Yes she can
Edition 38: Reflections on womanhood in America right now
She was blonde, probably mid-30s, and dressed casually in a jersey sweater and leggings. The house was huge and new, sat atop a hill overlooking Bethlehem, PA, alongside rows of identical large houses with trimmed lawns tended to by ominous robot mowers. The wall of family photos was visible as she opened the door when we knocked, my friend Aleah and I, as we canvassed for the Democrats in Pennsylvania last weekend. The lady smiled a little tentatively when we introduced ourselves, glanced back into the house, then inched towards us in the doorway, partially closing the door behind her.
“I wasn’t sure which way to vote,” she said, a little quieter than normal volume. “But I recently lost a baby in pregnancy, and I needed care. And I have friends who are going through IVF. It made me think.”
This was one of several conversations we had with women that day. Surprisingly honest, vulnerable conversations. Women I had never met before, yet who were willing to open their door on a Sunday morning to speak to my friends and I, who had driven 3 hours from another state to do what we could do protect women’s freedom to access life giving healthcare, among many other issues.
While the outcome of the election feels incredibly heavy today, it is giving me some solace to reflect on the people I met in that neighborhood far away. Looking at the map turning blood red on election night, seeing the hateful speech spewed at mass rallies, and absorbing the threat Trump has made to “protect women, whether they like it or not” — it can be easy to imagine that this country is monochromatic in its commitment to the destruction of progress.
The reality is that there are millions of people across this vast and varied nation who came to the polls (or didn’t) for a variety of complex reasons, and that nuance is what gives me hope.
Yes, we did also encounter on Sunday a staunch Republican supporter in his 60s, dog poop bag in hand as he walked his 14-year old chihuahua, who’s stance boiled down to “I’m set, and I don’t want that to change” (no more immigrants) and outright misogyny (“If we went to war in a few months, are you telling me she would be up to the job?”) When confronted with Trump’s basic lack of human decency, even he had to admit: “I don’t like either of the candidates.” And yes, the sea of red MAGA hats swarming into the Florida rally venue on Tuesday evening did resemble a vigilante army that had skipped drill training and doubled down on pies — a terrifying vista of paunchy male insecurity, many of whom probably wish they too could create a fortified bunker full of children tended to my cast-off women, like their idol Elon Musk.
But that is me feeding off imagery. There are also all the other people out there chasing a dream of dignity and security, across the economic spectrum. Several hours on a sunny, Fall day in a former steel town gifted me that: a glimpse of real Americans and their real thoughts, not just the sweet bubble of creative progressives that I choose (and am grateful) to surround myself with, and not either the cartoon version of people on both sides of the aisle that we are served via Insta stories and Tik Tok influencers.
Reflecting on the stories that people told us on the ground in Pennsylvania is the reminder of the complexity of this country, and the value of human connection, that I need right now.
“I don’t know if I’m going to vote — will it make any difference? I lost my job last week; they laid off all the remote workers and I have no child care. I guess maybe I’ll vote for Trump because of the economy. I’m 28, I have always voted in every other election, but now I just don’t know.” — Unemployed mother of two, 28 years old, with her young boys shouting and playing behind her.
“We’re gonna win! I knew when I married my husband he was a Republican. This year, for the first time, I convinced him to register as a Democrat! Thank you for what you’re doing, and be careful: this is Trump country round here.” — 72 year old owner of 5 dogs and a donkey.
“Don’t worry girls, I already voted, just down the road. I’m a Catholic but I’m also a healthcare worker. I don’t see it as any of my business to tell people what to do with their bodies.” — Nurse in her late 40s, who answered the door in her leopard print robe and slippers.
“Am I going to vote? I don’t know… I don’t really know anything about them. Where would I go?” [After we provided some information] “I will, thank you. Do you know if my niece and nephew who live with me are registered?” — Woman in her 50s with sparkly makeup on her face.
“I just got off the phone with my colleague in the Poconoes. I told her, you know those granddaughters of yours, they won’t be kids for long. They’ll be knocked up by 15 and married off to a 50 year old man.” — Lady in her 60s who answered the door by hollering at us from her upstairs window.
“I’m a Trump supporter, just so you know” — The downstairs neighbor of the lady in her 60s, as she passed us to enter her apartment.
Obviously, these encounters are skewed because, for the most part, we were not given doors to knock on that were registered red. Regardless, everyone we spoke to that day are American citizens who deserve hope and action. I’m glad I met them, and I’m particularly glad I did so with Shira, Aleah, Michelle and Ariana (who grew up and still lives in Lehigh County, PA) by my side.
I can’t muster that ‘yes she can’ energy right this minute, with the election results still freshly casting a shadow. But tomorrow is a new day.