Why Elizabeth Warren’s Super Tuesday Loss Is Personal
I didn’t realize how much a woman in the White House would mean to me until November 9, 2016, when I woke up to the devastating news that Hillary Clinton had lost the presidential race to Donald Trump. Like many other Democrats, I took Hillary’s win for granted, thinking her victory was all but guaranteed. I still had so much to learn about politics and how this country really works.
That day, I sat in my apartment and cried. I had to work to bring myself to be able to watch Hillary’s concession speech, her purple pantsuit seared into my memory. I had the luxury of being able to take the day off work, of living in Boston where so many others felt and understood such an emotional reaction. I felt silly, though. It wasn’t the first time I’d cried over election results: George Bush’s 2004 win over John Kerry marked my first angry tears and Barack Obama’s 2008 win was my first experience with tears of joy and optimism. Still, I’m not what I would consider an overly political person—I didn’t canvass or phone bank or organize for the Clinton campaign, and I have a short attention span for political news coverage and discussions. But Clinton’s loss, combined with the sting of Trump’s rise to power, was a cruel 1–2 punch. It gutted me in a way I had never experienced before.
