Dear Son

Dear J---,

I'm writing you this letter because nineteen days ago, Donald Trump won the United States presidential election.

When I decided to become a mother -- your mother -- I knew that the world into which I was bringing you was imperfect. I knew that you would one day learn about the terrible atrocities human beings have committed against one another and against the natural world. I knew that you would be forced to confront human cruelty in at least some of its forms, although I believed and hoped, and I still believe and hope, that I could shelter you from directly experiencing the worst things that can happen to a child and a man. I never expected that you would be growing up in country ostensibly "led" by an ignorant sexual predator who encourages racism and denies the scientific method, intellectual expertise, and facts.

Don't get me wrong, you are still leading a privileged life, and you will continue to lead a privileged life, compared to most other children in the world and even most other children in our own country. You have always had, and will almost certainly always have, your basic needs met: nutritious food, comfortable house, warm clothes, shoes that fit, clean water. You have two highly-educated parents who love you and who read to you every night. You have stuffed toys and art supplies and books and blocks and toy trucks -- a lot of toy trucks, Jude, if we're honest. (Your request to Santa for a toy street sweeper is still pending.) You've attended a private preschool since you were two. Yesterday we coaxed you into eating Brussels sprouts, because nutrition is important. You are loved and indulged and cossetted, and I'm working on not spoiling you, but that's another letter. My point is: you have it good.

You also have other kinds of privilege that you'll come to understand -- racial privilege, gender privilege, national privilege, linguistic privilege.

I'm not suggesting that the election of Donald Trump is going to directly or immediately change the comfort and advantages of your life. But it does make me lose some of my faith in our country and the American people. You aren't living in a war-torn country or a failed state, but you are growing up at a time when our society is flirting with fascism, and when hatemongers are finding a dangerously receptive audience. Right now, white supremacists, misogynists, anti-intellectuals, and xenophobes are making headlines every day, and their disgusting commentary is slowly becoming normalized as part of a regular political spectrum.

I hope that when you are old enough to read this letter, we can laugh about my worries. We can say "look how paranoid your mom was back in 2016." I hope this letter is not prescient. I hope I'm wrong about the dangers of this time in which we live.

But if I'm not wrong, Jude, then I want you to know:

I love you.

I'm sorry that I didn't do more to influence this election and to defeat Donald Trump. I should have volunteered to do phone-banking for Hillary Clinton. I will always regret that I did not.

I will do everything I can, on both a personal and a national level, to fight racism, sexism, and attacks on scientific accuracy. I'll do everything I can to support the freedom of speech, freedom of religion, multiculturalism, gender equality, and cutting-edge education and research that I believe make our country beautiful.

I'm going to be spending some time over the next four years, and over the rest of our lives, working in my own ways to support our values. Mostly, I'll try to include you in the things I do, but sometimes you might miss out on time with me, or not understand why we need to devote our time and money to causes that don't affect our lives directly on a daily basis. I'll try to explain as we go along.

I don't know exactly what's going to happen, and I'm scared for all of us -- for myself as well as for you. I hope that if some of the worst possibilities come to pass, that I will be brave enough to step forward and stand with people who are being victimized by our current politicians. I hope some day you'll understand that even though being your mother is my highest priority, sometimes being your mother will mean spending time writing and volunteering and marching, because good moms fight for a better future and a better country, as well as cooking dinner and doing the laundry. (Okay, yes, dad does the laundry in our house, mostly, but you see my point.)

My hope for you is not that you do any one thing in particular with your life. I'm excited to see you continue to develop and to learn what your interests are going to be, what career you follow. I don't want to hamper you by putting a lot of parental expectations on exactly what you make of yourself. My only hopes for you are that you will be kind, you will be thoughtful, and you will be proud to stand up for what you believe in. And, if I'm honest, I hope you'll be proud of me, too.

Love always,

Mom

Dear Mike

Dear Congressman Thompson,

I'm sure I am not the first, and will not be the last, of your constituents to write to you regarding the shocking outcome of the recent presidential election.

As a native Californian who recently moved into your district, and who voted for you in November based on your record, I look to you to help lead the fight to protect and uphold civil rights, healthcare, national security, and other crucial areas of government at this dangerous and distressing time.

In order to send you this message, I had to select "the issue my email relates to" from a dropdown menu. This was extremely difficult, since literally every issue that the House addresses is imperiled by the election of this ignorant demagogue, Donald Trump.

In particular, I look to you to object to the appointment of the white nationalist Stephen Bannon as White House strategist; to insist (though I know the House does not vote on confirmation in this case) that President Trump appoint a competent and cool-headed Secretary of State; to fight to uphold key provisions of the healthcare law we now proudly call Obamacare; and to speak up for those who are endangered by the appalling racism and misogyny of Trump's platform, including undocumented people, LGBT people, people of color, women, and people with disabilities.

Thank you for your hard work as our Representative. I know the next few years will be very challenging for all of us. Please remain stalwart and know that the people who elected you are supporting and trusting in you.

Sincerely,

Catherine

Dear Dad

Dear Daddy,

For twenty-four years I have missed you. I have wished you could be there for my high school graduation, my college graduation, my doctoral graduation. I have wished you could be there for my wedding and for the birth of my first child.

Now, for the first time, I am glad you are not here to see what is happening.

I'm glad you are not here to see the American people elect a cruel, authoritarian demagogue.

I'm glad you are not here to see the unleashing of white supremacist and misogynistic hate groups and tendencies.

I'm glad you are not here to see the proliferation of propaganda, fake news, and vitriolic trolling in our brave new social media world.

I'm glad you are not here to see the weakening of all the values you held dear: free speech, multiculturalism, privacy, due process, truth, and transparency.

I wish I weren't here either.

But I know that if you were here, you would be on the front lines writing and teaching against the onslaught of fascism and misinformation.

And I will rise to the occasion, just as you would have done.

When you died, you were working on a book about moral philosophy. You were going to call it Of Cabbages and Kings.

I don't know exactly what you intended to suggest with that phrase from Lewis Carroll, but I have been thinking about it in recent days. You'll recall, of course, the verse from which you borrowed that phrase:

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

Many years of considering Victorian children's literature has made me wary of ascribing too much metaphorical weight to the glory of nonsense verse; doing so too often results in laughable overreadings.

And yet, as you did nearly thirty years ago, I see a timely resonance in these words.

It's time to talk about everything.

It's time to talk about basic needs, and trade, and secure communications.

It's time to talk about ordinary people and about powerful people.

It's time to answer questions that are themselves lies, to intervene and reframe them truly.

It's time to ask whether the impossible is happening -- and what we should do if it is.

And it's time to separate the distractions from the threats.

The Walrus and the Carpenter blustered on about cabbages and kings to distract the oysters from the fact that they were about to be consumed.

I pray that my generation is not similarly distracted by our own Walruses and Carpenters who tweet and gloat and blather, all while they are buttering their bread and sharpening their knives.

I will always miss you. But now I know that this is not your time. It is my time, and it is a terrible one. But with your example to guide me, it is a time in which I can face the boiling seas and the winged pigs--and the ravenous villains.

Love,
Catherine

Dear Mitt

Dear Mr. Romney,

We've never met, and we would disagree about nearly everything. But I trust you, and I'm asking for your help.

Let me explain. I'm a liberal Democrat. I'm an atheist. I have a PhD in the humanities. I'm pro-choice. I'm an environmentalist. I support gay marriage. To sum it all up, you and I have extremely different world views.

But here's the thing: our similarities outweigh our differences, because you and I are both Americans, and we both believe in American values: free speech, freedom of religion, security and safety for everyone, and a solid future for our children. And you and I both believe in the idea and ideal of public service, of devoting ourselves to the well-being of others. We disagree about what exactly that might look like, but we agree in coming to the table, in showing respect for each other, and in working toward a compromise that benefits as many people as possible and protects those who are vulnerable. 

I've observed you in politics for many years now, and although we don't hold the same positions on issues, I believe that you are faithful to your word, that you are kind, and that you are ethical.

And that's why I'm asking for your help.

Many of my liberal friends will think I'm naive for trusting you, or even that I am unacceptably compromising my progressive values by appealing to you. But the recent divisive election has shown me that we must bridge the painful divide in American politics and American society. I believe there is a bridge we can build between your ethical conservatism and my ethical liberalism, a bridge of honesty and compassion.

But I don't believe there is a bridge that can be built between my worldview and that of Donald Trump. No bridge can span the distance between science and pseudoscience, between truth and lies, between compassion and cruelty.

So I'm asking you: in your view, as someone who has been in politics for many years, who knows Republicans and conservatives well, where do we go from here?

How can your side sit down with mine, break bread, and create a coalition of the middle?

How can we stop the rise of radical demagogues in the future?

How can we show the disillusioned people of middle America a better way forward?

How can we better understand and respect the grievances of good people who feel so alienated that they voted for a corrupt, morally and sometimes financially bankrupt abuser?

Thank you for speaking out against Donald Trump during the campaign. I'm sure that was politically and personally difficult, and I am deeply grateful that you were a conservative voice of reason in a dark time. I believe history will vindicate you, and that, although you will probably never be president, your words will help us forward. 

I know you're unlikely to read this letter. You're busy, and I'm just one citizen. But nevertheless, I await your reply. 

Sincerely,

Catherine

Dear Hillary

Dear Secretary Clinton,

In the wake of the shocking outcome of yesterday's presidential election, I wanted to write to you to express my thoughts and feelings. I'm just one supporter, and most of what I have to say will, I fear, be terribly cliched -- said already, or echoed soon, by commentators, analysts, and supporters more prominent and more eloquent than I am. However, I have spent a lot of time over the years, and especially this last year, listening to you, reading your words, and watching you speak, and it feels natural right now to take up my side of the conversation and respond.

I've supported you for my entire adult life. The year that I turned nine, your husband was elected President of the United States. Earlier that year, my father died of a heart attack. It was an incredibly difficult year for me. And yet, I know my father would have been proud that his daughter was growing up and going through her preteen and early teen years watching a strong woman in the White House, fighting for healthcare reform and refusing to be told to stay in the traditional role of the first lady, doing uncontroversial and -- let's be honest -- less important things. I saw that you wore pants. I saw that you worked hard. I saw that you chose issues that mattered.

When you became a New York state senator, I was surprised. It seemed extraordinarily dedicated; you didn't need the job, and could have devoted yourself to anything -- your foundation, charity work, a private sector job, twiddling your thumbs. But you stayed in public office. You kept fighting for issues that mattered on the national stage.

When you launched your 2008 presidential bid, I was an early and enthusiastic supporter. I voted for you in the primary. I was disappointed when you didn't win the nomination, but happy to follow your lead in supporting Barack Obama. I was proud when he nominated you to be Secretary of State, and thrilled to see you flying all over the world representing my country, applying your intelligence, dedication, and grasp of detail to the most pressing international problems of our time.

When you launched your 2016 presidential bid, I really thought your moment had come. I feel sure you did too! I voted for you in the primary. I told my friends I supported you. I even donated to your campaign -- for me, a huge first, as I had never donated to a specific politician before. I bought a white pantsuit to wear for election night in your honor. I was ready for my first female president, and I was ready for it to be you.

Instead, well, I don't have to tell you what happened. Along with my father's death and 9/11, this has been one of the three worst days of my life. I am grieving for your loss, for my loss, for the country's loss, for the world's loss; and I am shocked by the beginning of a long and unpredictable attack on American values that I feel sure is coming. Racism, misogyny, anti-intellectualism, and xenophobia seem to have won the day.

And yet, even now, you are a beacon of hope. Even now you stand tall, clear-eyed and clear-voiced, and you acknowledge that this is painful, and you remind us to remain committed to our democracy.

I would have been so proud to see you as my president. But I am equally proud to see you as a fellow citizen.

These issues are much bigger than you and me, and you said that today -- that it wasn't about one person or even one election. You're right. But my heart also aches for you and I grieve for your personal loss, your personal injury. I hate that you were forced to bear ridicule and slander, insults and threats. I hate that you have worked so hard, and, it seems, all for nothing. But you are so wise. You know that it was not for nothing. It was for the millions of women and men like me who are inspired by your example, who feel this crushing defeat with us. And it was for our children.

It's such a cliche to bring up "the children" when we talk about politics, but now that I'm a mom, I know why people are so motivated by them -- whether they are on the right and call this "family values" or on the left and talk about "family-friendly policies." My three-year-old son needs answers, and he needs a future -- a future with gender equity, with multiculturalism, with intellect, and with kindness.

Over the next four years, I will follow your example. I will vote and campaign for people and issues I believe in. I will donate, when I can, to causes I care about. I will volunteer locally. I will march nationally. I will roll up my sleeves and dig in. I know I would not be doing it if you had not been there for me.

I guess that's really why I'm writing this letter. You have always been there for me, from when I was nine until now -- twenty-four years later. You didn't even know me, you've never heard my name, we've never met. But I know I can rely on you -- and on the millions you have inspired.

Thank you for all the years you've spent working on behalf of America. Thank you for the late nights, the early mornings, the long trips, the missed meals, the missed sleep, and the sacrifices. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I hope I can be worthy of your legacy. I hope my generation can carry the torch forward.

I know, I really know, that this letter will never be read by you or any aide close to you. I'm sure everyone has better things to do and I'm sure you get a lot of messages. But I just want to say, just because I should say it, that if you can think of anything you want me to do, let me know. I would work for you. I would volunteer at events. I would coordinate a talk for you. I would copy-edit your writing, I would get your coffee. If there is anything you ever need that is in my skill set, please let me know.

Yours very sincerely,

Catherine