Reflecting on a very bad 24 hours, following a very hard eight years, as we stare down the barrel of yet another Trump presidency. This is an opinion piece.
At about 2pm yesterday, I messaged a colleague and said, “Can we just write a story called ‘Well, Fuck Everything, I Guess?’” We had both been glued to the coverage of the US election, primed with cautious optimism – or, as the term for last week described: ‘nauseous optimism’ – that was slowly starting to slip away.
When the godforsaken New York Times needle read that they predicted that Donald Trump had a 90% chance of winning, I sent the screenshot to my colleague. She replied, ‘I might go get a bottle of wine before the stores shut.’
And here we are. One by one, all my female-friend group chats fell last night – like swing states – into a pit of despair. It was 2016 all over again, but worse, because now we actually know how bad it can be.
When Saturday Night Live ran the joyous, hope-filled skit last week where Kamala Harris stopped by, to sit mirror opposite actor Maya Rudolph, who plays her on the comedy show, I spontaneously burst into tears. I tried to explain it to my husband – it was the long-dormant feeling of hope, coupled with the utter disbelief that it was still going to potentially be a close election.
“You don’t know what it’s like to see a successful, experienced, well-respected woman, run against a convicted felon, who hates women, who allegedly rapes women, who grabs women, and to see her maybe lose to him,” I sobbed [I’m paraphrasing – I did not use the word ‘allegedly’, for instance – but it was something along these emotional lines.] “It’s like, we can never be good enough.”
The term ‘psychic damage’ was used recently to describe what has happened to us over the past few years, in particular towards the atrocities in Gaza, watching tens of thousands of civilians be killed, with no repercussions. It takes a toll on our souls.
And while the brutality of a Trump term – a SECOND FUCKING TRUMP TERM – is not, yet, as viscerally devasting and violent as the current genocide taking place, there is also a psychic toll to women, worldwide, in watching one of our most high-ranking representatives be beaten by someone who absolutely fucking hates us.
He is so gleeful, so explicit, so proud of his hatred of women – and it’s not just for women, it’s for everyone that isn’t a white male billionaire. There’s only, like, 20 of them (I don’t think that’s true but I’m too mad for billionaire maths). The rest of us are collateral damage.
The possibilities of a second Trump term are unfathomable. And now we have to fucking fathom them, incredibly fucking fast. Climate change. The Middle East. Abortion. Ukraine. All these heavy terms feel heavier than ever, now that we know what’s coming. It’s like the worst version of bingo, and the prize is imminent suffering for the entire world.
Waking up this morning in a cloud of doom, there are already people being like ‘well, chin up, we got through the last one,’ and… it’s too soon for that. It is too soon for silver linings and glass half-full behaviour; right now, the glass is as empty as it gets. The idea of having to hear about Donald Trump for another four years – best case scenario!!! – is exhausting.
It’s too soon to be optimistic, but it’s not too soon to be organised. Four years is a long time in politics. Think about where Aotearoa was, back in November 2020. We were a global good news story: a groundswell of community spirit, locking down together, and then going on to elect our most diverse, kind and left-leaning government.
Four years later, the kindness has left the building. We are one year into our most conservative government in history who are about to take a bill protesting the Treaty to parliament, with a poverty gap growing wider by the day. We are watching the seeds of anti-immigration sentiment being sowed, coupled with explicit and growing discrimination towards Māori, and our most vulnerable populations are more at risk than ever.
We can feel the impact of Trump here, even though we are far away. As they say, America sneezes and the world catches a cold. We are sicker than ever.
How To Get Through The Next Few Days
– Do a primal scream. The rage and exhaustion of this current state of mind is huge – screaming is cathartic.
– Avoid anyone who tells you to calm down. Simply, they can fuck right off and go read a goddamn newspaper.
– Wallow for a bit. There is grief to this moment and it’s best to lean into it.
– Stay hydrated. Can’t hurt!
– Eventually, think of the good things that will happen. We would not have got the #METOO movement without Trump the first time, and without a generation of women being like ‘we’re not going to take it anymore.’ This will happen again, because it has to.
– Lean into local politics. We cannot change the world, but we can increase our voice in our own backyard and help those who need it. Community is everything and we can all be more active – after a good wallow – in keeping our corner of the world well looked after. The hikoi next week is a damn good start.
*For now. Then we have to do the things.
