Didn't We Almost Have It All?

Not long ago, I saw this picture posted on social media of Madam Vice President Kamala Harris with her husband Doug Emhoff, captured in a light-hearted and loving pose. I don't know if this was a recent photo, but the caption was America fumbled so hard, an allusion to the reality that we could have elected someone decent to be our next President. Suddenly, as if there was a radio playing in the background, I began to hear the instrumental intro to Whitney Houston's song and got a little misty. A montage of scenes from the 107 days replayed in my head. I thought back to how upbeat and excited I was on Election Day and how I still believed we were going to win, despite the odds. 

Then like an old school record scratch...

I can't even wrap my mind around the Return of the DESPOTUS 2.0: Four More Years of Daily Fuckery. The White House now an unmistakable Big Top Circus Tent, soon to be occupied by P.T. Barnum reincarnated, who will launch a second season of the Worst Shitshow on Earth. 

When I knew I was finally ready to write about Kamala Harris' defeat, my intent was to compare her loss to the situation I describe here. Because I am clear that a major reason she lost was because she was so formidable--too much for people to feel comfortable with her, in spite of everything else that we knew about the Joker. But my thoughts got too bogged down and unfocused, so instead of wrestling with something unwieldy, thereby running the risk of succumbing to never making my point, I split the baby. 

We could have had it all, America. But y'all gave it away for $1 rebate per gallon of gas.

Twice now, we have elected the worst possible example of humanity to be the American President. He and every Alpha boy he chooses to serve in his harem, from James David the Manchurian understudy to Master Robert the Bear-Eater to the guy whose own mother used to be ashamed of him--these are the people whom America believed were the better choices. The world will tolerate a rapist, a racist, a grifter, a conman, an adulterer, a liar, a cheat, and even a fascist, but it just cannot abide a woman who is unafraid to be her unapologetic, fearless self. 

If you look back at various points throughout human history, women who refused to be minimized by what society deemed acceptable were denounced, rejected, ostracized, abused, called everything but a child of God, and sometimes killed. Centuries later and y'all still refer to Mary Magdeline a prostitute; yet, before his conversion and his name was still Saul how many Christians did he persecute and imprison as opposed to the number of men who allegedly paid her for sex? All manner of men are rewarded, revered, and redeemed in spite of a multitude of sins: feudal Lords, imperial plunderers and pirates, Founding Fathers, Confederate politicians, Gilded Age robber barons, Jim Crow philanderers, the tech bazillionaires, and now once again, Donald Effing Trump. As he infamously said, he could shoot someone on Fifth Avenue and get away with his crimes...and now 77 million voters have proven him right.

We could have had the country that we promote to the world as the beacon of light and hope. But in a democracy the voters get to make grave mistakes as well as inspired choices, so here we are, preparing for another dreary ride to the cemetery...

A month later, and I'm not much interested in the other post-election assessments of why we're here right now. Surely there were campaign mistakes and missteps (because she only had 107 days), but bottom line some voters were either ambivalent about the return of Trump or hellbent against seeing this Black woman just walk into the Oval Office without proving she deserved to be there. Never mind the fact that Kamala Harris had already earned that right when she was elected to be the Vice President in 2020, but apparently that wasn't enough. She should have gone through a bruising primary process at the 11th hour once the big money donors and political operatives lost faith in President Joe Biden. We should have repeated the very same mistake that was made in 1968 when President Lyndon Johnson decided not to seek the nomination.

Well, now we have a 1968 remix. Only this time, we have re-elected a person 10 times worse than Richard Nixon--a verifiable crook, all because some of you were determined to chasten women who have the temerity to declare that we can be anything, including Leaders of the Free World. 

If you still want to argue that sexism and racism don't make one helluva team, just wait until Calamuary 2025 (yep, that term is here to stay). Anyone who is urging calm or to wait and see is probably not worried because they know they will be fine either way. Offended, upset, and maybe even a little more than annoyed, but definitely not endangered or under threat of the retribution. I hope you enjoyed the long-awaited Thanksgiving reconciliation with your estranged brother and family. I'm sure his trad wife's pumpkin pie was delicious.

I believed with my entire heart and soul that Kamala Harris could have won this election, even as I suspected that Trump had become way too confident in the final stretch. It was quixotic for sure, and I allowed myself to get caught up in the rapture of possibility. My bad for forgetting that this country will break your heart. However, I refuse to feel anything but pride for what Kamala Harris tried to do, because dammit, what else was she supposed to do? Just let y'all act like she was invisible, throw away everything she and Biden accomplished in the past four years, and NOT stand up for the rule of law she vowed to protect and defend her entire career??? GTFOOHWTBS!

Right before Eli Pope infamously reminds his daughter Olivia (and all of us) that she has to be twice as good to attain half as much, he admonishes her for pinning her hopes on becoming First Lady. Because why work that hard just to be photographed wearing nice clothes? Of course, the irony is that Kamala Harris did exactly the opposite--she set her sights on the ultimate prize and got punished for not settling.

She made the case that she was ready, and she inspired millions of people to get out in these streets to try to salvage some semblance of what this country purports to represent to the world. That a bunch of billionaire good ole boys had the mean$ to thwart our hopes wasn't entirely unforeseeable, just profoundly disappointing. And typical. I will never concede that that they won this election fair and square, because they spent enough money and effort at re-writing every rule to ensure that they won. Their victory, celebrated in the form of taunts and trolls and every single Cabinet pick, has been intended remind us that they had every advantage and exploited every vulnerability, on their dime but at our expense. 

Exhibit A: Reneging at Spades

How was it even possible that a man whose documented history of racism and sexism was able to turn this election into a referendum on Blackness by using sexism??? From dredging up her past romantic entanglements to misrepresenting her record as a prosecutor to mispronouncing her name and even questioning whether she ever worked at McDonalds, he even had folks on Blue Ivy's internet arguing about how she cooks her collard greens...

Once he had folks fighting at the summer barbecue, his next great trick was to exude so much confidence that he could make inroads and gain the support of disaffected Black men, in spite of their historic loyalty to the Democratic Party. For the past several election cycles, Black women have been touted as the base of the party and rewarded as such with high profile and visible positions. The elevation of individual Black women in political discourse was then framed as yet another advance that has occurred at the expense of Black men overall, despite the fact that there are still more men in positions of influence and power such as James Clyburn, Hakeem Jeffries, Rev. Al Sharpton, Wes Moore, and Barack Obama. 

We have always been clear about the ideological diversity within the Black community, so the shock isn't that there were Black men who supported a return of the Chaos King. It's that some of the most vocal Trumplogytes, like Mark Robinson (R-NC) and Royce White (R-MN), crapped out and have nothing to show for their loyalty, not even a Black job. The others who didn't go quite as far will likely see some personal reward, but at what expense to the rest of us? How much of the Trump prosperity hustle will trickle down to our communities? Enough to buy some sneakers, a Cybertruck, or just a carton of eggs?

Exhibit B: Cat-Fights Over Public Bathrooms

Can you imagine the kind of mental gymnastics it takes to consider a public restroom as a "sacred" space? The same place where you can get a communicable disease from washing your hands. Those 55 percent women are so smart as to allow a man who shits on his own private gold toilet...better yet, the man who bought a beauty pageant so that he could leer at underage girls to convince them that he will be their Protector, whether they like it or not.

If it wasn't clear before that we didn't pledge the same sorority, we sure know that now. 

You've got to hand it to those smart Handmaidens of Patriarchy--the wives, mothers, and daughters who dutifully follow the roadmap of expectations and guidelines that allow some women (not all) to aspire just beyond the realm of what is acceptable. Women who may have jobs and careers, even as high as the rank of being a Governor or a Senator as long as they represent and articulate the values that men proscribe AND make sure dinner is on the table by 6pm every night. 

Contrast their success with that of those smart-assed women who decide on their own, without male permission or approval, to make choices for themselves. Women who did not get married to their high school sweethearts or first college boyfriends, who don't prioritize motherhood over careers, or who have the nerve to call themselves feminists--they represent the kind of moxie that is too disruptive to the Old World order of things. What kind of world would we have if women keep demanding access to previously exclusive male enclaves, like the Supreme Court, church pulpits, C-Suites, and the Oval Office? 

One with gender-neutral bathrooms.

Exhibit C: Knowing is Half the Battle

In spite of how much this loss still hurts, I want it to be known that I DO NOT have regrets. I have gripes and justified rage because we shouldn't be here licking our wounds and questioning who we are. I know who I am, what I believe, and why I voted the way I did. That shouldn't be in doubt--it's those other people whom we need to redefine and see more clearly. 

Thus, let's take the advice Mother Maya Angelou gave us to heart--when people show you who they are, believe them the first time. That applies to Trump, but more importantly to the people who voted for him again, some for the third time. They knew what he was and voted for him in the hopes that he will do EVERYTHING he promised them. Let's accept that the people who proudly wave Confederate flags, who were willing to violently overthrow an election, and who are giving millions to celebrate the return Emperor Conmani Grifticus--they have shown us who and what they are, so we need not waste time or energy expecting anything better from them. 

They will never be moved by the pain endured by others either because they profit from it or are shielded from its effects. What does it matter to them if police officers can harass Black and Latino men with impunity as long as their gated cul-de-sacs remain safe? We live in food deserts and have little to no economic investment in our communities, but they don't, never will and they are fine with that. If they don't want their children to go to school with ours, they can convene at the local coffee shop after morning drop-off to strategize about how to trick us into diverting our tax dollars into funding their private schools.

To that end, we need to stop lying to ourselves that all Americans want the same things. We don't. I don't want sundown towns, mass deportations, or laws that track our daughters' menstrual cycles. I wasn't looking for the annihilation of those with whom I disagree, just some compassion, empathy, justice, or a semblance of common decency. I wanted to dismantle the systems of oppression that have historically denied opportunities to the marginalized. I never expressed any desire that others should suffer, not even a fraction of what has been wished upon me...

Still reluctant to admit who and what we are facing? Still holding out hope that we can appeal to the better angels of people who claim that American greatness is best exhibited by cruelty? From the same people who heard the stories about dead mothers who were denied life-saving health care and didn't shed a single tear? By the fanatics who happily waved signs that read Mass Deportation Now and will cheer when people are rounded up and families ripped apart? Unity with the folks who felt more inconvenienced by a global COVID pandemic and ignored the AIDS epidemic because it wasn't their problem? Ditto for famine, climate change, lead water pipes, or the strategic placement of power lines near communities that result in childhood cancer clusters. Are you that blind to their depravity?

Before you launch into a self-righteous lecture on tolerance, don't. Take that nonsense to Twitter. These are not simple differences of opinion; they are irreconcilable--the kind that place people's lives in danger. Those people aren't looking to live together in perfect harmony. They want to make us feel demoralized, conquered...so any and every suggestion of appeasement or conciliation is bullshit. Some of these capitulators are the same folks who wanted a contested convention, so we need to be clear about them as well. 

This wasn't an American Idol finale. Some of us just can't get over the result and move on as if everything will be fine. Until and unless you accept that there are clear lines between good and evil, then we cannot reassemble this fractured coalition. Because right now, if you are advocating a strategy of if you can't beat them, you will join them, then you have told me where you stand at times of challenge and controversy...on the sidelines waiting to see who emerges victorious. 

Having spent a month in reflection and rest, I still lament what we could have had by electing Kamala Harris. But it's above me now. As another Whitney Houston song begins to play in my head, I have to focus on the future. I've spent nine months mourning my Mom. I don't plan to spend the rest of my life mourning this country. I can't guarantee that I won't get caught up in my feelings every now and then, but I've got shit to do. 

Stay tuned.

Still Not Aspiring to Be Humble

Last week, I went mean girl on someone, and instead of over-thinking whether I should have been more demure and mindful with my words, I leaned in. And in the most-Audrerific way (my new word for when I'm channeling my Mom), I essentially told him to cry harder. Not today, not tomorrow, and not ever again Satan!

If you light a match, you better be ready for this smoke! Now that I am a woman of a certain age, I am no longer measuring my words nor apologizing for being who and what I am, especially not when like Toyota, you asked for it.

Obviously, there is a backstory, and it starts with a Facebook post in a group. This is a mixed, intergenerational group of HBCU alumni, so there are posts that run the gamut from super serious to seriously stupid. And most folks know that, thus depending on the mood a post that is seriously stupid might be exactly what is needed to lighten the mood, while on other days it might cause someone to get their feelings hurt. The same is true for super serious posts--we may or may not be willing to engage in intellectual debates about why a grown man not getting his plate fixed at a family gathering is the reason why the Black family is in decline...so you gotta roll the dice and see what happens.

For whatever reason, there had been a series of sexist posts, including quite a few that IRL would result in somebody sleeping in his car or on his boy's couch. These seriously stupid posts started popping up right before Homecoming, which is usually when folks engage in all manner of tomfoolishness, and also why it didn't get called out and shut down sooner. Nevertheless, by late-November, weeks past Homecoming and with most of our group recuperating from the Election, the mood was definitely super serious.

The post at issue was a classic rate this woman, the same sort of foolywang that allegedly launched The Facebook in a Harvard dorm room (according to Aaron Sorkin's movie) or that was premise of Hot or Not--the grandfather of sexism on the Al Gore's internet. Some dude had the chutzpah to pose such a query, then logged off for the rest of the day--which only made the backlash in response to his post that more intense. His departure from the scene for hours led folks to question why this had slipped past our moderators and whether our group had been infiltrated. At some point, I happened upon his post, and as per the rules of engagement since the election have been that I am NOT in the mood for any fuckery, I pounced. I posted one sentence about how this post would have been more appropriate for a private group chat and then added this Audrerific: but you must not have any friends...and Lawd, it went viral!

Now, I know what I said was unkind. And I am not going to deny that I got a certain measure of satisfaction in seeing all of the likes and favorable comments from men and women alike. As a writer, I often hope that half of what I put into the universe has some impact on my readers. So yeah, my head got a little big.

Fast forward to the private message that the original poster sent me that evening, after he had ignored every other comment. Can you believe that man had the audacity to suggest that while his sexist bullshit post was bad, my response was worse!? And do you want to know what I did...

I rolled over and went to sleep.

The next morning, his message popped up on my computer, but it wouldn't load properly, so then I wondered if I had dreamt seeing his PM from the previous evening. Then I assumed that he had blocked me (like someone else did after a similar run-in last year), but after a quick reload, his message reappeared, and I decided that it warranted a reply. To ensure that I had accurately called him out for his cheekiness, I sought to refer back to the original post. Zounds, it had been deleted by the group moderators! Sadly, that means that there is no "official" record that I ever went viral other than my retelling of the events here.

Next time, I will be sure to get a screen shot! No worries though, since the point of this piece isn't to brag about landing an insult. Instead, I wanted to use that experience to proffer a few thoughts why dudes like him hate going toe-to-toe with out-spoken women like me. Furthermore, that is one of the reasons why I believe Kamala Harris isn't measuring the drapes in the Oval Office right now--because some of these mofos just can't stand a confident, undaunted, smart-ass woman!

Now before I open an entirely new can of worms, I will try to limit my post-election analysis to a few stray sentences here and there. I plan to fully unload in a separate piece. As you can imagine, I've got a LOT to say...

In response to the election results, I lashed out at a quite a few people, primarily folks like Brother Misogynoir because that is what happens when you can't meaningfully strike back at those who really got you twisted. I already posted a smart-ass mea culpa on my personal FB page after my initial round of friendly fire, but I guess I should have added a warning that I'm not done shooting from the hip. Therefore, I do NOT apologize for my annoyance at the assholery enabled by the very people who should have our backs; because in lieu of affirming and uplifting the spirits of the Black women in our shared, private space, that dude opted to engage in the same kind of SUPERFICIAL SEXISM that has made breaking the glass ceiling so elusive. Then he had the nerve to try to guilt ME into feeling some kind of way because no one co-signed on his nonsense? No sir!

As for the group moderators who chose to remove his post, in essence giving him a get out of jail free card, why the H-E-double hockey sticks did they let him off the hook? Why not mount his severed head on a wall as a caution to every future ashy mofo who might be inclined to forget that this ain't the boys' locker room at a private club or someone's wood-paneled mancave? If this reads like I'm taking it hard that my brilliant Audrerific clapback won't be preserved in cyber-posterity for future generations, trust I'm way more pissed that the decision to delete the entire thread only proves that some so-called safe spaces function to protect the wrong people.

I mentioned the fact that this wasn't the first time I've encountered a Cowardly Lion in that group or elsewhere on social media. Before the recent mass X-odus, I was down for a bird fight or two with friends and strangers. I had a friend on Facebook who was the kind of person whom I imagine would describe his interactions with people as part Michael Eric Dyson intellectual provocateur, part Chris Rock stand-up comic. Because I had known him in real life as well as online, I knew the best response to his pot-stirring was to add a grain of salt. So when he tagged me on a post to engage in a "debate" on a seriously stupid topic, I played along. That I happened to be sitting next to my Mom in the hospital was, at the time, part of the reason why I was willing to entertain this nonsense. I needed the distraction.

Then he made it personal, and I guess he resented that I didn't go high when he went low. After he pulled the mean girl card on me, he deleted the thread, then he took it up a few notches by blocking and de-friending me!

I kept a screenshot of the private message I attempted to send him, which had included an apology until shortly after my Mom passed. Call it a what would Audrey do impulse, but the fact that I ever acknowledged his hurt feelings or allowed him to take up any space in my life after what he did to me still pisses me off. He picked a fight, did a lot of trash-talking, got in the ring, danced around, then called the fight as soon as I landed a punch. He put me on blast, then tried to shame me because the tone of my response to his provocation was "mean". And in a moment of weakness, I actually thought that maybe I had gone too far.

Until I rewound the sequence of events as outlined above. He had engineered that entire fracas from start to finish, and as far as I know, he didn't stutter or think twice about anything he said that might have been insulting or hurtful to me. For me to even contemplate his feelings in the midst of what I was dealing with at my Mom's bedside is how I realized I was being played. It doesn't matter what he knew about my situation because he knew he was wrong. Why else would he delete the thread? 

We use the delete button to correct mistakes, to erase the things we don't want people to see or find. 

Which is why I did take a screen shot the private message Brother Misogynoir sent me last week, and I will save it for the next time he decides to forget he's in mixed company. I keeps receipts and I ain't scared of what these dudes think of me--I'm sure I've been called a bitch as much as any other woman. I said what I said, in true Audrerific fashion, without remorse. I won't be humble, ingratiating, soul-searching, or swallowing my pride. In the words of a few Chicks who know a little something about being gaslit by cruel intentions, carnival barkers, sociopaths, overcooked hams, and other people who engage in bad faith, I'm Not Ready to Make Nice.

Therefore, on this day when the good Lord saw fit to bring forth a daughter in Audrey's image, I hereby declare not today, nor ever again! I know who and what I am. Happy Birthday!

Life Goes On (and On)

Scrolling through the drafts and I noticed this one that I had attempted to write during the summer. This was started a week before Father's Day. A lot of this was covered in this piece that was already published in October, so there are redundancies and/or details that might have been more present for me in the short-term as opposed to several months later. I will explain more after the jump. --ADH

It has been a little more than three months. 

When I woke up on the morning of February 27, I'm sure that I had no idea that it would be her last day, even though I had been given ample advance warning that her time was coming. What I remember knowing for certain that morning when I dropped my daughter off at school and the Hub at work, was that I desperately needed to get a few uninterrupted hours of writing done. I had been struggling for weeks to publish anything, so my hope was to finish something (or make some progress on a few of the various pieces I had been writing), and then to see my Mom that later afternoon after my daughter's dance class. 

I mentioned having had advanced warning because my Mom had been in hospice since last September. So I knew...but I had also been lulled into a false sense that she would defy the odds, be de-certified from receiving hospice care, and continue to carry on living in the background of the lives we had built for ourselves. It was a selfish wish. So I knew, but I just didn't want to believe.

There were signs. During the month of January, which I now call Calamuary, everything began to unravel. My Mom's long-time home health aide went out on extended medical leave for a double hip replacement, a procedure she put off for months or possibly years. My parents' long-term care insurance, which had been slow-walking reimbursement payments since the summer, reminded me that they are in the business of making money not paying it out. The home health care agency that recently went conglomerate by acquiring smaller agencies and changing its name to reflect the fact that it was not a conglomerate, informed me that it intended to increase their rates. This is also while they sent us an ever-limited rotation of aides who were certified to work in our jurisdiction. The hospice nurse, who had been jovial and upbeat for most of her weekly visits in 2023, began to look worried mere weeks after the start of the New Year. Then the furnace fucking stopped working. 

We survived. I prayed that we could make it to her birthday, February 1, and then kept praying. On the night of her birthday when I finally made my way over to the house to see her, the indications that I had been warned would signal the end were more evident. She wasn't awake. If she ate, we had to be more careful to prevent aspiration. The pressure sore on her tailbone began to get worse. She looked frail and weak and was rapidly losing weight. I brought her a gourmet birthday cookie, which I think my daughter ended up eating a few days later.

For Valentine's Day, I bought candy and make little treat boxes for the home care aides, including her long-time aide. She had wanted to schedule a visit and a day of beauty for Mom, and had enlisted the services of her daughter, but I hesitated. Not on having her visit, but I was concerned that my Mom wasn't strong enough for anything taxing like getting her hair done. But I agreed in theory that something was needed to lift the heaviness that had begun to permeate the house since the furnace fiasco of the previous month. We still had Christmas decorations up which my brother hastily took down (but I have yet to put them away). So I bought a banner that I intended to hang in her room. We opted for the living room where the now empty Christmas stocking hooks were affixed to the fireplace mantle. My thinking was that she might see the banner along with the weekly bouquet of flowers I brought for her when she was seated in her wheelchair.

There had been signs. I would not say that I didn't notice, but that I was unwilling to fully acknowledge them. In other words, I definitely knew, but I had been operating under the childish wish that if I kept my eyes closed and my fingers in my ears and if I sang aloud, then I could pretend not to notice what was happening. I could fake ignore that my Mom was dying in some futile attempt to avoid it, as if that would have made a difference.

It didn't. At about 11am that morning, after I had settled into a groove of writing, I got the call from the hospice nurse. I took a shower and got dressed. I packed up my computer and my chargers. I called my brothers and then a few relatives. I honestly don't remember if that is the exact order of things, but I know that I was on the phone with my college roommate when I arrived at the house. My younger brother, who had been waiting for me, met me outside to let me know that he was leaving to pick up our kids from school. Inside, my Dad's priest was administering Last Rites and the home care aide (whose name I don't remember) was praying and crying. At some point, relatives began to arrive. One of my uncles sat in the living room with his head in his hands. Someone announced that there was food in the kitchen. Friends of mine arrived. At some point, I even received a phone call from Africa.

Then everyone left. My Mom was still breathing, but with difficultly it seemed, so we questioned whether the morphine would help. We decided that it would, and then we discussed what might happen the next morning...

The details of someone's last day mean more to the people who are able to remember them. Of this I am clear because I don't know what my Mom knew or felt. I can't ask her. I go into her empty room and while I feel her presence, it is not the same as it was when she was physically in that hospital bed, in my Dad's den that had been converted into an accessible first floor bedroom. 

I am not okay.

So if you ask, I will lie and say that I am, not because I want to be deceptive, but because I have made the calculation that answering honestly in that moment will likely require me to elaborate or listen to some nicely intentioned, but tone-deaf speech. I know that my Mom is with me and that she is proud of me (at least I think she is). Yes, I will miss her forever, as I try to figure out how I got through these months without crumbling.