The last time I cried was in college.
Senior year to be exact. After a handful of drinks, I poured out my heart and soul to my then college girlfriend expressing dismay that she would break up with me at the beginning of what was surely going to be the best year of our lives. Despite my drunken pleas, she refused to reconsider her decision to and I was left in our fraternity lounge, overcome with sadness. As I stumbled out of the fraternity lounge, I had two of my brothers follow me out to make sure I was emotionally stable. I assured them I was and I walked through the North Carolina autumn air with a chance to regain my thoughts on the long walk back to my off-campus home. When I woke up the next morning, I immediately expressed regret that I couldn't better control my emotions and I vowed to do what I could to put the past behind me.
Nearly ten years later, I again spent a night in a drunken, emotional haze.
This time, though, it was different. These tears were shared among a group of people who up until five months ago didn't even know each other. We came from different backgrounds and different life situations. Some couldn't legally drink while others had already been legally drinking for a decade or more. Some had been on the campaign trail for well over a year while others had joined the campaign in the last month. Some had advanced degrees while others had yet to complete a single college course. Yet none of that mattered on Election Night as life had somehow, some way brought us all together to a small hotel room in Jacksonville, Florida where we were to learn the fate of our work, our candidate, ourselves, and our country.
And what we learned brought us all to uncontrollable tears.
Because no matter how or why we got involved with the campaign, we all put in our hearts and soul into it. You simply don't work for months straight on a job that isn't particularly lucrative unless you truly believe in the cause. Each person in that hotel room gave up their previous life to help elect Hillary Clinton president. Throughout the campaign we gave our blood, sweat, and tears on her behalf. We personally made tens of thousands of phone calls. We knocked on thousands of doors. We registered hundred of new voters. We texted and email dozens of volunteers with whom we built friendships and created everlasting friendships. We had to organize events for political surrogates including the current Vice-President. We had to ensure power-hungry police officers and obnoxious Donald Trump supporters who attempted to suppress our voter registration efforts. Through it all we endured the hottest summer on record and just narrowly missed being hit head on by a category 4 hurricane. We had to do all this because it was what was expected of us in order for us to win.
But in the end, we lost.
And with this loss came tears. These tears weren't simply for us but for those we worked with. Those whose lives would be forever altered by this election. The field organizers who were undocumented immigrants. The local Muslim leaders with whom we had gotten to know who were now scared for their neighborhoods. The LGBT couples whose love for each other was equally as strong as their love for their own communities. The senior volunteers who relied upon and fought on behalf of maintaining social security. The disabled man whose preexisting condition had denied him medical coverage prior to 2010. The Caribbean-American restaurant owner who wondered how he would be viewed in this new, anti-immigrant America. The mother of two young girls, who had to explain to her children why a sexist man was now the most powerful person in the world.
We weeped for them. For their uncertainty. Because this election was never about us. It was about something bigger than even Hillary Clinton. This election was about what kind of country we wanted to give to our children. For myself, it was what kind of country I wanted to give my unborn children. To be able to tell them that before they were born there was a bad man who wanted to become president but Daddy and a lot of young, energetic organizers along with an army of dedicated volunteers were able get enough people to vote to stop this man from becoming president. That instead of this hateful man, we elected a smart, capable president who just happened to be the first woman ever elected. This woman was able to carry on and build upon the legacy of our country's first African-American president and the two of them were able to provide our country with 16 years of peace and prosperity. It may have taken five months of hard, challenging work but in the end it all was worth it.
Yet none of that happened.
That is why I cried. Not for me, but for others. For my gay friends who now have to wonder if their marriage and the rights associated with that marriage will still apply to them. For my Latino friends who now face a president willing to tear apart their families and threaten their very way of life. For my female friends who may very well be forced to share their very personal and private information beyond their physician and immediate family. For my African-American friends who will continue to be told that their lives do not matter as much as my own. And for my friends will young children who will have to explain why the most powerful man in the world feels the need to yell at and insult anyone with whom he disagrees.
For you, my friends, I weep.
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