though I’m watching our country collectively stick their heads in the sand on issues like climate change and globalization. I’m watching pro-choice women and men who voted for Trump close their eyes to the consequences of having a president who doesn’t care about women’s reproductive rights and a Congress controlled by people who actively seek to dismantle women’s access to reproductive healthcare (despite clear evidence that comprehensive sex education and easily accessible birth control lowers the rate of teen pregnancy and abortion).

Another irony: Margaret Atwood’s novel The Handmaid’s Tale, which is about a dystopian, theocratic Christian version of the US where women are literally male-owned commodities based on their fertility, is being made into a TV series that will air later this year. The irony is that it will air only a few months after the inauguration of a president whose actions and words have made it clear that he views women as disposable sexual objects, and a vice president who probably thinks that what’s described in The Handmaid’s Tale doesn’t sound like such a bad society to live in. The story is one that is especially relevant right now, but I fear that it will do nothing to convince people to change their views and votes, like so many other well-laid arguments.

What is there to do, then? One of the reasons why the aftermath of this election has felt so devastating is because it seems like we have taken a giant leap backwards. Our country isn’t perfect, and there was much work yet to be done before the election; we still needed to increase our use of renewable energy, make healthcare available and affordable to everyone, give everyone access to family paid leave, affordable childcare, and affordable education. But before the election it seemed like we were in a reasonable position to tackle those issues in the near future. It seemed like gains in those areas were within reach, and that people were coming around to the idea of progressive reforms. Now, not only are those items no longer on the agenda, but the people in power are actively working against making those ideas a reality. The consequences of Trump’s presidency plus a Republican-controlled Congress will be years of damage control before we can even start addressing what was once our progressive agenda, and that’s assuming that Democrats won’t drop the ball yet again and Trump/the Republicans won’t find some way to enshrine their regressive values so deeply that we can’t undo them.

As a Millenial, my political awareness began with George W. Bush’s presidency. As long as I’ve been paying attention, I’ve watched Republicans start costly, deadly wars, fight against the rights of historically oppressed people, and stand in the way of regulation as the economy crumbled and young people’s future prospects became bleak across the board. I’ve watched as they stonewalled President Obama every step of the way, neutering his efforts to bring about meaningful change, and now I’ve seen how their obstructionism and vitriol have succeeded in giving them most of the power. Is it surprising at all that I am filled with cynicism?

The prospect of moving to another country that has their shit figured out is very appealing (and I do recognize that it’s my privilege that allows me to even entertain this idea), both because I’m not expecting much progress from the US and because I feel alienated by the people in power and those who voted for them. The US doesn’t feel like my country anymore, because every notion I have of what should be used to decide policy and dialogue seems under attack. I don’t have much hope. But right now, I also have no idea what else to do other than keep working towards progressive goals. It feels like a losing battle, and I’m worried that by staying here I will be resigning myself to a life where my rights as a woman and a political dissident are under fire, and that no matter what, any future children I have will be brought into a world of economic hardship and climate catastrophe. Beyond that, it seems that our society as a whole will become much more hostile to people of color, queer and transgender people, and those without the means to pay for a better life for themselves. But what else is there to do? So I will try to drum up as much enthusiasm as I can muster and keep fighting. I’m not sure if this is hope. But whatever it is, it will have to do.

(Featured image: sunset in Berkeley.)