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Dear Joe Biden: What do I tell my daughter?
My daughter was just 6 months old on September 11th, 2001. She slept in my arms as I watched in horror as the second plane hit the twin towers. My best friend from high school, an Egyptian American Muslim, emailed me from the basement of her office in Manhattan, terrified, wondering when she would be able to leave.
While anti-Muslim and anti-Arab sentiment grew rapidly in the country, I delved into history learning about why people hated the U.S. enough to be willing to commit suicide and kill thousands of civilians to bring attention to their cause. This was, for me, the time period when I first learned about the creation of the state of Israel, the subsequent wars and battles over the land, and the U.S. support of Israel in those battles.
The first president my daughter really remembers is Barack Obama.
She remembers my excitement around his run, and my elation the day after he won. Before she knew anything about politics or policy, she knew the comforting sound of Obama’s oratory — even keeled, intelligent, warm, and confident. While I knew that I didn’t agree with every decision Obama made during his presidency, I believed that he would grapple with the right things as he made tough decisions. All my daughter knew as a young child was that we had faith in him.
My daughter was 15 when Trump beat Hilary Clinton.
We were devastated. His election. was a statement to women that even if we were brilliant and more qualified, we wouldn’t be put in charge. It was a statement that a man bragging about sexual assault was acceptable to enough Americans to put him in the highest office. It was a statement that after our first Black president, we were now going to elect this man who defended white supremacists. Trump represented the rearing head of all that is ugly in America.
I took my daughter to that first Women’s March that January in Lansing, Michigan. It was a decent weather day, and we spent hours in community with like-minded folk in mourning. We listened to speakers put our anger into words, and we celebrated our solidarity. This was hope.
The dozens of women who ran for political offices and won in 2018 built on that hope…
