On The Eve Of This Election, A Letter to Hillary

Dear Madame Secretary Clinton,

My great-grandmother, Sarah Elizabeth Oliver, was a suffragette. She fought so that women could have the vote, and once we got it, she enjoyed a long life in politics. She became the president of the New Jersey Women’s Republican League, lunched at the governor’s mansion often, and traveled as a delegate to the convention to award the nomination to her party’s candidate. According to her diary, she worked to repeal the 18th amendment “and the evils it has caused.”

Raise your glass to Gram, and thank her that you can have wine in it. 

My grandmother, Mary Elizabeth Oliver Hone, was Sarah’s daughter. She was a salty one, my grandmother, who always expected more from me than anyone else. When I told her I wanted to go to Rutgers University, she said in a huff, “Rutgers! Why not Princeton?” She never got to go to college herself, a fact that bothered her to no end. She would be proud to know that I got my degree.

They both would be proud of you, too, I think. When I think of them now, I wonder what they would say about this election cycle. To be honest, as die-hard republicans, they probably wouldn’t vote for you if you had a reasonable opponent. But based on who you ended up with, I think they’d love watching you kick some ass.

I think they’d love to see you kick some ass because they knew what it’s like to be silenced, told to “lighten up”, or to “get over it.”

They knew what it’s like to have your ass grabbed in a mall or have the bagel guy do gross things then stalk you.

They may not have known what it’s like to have your co-worker say they love the way your ass looks in that skirt, because they worked in the home, but I guarantee they’d be pissed off about it.

They knew what it was like to be cast off, diminished, unseen, unheard, undervalued, talked over, objectified.

I have a confession to make: when you were First Lady, I didn’t like you. I remember thinking to myself, “Who does she think she is? We didn’t elect her president. We elected her husband.”

It was just a few years later that I came face to face with the uncomfortable fact that I had been socialized not to like you. That even women can practice misogyny. I realized that I didn’t like you because you were a strong, successful woman, and I was not.

As your husband’s presidency unfolded with drama and scandal, I watched you make strong, difficult decisions with grace and dignity under incredibly intense scrutiny in which everyone had an opinion. I criticized you for carpetbagging when you moved to New York, even though it was a strategic career move that honestly should be praised. You served New York well.

You served this country well as our top diplomat. I have no doubt that you have back room relationships — I am not naive to think otherwise. I do, however, believe that you will leverage those to our country’s benefit should you become president. Don’t disappoint.

Now, we Americans are faced with an incredible decision. The responsibility on each and every one of us is heavy. We all must vote. We must. It is our duty and our responsibility. And Madame Secretary, I’m terrified of what will happen if you don’t win. For my daughter, and for my son. For our nation. Because Donald Trump will absolutely be a disaster for this country.

You have to be something different. You already know this. You have to be that much better than any man could ever be, or they will eviscerate you politically. Know that women all over this country are with you, rooting for you, cheering you on. But we are also hoping in you. Believing in you. Counting on you.

I know. The pressure. But you’re up to it.

A few years ago, I had the amazing privilege to sit in a room with Frances Hesselbein, recipient of the Presidential Medal of Freedom. You probably know her — it was your husband who awarded her that coveted recognition. President Obama had just been in office for a little while when I met her. Ms. Hesselbein told a story of how she sat at a table with a group of CEO’s from some of the nations top companies — companies, she said, that everyone has heard of.  These men began to lambaste our new president, making jokes and saying horrible things about him.

When they finally shut up for a minute, Ms. Hesselbein said, “Pardon me, but that is my president you are speaking about. You may not agree with his politics, and that’s fine. But as the President of the United States, as YOUR president, he deserves to be spoken about with respect and dignity.” She got up to leave then, and got as far as the hallway before one of them men stopped her. With tears in his eyes, he said, “Ms. Hesselbein, you’re right. And I’m so sorry. And I will never behave that way again. And when I hear others doing it, I’ll say what you just said.” She went on to tell us that day that their jokes and disrespect stemmed from racism, and how disgusted she was by the way our country had lost respect for POTUS.

You know, of course, that you will face the same sort of crap, and possibly worse.

We are already fighting these battles for you. We are fighting them on our social media feeds and in our private conversations. We are fighting them on our blogs and in newspaper columns and on websites. Because we’re tired, and sick of it, and ready to roar.

But we’ll be there to call that shit out. We’ll be there, wearing our pantsuits, calling out the misogyny, holding you accountable, cheering you on as you create a new history for America. A narrative, in which little girls really can grow up to be whatever they want to be.

Please win, Madame Secretary. And go kick some ass.